So thanks you to all those who came to chat to me about (mainly) this story. Even if we did egt a bit ... erm, sidetracked.
I had a real blast and look forward to doing it again soon. 
Roswell 10/2/00 - It seems I REALLY need to work out some deal with the Paris Tourist Board! All these people heading for the city to find their Max Effance.
begonia 9508 - Glad you enjoy it
FSUMSW94 -
Okay, sorry, but LOL!!!!! Max would never have picked up an American man who was crying at a table in a bar.There is no man in America who will ever come close to this experience Liz is having in Paris!
Interesting that the WHERE was one of the most asked questions. That and what razors I use. Earth2Mama - He he he. Okay, two types of warnings. Never read more that one chapter a night, and Never drink red wine at the same time. LOL
AJK001 - YOu mean you believed me? LOL
g7silvers - Well... maybe Liz decides that she doesn;t want an annulment?
Seriously, who thinks of things to be done at home when they have all THIS going on? LOLvampyrax - LOL - I have a passion quota to fill???
roswellluver -
YOu're welcome.SmileeUK - Oh yes. And there's still so much time left.
lazza - Thank you
omwf - Forget the other shoe droppinf and enjoyt the ret of the clothing that keeps dropping.
That shoe will fall in it's own good time. frenchkiss70 - Heh heh heh - but what a way to go, huh?
Ah, so you can see the very spot Max and Liz made love at, right? Did I do a good job describing the park? Erina - Well... not quite public, but almost.
sox - I had to check you name twice :wink. And just FYI - It's not all imagination.
martine - Uhm...
I'm so glad you are enjoying it all. Ellie - Thank you
Behrsgirl - Yep, that chat was a riot.
It was even more funny being there. LOLBehrObsession - Hmmm.... Didn't someone else once ask if Paris was burning?
And I take you comments about images as a huge compliment. Shadowlynxbehr - Thank you
I'm glad you are enjoying it. NorafanofMaxandLiz - You know, the idea of all this passion is NOT to kill you.
I kind of envisaged a different reaction. LOL. Having his Cake and Eating it, Max paid thr Concierge to order the croissants from the bakery so he wouldn;t have to get up and leave Liz alone in bed again. Voila!Gater101 - Sweet mother of Jason Behr? Is this a new religious movement?
I'm sure you'd get loads of new devotees. LOLclueless - More on it;s way
cherie - My guess is... they won;t cope. The prologue gave a hint of that.
MamaDee52 - Well... I thought you could do with a change of pace. It seems I'm killing everyone so I need to tone it down a tad before I run out of readers.
Leigh - I hope that was a compliment!
(Thank you )Running Authors Note.
When you see text in Italics, please assume that the speaker is talking in French. This saves me providing you with a translation.
For those phrases that appear in French, if you really want to know what they mean, then I can recommend using http://babelfish.altavista.com/tr Select the "French to English", copy the text, press translate and voila!Parisienne Walkways
By WR
olde.worlde@btinternet.com
http://www.olde.worlde.btinternet.co.uk
Part 10 - Music of th Night
Friday - July 8th, 2005
The sun was once again shining when Liz woke up. The day had already begun. The first thing she saw when her eyes fluttered open was the dark hair of Max, still sleeping beside her. Waking up next to Max was a feeling that Liz found herself wishing she could experience for the rest of her life. As her eyes moved down his body, she wished that she could be married to this amazing young man, that he would be with her as she tried to come to terms with Cambridge and college life. With Max by her side, she could face anything. But what would he say if she asked him to move back to the States with her? Did he feel the same way about her? Liz looked back up to his face to find that he was now watching her. Feeling so safe, so loved, Liz moved in and kissed him. She thought that he did return her love; at least, it sure felt that way. Or was this just La Vie en Rose.
"Bonjour, mon bel ange," he smiled after their kiss.
"Bonjour," she grinned back.
"J'aime me réveiller à côté de toi," he sighed, kissing her nose. "Je pourrais vivre ça tous les jours, pour le restant de ma vie."
"Me too," Liz nodded, smiling that she could not understand a word he said.
Max started to laugh, his head falling back.
"And just what is so funny, Monsieur Max?" Liz uncurled herself and twisted so that she was on her hands and knees.
