Once upon a time not so different from this time or real life actualities lived a young lady by the name of Georgi. Georgi lived like a young lady would, except she lived in France. For those who are not Francophiles, this meant that she subsided on fine cheese, fine wine, grapes, exquisite milk, and breathed the beautiful air that the earth whisked down from the Pyrenees as it rotated on it’s axis. She was relatively new to France having recently moved from normal old Britain and as such did not have a very active social life nor had she any followers of substance on social media, except for yours truly of course.
Although she subsided upon the aforementioned comestibles, one in particular was omitted from the list as it deserved extra special mention: baguettes. Ignoring the obvious Freudian joke and innuendo that shall most certainly be persisted with in the most obvious case of foreshadowing ever, she enjoyed very much their yeasty texture, and even more so when they were fresh from the market that she visited every morning.
It was not just for the unlimited supply of available baguettes that Georgi chose to move to France no, it was because of the circulating propaganda regarding Paris being the city of love, and the French language being very romantic. She was in love with love, the notion of love, the feeling of love, the word love, the spelling of love, everything to do with love she loved. This was why she was here, in a suburb of Paris eating baguettes daily: her standards were extraordinarily high. Now I am not in anyway claiming this to be a bad thing, as the very worst thing a person can do in life is settle for anything less than true love with the right person. Unfortunately, every man she met that ticked her boxes and tickled her fancy revealed themselves to be utter morons, most of whom carried legally binding certifiable evidence in the form of a government decree, and those who didn’t were currently being tested. She had a lot of love to give to the right person, and was the type of person who deserved to have her very own happy ever after.
Her most recent romantic liaison was with a male human (described so because gentleman is the exact opposite and I am being polite) who even though declared honesty and faithfulness unfortunately did not own a dictionary and therefore clearly did not understand the definition of these words, as his contrasting behaviour so proved. This was not the exception to the rule she found, but rather this was increasingly becoming the norm. One morning, Georgi was feeling unusually angered and annoyed by men and all they stood for as she had just discovered that her best friend and he had engaged in titillation whilst he preached unwavering loyalty. Georgi retreated behind her defensive walls and barricaded them with strong and censored expletives to keep other such amoeba at bay. Her insides felt ready to burst, angry as she was by what was transpiring. Her organs ached with anger, her loins with something inspired by men and enhanced by anger.
Georgi was hungry. She had not had a baguette in over 4 hours. This was not helping her situation as she craved the taste, craved the feel in her fingers, the bump of the crust against her lips as she made her way down. It was now or never. Time for breakfast…
This morning, as she did most mornings, Georgi went to the market and to her favourite bakery stall. The bread always smelled the best, and the young man who served her was always very amiable, polite and sometimes supplied a free croissant. She did go to her usual stall and she did notice that her breadmonger had an unusually well groomed beard for someone who had such messy hair, and that he was quite attractive in a very conventional sort of way with his blue eyes and sun-brushed skin, sensible height, well-toned forearms and broad shoulders that tugged on the hem of his baker’s whites.
“Good morning young lady,” he smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth all straight and in rows like sheep queuing for a tasty patch of grass “are you here for your usual?” He was very kindly, but he didn’t excite anything in her for he was just so…ordinary. He was nice, yes, attractive yes, but he didn’t flaunt his masculinity or his charisma in any overbearing way that so many women swoon over. Georgi wasn’t even slightly bothered by that, she was hungry, and only one product today could satiate her ravenous hunger.
The smell was everywhere, driving her mad with it’s intoxicating bouquet. She felt weak, they were there in front of her, long and slender, just out of reach, electrifyingly close; her skin tingled with anticipation, and as a light breeze blew against her bare arms she shuddered and clenched. No time for small talk. No time to explain.
“No. Not today. Just baguettes,” she snapped, rather abruptly, desperately needing to take them home.
The kindly young man’s eyes seemed to droop slightly, where before they were effervescent and full of mischief, they now seemed flat and tinged with disappointment.
“Yes of course” he said, sounding more business like “how many do you want?”
Georgi didn’t say anything but grabbed a whole load out of the basket and put the payment down onto the table before turning away and marching off. As she walked home she could feel his eyes burning into every step she took. She was a good customer of his returning every morning for bread. He will just have to accept my bad mood she thought, with no tinge of guilt.
When she got home she laid out all of her baguettes on the table. She had a stack of baguettes, a pile of baguettes, a freshly baked mound of baguettes; they were all hers, all waiting for her. Everything was quiet, and things were getting intense. Georgi went to her docking station and turned on the music, had, pounding, throbbing music that had no place in decent society but had every place right here and right now and was perfectly well suited to set the scene.
The music thrummed through her body, pulsating within her, rhythmic synergy in tune with her heartbeat, fast, quick, relentless. She couldn’t wait any longer. She gathered up all the baguettes in her arms, the edges and tips pressing into her bosom, and lay upon the floor surrounding herself, nothing but the bread, her skin, and the beating, banging bass that shook the windows.
She took hold of the first, the firmness filling her fingertips with hints towards the pleasure to come. The girth was perfect, nobody baked better bread, better baguettes. She thought of him, she did not know his name but right now it didn’t matter. Without thinking, her lips were pressed against the end of the baguette and she found herself staring into those mischievous blue eyes. He wasn’t here, but this was his bread that he had baked and he had wanted her to taste it. Right then she imagined that he baked it only for her, and right then she wanted to be the only person to slide it over their tongue and swallow every last lingering crumb. And so she did; the hunger had taken her.
Slowly at first, easing it past her tingling,, swollen red lips she nibbled and swallowed the whole thing, consuming every thick inch of the full length of the shaft, choking near the base as it stuck in her throat. She had gone a little too quick and it was all over, it was spent, gone, redundant. It happened every time. Georgi would get lost in the moment and her greed and desire took over. She had more baguettes though, one for every half an hour until it was time to sleep. And she was going to use them all, one by one, until the hunger subsided.
To be continued…