The Small Deaths Of An Englishwoman

Lauren smiled to herself as she entered Chez Marguerite, a tiny French restaurant in a tiny French village. The old stone building was cool, which was a welcome relief. The smell of wine, candles and herbs was strong, and pleasant. She couldn’t hear a word of English in the conversations around her. When she spoke to the waiter, he clearly understood English. That was a relief. Although he was remarkably short with her after he realised she spoke next to no french. As she sat down to wait for her friend she gazed out the window at the quiet french streets and thought about It’s easy to forget that other people’s lives tick on as yours does. We forget that they must be growing or changing. She knew Rosie, her old friend from university, must have changed in the last ten years. When they knew each other they were both prone to show up to undergraduate lectures in pyjamas and carrying a Starbucks containing three different flavours of syrup. Yet on a deeper level she had forgotten that Rosie must have changed as much as she had. And being reminded didn’t make it easier to picture Rosie here. So Lauren breathed in the ambiance, and told herself to expect the unexpected.

The unexpected arrived as an effortlessly stylish woman with tousled brown hair skimming her shoulders in a light parchment coloured blouse, olive green skirt and copper coloured earrings. She blended into the crowded local restaurant-goers like a pebble on a beach. Lauren was entirely confident that if she had not been expecting to meet her friend, there was no way she would have recognised her. She watched this woman greet the waiter with an almost-kiss on each cheek and began chatting to him in fast paced French. Her outfit flowed together like watercolour paints. Every garment was neat and perfectly fitted so as to show but not gratuitously emphasise her soft curves of her figure. Her blouse had small shiny copper buttons, the top three were undone, yet somehow it didn’t feel like too much. Lauren suspected that Rosie wasn’t wearing a bra, but wasn’t entirely sure. Her hair was tousled so as to perfectly frame her face. She wore a small ring, with an odd bend at the top and low heeled shoes with interesting embroidery. The outfit was fairly casual, Lauren thought. It certainly didn’t seem much more so than her own Channelle shirt and new Jeans, both of which she had purchased in Paris less than a week ago. Yet Lauren suddenly felt embarrassingly underdressed, or over dressed, or maybe both. Perhaps the frayed edge on her jeans was too casual, perhaps her pandora bracelet, glass pendant and set of mid-range rings were too much.

“Oh Rosie, wow, you look…” Lauren exclaimed. She abandoned her search for an adjective and instead went to hug Beth. She was then to be further blindsided as her old friend moved away and went to kiss her cheeks instead. Lauren rolled with it.

“Bonsoir Lauren it’s so good to see you…oh it feels very strange to hear that, no one has called me Rosie in years” Rosie said as the two women sat down.

“Really? Do you have people call you Rosemary now?” Lauren asked.

“Non non, call me Renee” Renee insisted.

“Okay, Renee it is,” Lauren said, then looked to the waiter and opened her mouth to order, but was interrupted by her old friend.

“Non, I’ve already ordered for us, I know it well, this place. you’ll like what I’ve chosen. ” Renee said with a wave of her hand. Lauren nodded in agreement. Renee seemed fairly confident. This was clearly a ‘just go with it’ kind of evening. This was much simpler than trying to ask anything of the waiter who had shown her to her table and if she was going to let a French stranger, and an apparently-now-French old friend choose anything for her, food and wine was not a bad subject matter.

“Well you’re clearly…fairly well integrated, I mean it’s been a while but you look so different! your days of pouring Apple Sourz into McFlurries are clearly well behind you” Lauren said with a slight smirk.

“That only happened once” Renee said through stifled laughter “and oui, c’est vrai, I am very settled here. Who would have thought? I came as a backpacker, ten years ago, twenty two years old.I never left. I’ve been a citizen since five years.”

“It’s mad, I’ve been married, had two children, gotten divorced and at the moment it seems like you’ve changed more than me!” Lauren said.

“Ah yes I am so sorry about the divorce…Jake was always a bad choice…but still tell me how you’re doing” Rennee said.

“No no no, I came to the continent to stop thinking of my troubles…I don’t want to talk about Jake I want to know more about how this…” Lauren paused and gestured at the whole of Rennee. Rennee laughed. Then Lauren continued “no really I need to hear how a summer interrailing ended with you becoming a french citizen and…working for a vineyard was it?”