Scarcely believing that she was acting so boldly, she crawled above Max like a deadly feline. This was so not like her, yet it felt so... right. And so good.
"Ah, ma chérie," he murmured as she crawled over his body, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. "Si tu savais l'effet que tu me fais."
As she suckled at his lips. She could feel his manhood growing, rising up to nudge her core. Grinning, Liz leaned back. If she had been hoping to feel him enter her, she would have been disappointed. Instead, she pushed his manliness down flat, her wet lips resting along its length.
"This is feeling so good, no?" he smiled at her as his hands caressed the outside of her thighs.
"Yeah," Liz nodded. "Mmm, Max." She started to rock her hips back and forth. Because she was so aroused, she easily slid along his length. "So you like this, huh?"
"Ah, mon amour," he nodded, his glassy eyes gazing into hers. "C'est fantastique."
His hands left her thighs and found her breasts. As he started to caress her, teasing her rock hard nipples, she leaned into his touch. She couldn't help it. As the feelings built up inside her, Liz's eyes fell closed. She forced herself down harder onto the stiffness beneath her. Breathing heavily, she rolled her hips further, pressing her own hard button against him.
"Max," she gasped when he started to rock his own hips, pressing against her in time to her movements.
She was close, so close. She leaned forward, into his thrusts that split her soaking wetness. She could feel the firm tip of his erection stroking her smooth flesh. Lost in her pre-orgasmic bliss, Liz reached forward and mashed her lips against Max's. The sudden knocking on the door broke them apart. Liz groaned and dropped her head beside Max's, still close to her orgasm.
"Who's stupid idea was it to order those freaking croissants?" she gasped. Liz rolled off of Max and stood up from the bed. "You answer the door," she shook her head. "There's no way I'm answering feeling like... like this."
Max was still laughing when she closed the bathroom door on him.
* * *
"I don't see why we couldn't have finished what we started, Max," Liz pouted as they rode the Metro.
They were sitting down, barely aware of the throng of commuters that surrounded them.
"Because Paris, she will be gone by the time I have satisfied you, mon amour," Max chuckled. "And was it not you who told me the other morning that we have to get up and see Paris?"
"What are you saying?" she turned to try and glare at him, but she couldn't stop her smile. "Can I help it if I wanted to stay in bed today? A girl can change her mind you know. And can I help it if you have corrupted me into something that wants only for you to make love to me for the rest of my vacation?"
"What?" Max gasped. "And have you remember me only as the one who made love to you all of this time? No, no, no, no. I want for you to remember me as someone who enjoyed the lovemaking as much as he enjoyed the rest of the time we are spending together."
"Fine," Liz turned to face forward again. "But don't blame me if I just explode with all of this frustration."
"Ah, mon amour," he chuckled. "Then tonight, I will make sure that you are left in no fit state to do anything." He leaned over, placing his lips next to her ear. "Not even to explode."
Liz shivered.
"You know," she started to laugh. "When I tell them, my friends will never believe even half of all this."
* * *
They left the train at a station called Place Monge.
"It has been so named," Max informed her, "after Gaspard Monge. He was a famous French mathematician who invented descriptive geometry."
"Do you like have a huge encyclopedic brain or something, Max?" she frowned at him. "I mean, how do you remember all this stuff?"
"I am not remembering that, Liz," he grinned. "It says so on the plaque back there.
Liz just rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"Now," he grinned as they emerged into the daylight of the Quartier Latin. Their hands were firmly linked and Liz leaned against him. "We have the tradition of first a coffee and a pastry, no?"
"You're the boss," Liz shrugged, smiling up at him.
Their coffee and cake was purchased from a lovely small place called Café Delmas. Inside, all of the comfortable looking arm chairs were filled with locals and tourists. There was not even a single chair free. Liz wouldn't have minded sharing a chair, sitting in Max's lap, maybe even teasing him a little, but she did not get her wish. He led them outside to the terrace.
"What am I going to do when I go home, Max?" Liz shook her head as she ate another piece of her rich pastry. "I mean, I'm getting used to this mid morning snack and at home I won't be walking everywhere and I won't be having... uh, any other exercise."
"For real?" Max looked up. "You will not be finding yourself immensely popular with the other boys now that you will have the glow of a woman who has taken a lover?"
"Does it show?" Liz turned to look at her reflection in the window. "I mean, can you tell?"
That was when she realized he was teasing her.
"For your information, bub," Liz sighed. Her voice fell to a whisper. "I don't think anyone could... I mean, I don't think anyone will touch me like you have. And I don't just mean physically."
"It is the same for me, Liz," he sighed. He reached over and placed a hand on hers. "I do not want for you to go home."
"And I don't want to go, either," she sighed. "But I have to."
"The Spanish," Max gave a gentle smile. "They have this saying. Que sera, sera. What will be will be."
Liz gave a slow nod.
* * *
After leaving the café, Max led Liz to the Rue Mouffetard, a narrow but lively street.
"This is a fact I do know," Max nodded. "She is named after the mofette, the smell that there used to be here, when the street was the home of the tanners and the dyers along the river Bièvre, which has long ago been covered over."
"I'm glad we can't smell that now, Max," Liz wrinkled her nose. "I went to a tanners once, near Roswell. It wasn't very pleasant."
"But here now, it is very pleasant, no?"
"It's lovely, Max."
"And the Rue Mouffetard, she is so very old. During the Roman times, Rue Mouffetard was a major thoroughfare and the principal road between Paris and Rome by way of Lyon. In fact the stones of the old Roman road still lie several meters down under the current pavés.
But it wasn't only history that brought people to Rue Mouffetard. It was the particularly French, village-like feeling that had survived here. At the heart of the 'quartier' was the outdoor produce market, whose color and energy seemed to bind the neighborhood together. Max and Liz wandered around the market stalls, sampling the sights, the sounds and the vibrant colors.
"If you are worried for getting fat," Max smirked, "then perhaps we should not proceed."
"Why is that?" Liz twisted her head to look at him.
"Here it is an oasis for food from tous les pays. Greek, Indian, Japanese, French, which is including the crepes and fondues, Chinese, Italian and Mexican . Perhaps we might even find for you the New York Hot Dog, no?"
"No," Liz shook her head, wrinkling her nose. "I can eat American any time."
It was then that she started to smell the aromatic pointers of the world's cuisine. Liz couldn't help chuckling though. As good as it smelled the tourist like décor of the various buildings were every bit as tacky as the Alien themed establishments back home.
Max stopped outside of a store. It was called Filles à La Vanille
"She is also known as the "bazaar of dreams"," Max indicated the window. It was decorated with romantic, gauzy dresses in floral prints, along with exotic perfumes and stuffed teddy bears. "Come," Max led her inside.
"As lovely as it is, Max," she was looking around as he continued toward the back. It's not really me. Any of it."
"But what do you say to this, uh?" Max indicated a small sterile looking room at the back.
"What is it?" she frowned.
"Well, I think the girls they come here to have their ears pierced, no?"
"So I already have pierced ears, Max."
"This I know," he nodded. "But perhaps you might like something that you will see and forever be reminded of me and our time together here in Paris."
"Like what?" her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I was thinking that you might have a piercing..." he pointed his finger at her breast but before she could refuse, he dropped it to her navel.
"Will it hurt?" she couldn't believe she was considering it. But how thrilling it would be to show Maria.
"Not in ze slightest," an Oriental woman appeared. Her English was even more accented than Max. "I use ze ancient Chinese methods. You will feel nothing and ze pain, she will be gone tout suit."
"Really?" Liz turned to Max. "I don't know. What do you think?"
"I am thinking," he smiled, "that this will be a big step toward the new you."
"Okay," Liz smiled.
Twenty minutes later, and completely pain free as promised, Liz wore a jeweled pin in her navel.
"I feel so..."
"Très sexy?" Max raised an eyebrow.
"Decadent," Liz laughed. "And what about you?"
"I am not thinking that many men have the navel pins, no?" Max smirked.
"What about here?" she placed her finger over his nipple. "Remember?"
"I am doing mine when you are doing yours," Max laughed.
* * *
They stopped for a cup of tea at the Institute du Monde Arabe.
"She is Paris' new favorite building," Max nodded toward it.