“Oui, well, I don’t just work there, I own a third of it, the vineyard” Rennee. Laurens eyes widened and she sat back.

“Wow tokat escort that is impressive and that’s exactly why you need to tell me every single detail!” She urged. “Tell me everything, how did you get to a)own a vineyard and b)when did you start acting and looking so fucking french”

“It’s a…” Rennee spoke through a slightly nervous laughter “a long story and I have fear that many of the more passionate details will offend your english sensibilities.” Renee deflected.

“No no, you can’t claim to think all English people are prudes, you might be French now but you were certainly English when you got kicked out of popworld for…” Lauren teased.

“Ah oui tu as raison, you’re right, fine fine fine I will tell you” Rennee interrupted. She seemed about to start but paused as the waiter returned with a dry red wine. She smelled and sipped it, then discussed it briefly with the waiter. Lauren thought she should probably be offended by her obvious exclusion from this dialogue. But rather she was distracted by her anticipation of this story and something about their manner made her feel it was her fault for not speaking French.

When the waiter left Rennee began “It started in a bar in Paris”. She pronounced ‘Paris’ without the ‘S’ of course, although it did not convey the air of pretension such things do when done by the English. “a horrible city really, but this bar was very nice. We had stumbled upon somewhere less touristy by chance. The wine was good and cheap and there was a band playing. I was with a group of other backpackers I met at the hostel, some from Germany, some from Spain, some from Ireland, you know how it is when young people travel like that.” Renee paused and Lauren nodded. Although she did not know anything about backpacking in one’s twenties. She had married and given birth the year Rennee went interrailing. Her current post-divorce attempt to find some mental peace and a girl’s trip to Magaluf after her A-levels was the only exception to a lifetime of beach holidays with her parents followed by beach holidays with her husband and children.

“But you know I got a bit bored of that group and I started to glance over at this woman” Renee continued. “She was glancing back at me. She was a little older than me, maybe twenty seven or so, and she was the pinnacle of Parisian chic. I didn’t know much about French culture back then, but could tell she was a local just from how she moved and dressed. I felt so flattered that a woman like that was smiling at me. Then she walked over, I was thrilled.” Rennee paused again. The waiter came over with a starter, which was of course delicious. The second he left Lauren gestured urgently for Rennee to continue

“I started to try to introduce myself” Renee said “but she pressed her fingers against my lips and told me that she didn’t want to hear anything as ugly as english in this beautiful bar nor anything as heartbreaking as a tourist butchering the most beautiful language in the world. Not that I understood everything back then. I understood that she didn’t want me to talk. So I didn’t. We danced together, I sipped my wine and tried to understand everything she was saying. Celine was her name, it means heavenly and that was very accurate. I was in awe of her.

“Eventually we went back to her place. Every time I tried to speak she would press her fingers to my lips and shake her head. But she seemed very happy to kiss me and touch my breasts, and she was so beautiful, she had thick long dark hair and beautiful brown eyes.” Rennee sighed and sipped her wine, before continuing.

“And she was so good at it, she found every place that just made me melt. I didn’t need to talk. She just kept kissing my lips and my neck and my collar bone. She started pulling off my clothes and before I knew it I was naked and tied to the bed by my wrists. I was completely at her mercy. She was even still mostly dressed, I had taken off her shirt but she still had her bra and her jeans. Somehow she knew my body right away. I could tell that, but she refused to satisfy me. And each time I tried to ask for something she would silence me. Then teasing would get even worse as she told me that English is an ugly language and that French is too beautiful to let an English tourist use it incorrectly. Then some time while this was happening the door opened and she left me there on my back tied up and desperate while she went to go and greet the person there. I gathered from what I could understand back that it was her girlfriend and…” Renee paused with a smirk as she watched Lauren almost choke on her wine.