"Why is that?" Liz took a sip of her tea.
"This I do not know," Max shrugged. "Perhaps it is because she is new, no? Like when the children get a new toy, it becomes their favorite until another new one comes along."
"That's quite a big toy, Max," Liz smirked.
"Speaking of the new toys," Max smiled. "How is your one? Are you perhaps experiencing any pain?"
"No," Liz shook her head, looking down at her navel. "No pain whatsoever. She was right."
* * *
Following the streets north, back toward the Seine, Max took her to a small park. Surrounding a garden, a soccer field and a boules pitch was the remains of a Roman amphitheater. This was the Arènes de Lutèce.
"It could originally have seated here 10,000 people," Max read from a large board just inside the gate. "Which was half of Lutetia,,, uh, this is the Roman name for Paris, half of the population of Lutetia. They could come here to see the gladiators as well as other forms of the entertainment less brutal, no? But during the dark ages, the people are coming here to take away the stone to fortify the Ile de la Cité."
Just outside of the gate was another, smaller plaque.
"What does this one say, Max?"
"This was placed here in 1951," Max informed her, reading from the display. "To commemorate for the city, her second millennium. It says 'Passer-by, dream before the oldest monument in Paris. May the city of Paris also be the city of the future and of your hopes."
"Well," Liz gazed up at Max with a soft smile. "Paris has certainly had an impact on my future, my time here has been just like a dream and I have a whole new set of hopes now."
"The same is for me, jolie Liz," Max nodded. "But sometimes, life is too big an obstacle."
They crossed the river on the Pont de Sully, on the tip of the Ile St-Louis. Half way across, Liz stopped and leaned against the wall, just staring at the Parisienne skyline.
"It's such a beautiful view," Liz's voice was soft and dreamy. "It's all just so romantic."
"This is why there are so many romantic films that like to put in them a scene where they have a kiss on a Parisienne bridge."
"I'll have to take your word for that, Max," Liz looked up and smiled. "I only have the film versions to go by."
"This I can fix," he grinned, turning her to face him.
With one hand holding her waist, the other held the nape of her neck, tangled in her dark chocolate tresses. His lips brushed hers. Lightly at first and then again with more purpose. Usig his lips, he started to nibble hers. Liz returned the compliment, wrapping her arms around him and molding her body to his. Their tongues entwined as they started to undulate together. The kiss deepened, became more and more passionate. The sounds of the traffic vanished. The people vanished. It was just the two of them, on the bridge in the middle of Paris, bathed in the la vie en rose.
"Max!" Liz gasped, breaking away from the searing kiss. Their foreheads leant against one another. She struggled to catch her breath. "Yeah. I guess those directors knew what they were doing. Although I have to say, I doubt that any of them have done it justice."
"You liked that, then, no?"
"No," Liz rolled her eyes.
* * *
They stopped for a late, light lunch at small bistro called La Galoche d'Aurillac
"This is an authentic Auvergnat bistro," he told Liz as they sat down amid the other hungry diners.
"It's look wonderful, Max," Liz was looking at everything, including the wooden clogs and the hams that were hung around the room. ""But what is 'Auvergnat' anyway?"
"Ah," he smiled. "Forgive me. This is a district of France. Like your New Mexico, no? She is called Auvergne. She is far to the south of here. Not too far from the Côte d'Azur.
* * *
"That's better," Liz held Max's hand and pressed herself against him as he led her from the bistro. "All this walking makes me hungry."
"And it was not too long ago that you were complaining at all the cake we are eating, no?" Max raised his eyes.
"I wasn't complaining about 'eating' the cake, Max," Liz chuckled. "Only at the weight I was going to put on."
"But you see," he shrugged. "Without the cake, you are like the car without the gas, no?"
"You have such a way with words," Liz shook her head. "Where are we going now?"
"Now," he smiled, "we are going to visit the Viaduc des Arts and the Promenade Plantée."
* * *
"The Viaduc," Max explained, "was once an abandoned, crumbling, decaying 19th-century railroad viaduct. She was scheduled to be demolished. But, instead, it has been transformed into a rich 21st-century combination of the stores and the parkland. The stores, as you can see, are tucked into the arches that support the viaduct. And the park is she is above and follows the old train tracks, up on top of the arches."