“Oui that is how I learned she wasn’t single, but it was no issue. I heard her say…what would it be in English… ‘my love, I found us a new pet, an Englishwoman’. Soon they were both teasing me. She was just as spellbinding as Celene. I found out after that her name was Fleur. There was no introduction before she laid down on the bed beside yozgat escort me and kissed my neck, and put one hand on my breast and the other between my legs. She had reddish blondish hair and was wearing a sky blue sundress with no bra. Fleur and Celene spoke to each other in French and I could only understand very small pieces. They teased my body relentlessly, then one of them would slide her fingers inside me or put her mouth on my pussy properly and make me…”

Suddenly Rennee paused and pursed her lips “cum is such an ugly word.” She remarked “I do think they were right that english is a vile language. It’s so much better if I say ther would give me a little death, la petite mort. There must have been at least three by the time Fleur turned me over and said…” Renee paused. Lauren shifted in her seat. She was slightly aroused by the story, appalled that her friend had so much fun back then while she had spent that time picking up a mediocre man’s clothes, not to mention desperate to hear how this threesome would somehow lead to a form being filled out requesting French citizenship and partial ownership of a vineyard.

“Yes yes go on” Lauren urged impatiently.

“I am trying to think what it would be in English.” Renee explained. Lauren nodded, sat back, sipped her wine and forced herself to be patient. The conversation fell quiet for a moment as Renee finished her starter and pondered how to explain the next part of her story. The waiter came and took their plates, refilled their wines and finally Renee continued.

“Alors, each time I tried to speak they would be harsher on me. Even if I just said ‘merci’ or ‘thank you’, or tried to plead for them to give me more, they would take their hands off me and leave me desperate while they watched me look at them trying to beg with just my eyes or they would ignore me while they pleased each other. Then finally Fleur, she said if I insist upon talking I should admit that the UK is a backwards country and the English are all uncivilised, barbarians, savages, that sort of thing. Of course I refused at first but they teased me and teased me from behind until every part of me wanted to give in. When I finally said it, she pushed her fingers inside me and made me say it again and again and she would spank me if I pronounced something wrong, or if she felt I didn’t mean it.

“At some point I saw Celene was standing against the wall watching and sipping some wine. Which was jarring…I hadn’t noticed her leave the bed. I was so taken up with what Fleur was doing to me. Before I knew it I was taking her whole fist and while adding my own details on how uncultured the English are and what a terrible place it is. Even though I kept getting hit for mistakes in my French and she said ‘begg us to teach you beg us to make you civilised’ and then… I had yet another little death around Fleur’s fist while I begged them to civilise me. Immediately after I thought it was a role play sort of thing but…” Renee began to explain until Lauren interrupted.

“Don’t tell me you stayed with those two women? That’s insane.” Lauren interrupted, Renee just nodded.

“Oui when I said I thought it was a joke or a kink or something Celene just raised her eyebrow at me, and then I knew they meant it, and I knew that everything I had said was true, and that I wanted to be civilised like they were so I stayed” Renee said, like she was explaining the most mundane decision in the world. Lauren somehow felt baffled more than offended.

“So how did they go about ‘civilising’ you?” Lauren asked, slightly offended, then immediately wondered if she had just verified this worldview by making bunny ears with her fingers as she said the word ‘civilised’.

“Oh many things, there were so many things I had to learn” Rennee continued, her was voice still incredibly matter of fact. The waiter returned with more food and after another brief conversation with him in french, Rennee continued her story pausing occasionally to take a bite of food or sip her wine.

” Celene is an artist so she was home most days. I would go out to enjoy Paris like anyone else visiting the city would and she would make sure I dressed like a French woman. If my outfit was not right I would strip for her and get to my knees and pleasure her to thank her for teaching me. Then I would go and choose another, sometimes three or four, once even five times.

“Fleur is a philosophy professor, and very knowledgeable about literature too. She would make me read great French writers: Simone De Bouvoir, Satre, Camus, Victor Hugo, and so on, one could name them all day. Every evening she would have me read something to her while she fucked me with a strap on, when I was too lost to pleasure to read any more she would ask me over and over if any other country in the world had produced such genius and she’d keep pleasuring me and praising me while I answered ‘non’ each time. Then I would have a little death zonguldak escort and we would take a break and have a glass of wine and some bread and cheese then begin again with me reading. We’d do it again two or three times. She would make sure I had understood it all the next morning over breakfast.

“Of course they made sure I learned proper French. If I made a mistake they would just… repeat my sentence correctly, look at me in a way that reminded me that I was so far from being as good as they are” Renee stopped talking again, their main course arrived. Lauren now slightly resented how good it was. Renee had seemingly not noticed what this implied about how she currently felt about her old friend.

“So it sounds like they made you feel…ashamed that you were English” Lauren said, letting some concern and a little irritation into her voice. But Renee just nodded in agreement as if it were a perfectly natural thing to feel.

“They wouldn’t let me forget it” She said, as if talking about an old highschool teacher who’s strictness annoyed as a teenager, but whom she was now endlessly grateful. “They had me vouvoyer them…” she paused, Lauren looked confused “I would call them ”vous’ the plural ‘you’, it’s more formal” Renee explained.

“And I once found this shop in Paris which sold things like Marmite and English brands of tea, I brought a couple of things and when I got home and they saw it, Celeste just looked at me and said…” Renee paused and muttered to herself trying to find the correct English, “she said ‘it’s all shit, throw it away’ that was a hard moment …” Renee recounted wistfully to an increasingly baffled Lauren.

“That’s horrible I can’t believe they would make you do that” Lauren exclaimed, her eyes wide. Renee shook her head.

” Non, non. It was a good thing. And they didn’t make me.” Rennee waved her hand dismissivly although there was a new sombre tone to her voice as she continued “Oui, Celeste, she looked at me silently and very stern.. I could tell she expected me to do as I was told. I stood there frozen and angry. I opened my mouth and I was about to argue. Then Fluer came over, she put her hand on my shoulder and she told me ‘you know she’s right, cherie’. I nodded, then Fluer handed me the items one by one and I threw them away” The frenchwoman sighed, then her smile returned slowly as she continued.

“Once I gave in they were so pleased with me, they opened a beautiful crement, and they made such gentle love to me, that’s when Celeste told me to start calling myself Renee. I remember the moment very well. Fluer had her mouth between my legs and was doing such wonderful things with her tongue. Celeste was kissing me and playing with my breasts and telling me I was doing so well. That meant so much because she was always the harsher teacher. She told me my French had started to sound natural, that I had changed in all these small important ways. Then she told me Renee would suit me better, I didn’t say yes or no, it was so clear then that she ruled me I didn’t have to, because I could never say no. But I knew I loved it, and she must have seen the joy in my face. Then I asked for her breast in my mouth and she said ‘oui Renee’ and she stroked the back of my hair while I sucked on her tits” Rennee smiled paused, and ate her food. Her English friend just shook her head in disbelief.

“So when…when did you leave” Lauren asked

“Oh we moved here after Celeste inherited the vineyard, about three years after I arrived, a year and a bit after I started calling myself Renee. I’m so glad I much prefer it to Paris” Renee said

“You still live with these women…they sound so controlling” Lauren said with her eyes wide

“Oui but things are different between us now, they don’t tell me what to do they don’t have to” Rennee explained.

“When, when did things change?” Lauren demanded

“I got my french citizenship, I’m French, they said they would make me French and they did, they helped me with the forms as well. And the stress of the whole process. I had so much fear as well. They calmed me, they reassured me, I think that whole process was how they stopped being my teachers and really became my lovers. When I first started the application I would beg them every night to fuck me as roughly as they could. I think something in me thought that it was their touch which could imbue me with French-ness and I needed them to be brutal in order to force any remaining English out of me, and it relieved the stress of all the bureaucracy. I needed to just be thrown onto a bed and have fist or a dildo forced inside me after dealing with that. But towards the end something shifted, I started to initiate sex with long loving kisses rather than pleading and declarations of my own inferiority, I started to give them pleasure as a sign of love not servitude, I wasn’t on my knees every time I ate pussy. They fucked me just to make me feel good and not to show me they could control me. They asked me to stop calling them ‘vous’ the day I got my passport. When they did we all realised at once how funny it seemed that I still did that.” Rennee recounted this memory with a warm smile. Lauren was still baffled but at least seemed satisfied that her old friend was happy.