"So you get the life of commerce and the peace of greenery in the same place," Liz grinned.
"Exactement," Max beamed. "In fact, the people of Boston, they have come here to see for themselves what can be done, because they are having similar problems now that their 'big dig' is finished."
The shops recalled the history of the neighborhood, which was once the blue-collar home of artisans, craftspersons, and antiques shops. The shops, therefore, displayed the arts and crafts of today, some of them being made on the premises. Each shop occupied a single arch of the old viaduct. The arches had been refaced in a handsome orange-red brick that deliberately recalled another historic icon, the famous Place des Vosges not far away. Parking was tucked almost invisibly underground. The shop fronts themselves were elegantly detailed in glass, metal, and wood in a taut, minimalist architectural language that is very much that of today and becomes a kind of modern craft in itself.
"The stores though," Max continued, "as wonderful as they are, they are less than half the story, no? The rest is the park upstairs. It's called the Promenade Plantée. There are three miles of the old track bed that have been converted into a linear park, a kind of aerial nature walk in the city."
The landscaping was a botanist's dream. A visitor never got bored, the path was endlessly varied. Some of the plants rippled in the wind like natural marshland. Others resemble formal parterres. In places, the park spread out into playing fields and strolling parkland. At other times it narrowed to a tight file edged by dark trees. Or it became a courtyard where elderly people, sipping their wine, watched kids playing games. Sometimes the walk passed through a trellised arbor. In one place, there was a cave-like hideaway. In still another, the park sheared its way through a new building, splitting it in half.
There was no commercial activity along the Promenade Plantée, no cafes or flower markets, no newsstands or museums and no cultural attractions. But the life of the street below was always available. There was easy access by handsomely landscaped stairs and the odd elevator or two. Most importantly, the planners had built modern apartment blocks of maybe eight or ten stories along the length of the Promenade Plantée.
"Even in January, the shops and the Promenade are alive with the people," Max steered Liz through one of the many arbors.
It was in the shade of one of these arbors that they stopped for another - for there had been many - kiss. They had just broken apart, smiling at one another when they were distracted by the arrival of a French couple, perhaps a year or two older than themselves. Liz watched the couple stroll hand in hand among the dappled sunlight and looked up at Max with a smile. Did the two of them look as in love as that other couple? She reached up for another soul healing kiss when the man started shouting. Liz did not understand the words, but she recognized the emotion. He was angry with his girlfriend. She looked over at them. The young man's face was red as he was yelling at the woman, her head bowed to the floor as her shoulders shook with her crying. She whispered something to him, looking up at him. He shouted some more and stormed off. He paused and turned to face her again. He shouted again, punctuating his comments with his hands before he turned away and vanished among the greenery. The woman remained where she was for a while, crying, before she too moved away.
"What was that about, Max?" Liz's head leaned to one side as she tried to puzzle out what had just happened.
"As you are seeing," Max waved in the direction they had been standing. "They were the lovers, no? But he is angry with her because she has lied to him."
"Oh," Liz nodded in understanding.
"No, no, no," Max shook his head. He had a pained expression. "It was just a white lie and one that I cannot understand why he is so angry for it because they seemed so happy together. She has just confessed to him that she has no job. And he is angry because he has told her that he never dates the people who have no job. She told him that this she knew and that she said she had the job because they might never have got together otherwise."
"She still lied, Max," Liz frowned.
"But he was happy in her presence, no? We have seen this." Why did Max seem so saddened by this? "And he has turned her away because she lied so that she could be with him, making them both happy? Yes, she lied to him, but surely, such a love can take a little lie like that. She is still the same person, no?"
"I don't know," Liz started to feel a little uncomfortable. After all, was hiding her marital status from Max a kind of lie? A deceit? But Max had never asked her status and neither had she told him she 'wasn't' married. It was all semantics. She was living a lie. She decided to some clean. "Max?"
"Let us go for the coffee," he sighed, leading Liz by her hand towards some steps.
Her nerve vanished.
* * *
On the wide sidewalk in front of the shops, teenage in-line skaters performed acrobatically, bothering no one while entertaining the shoppers with their skills. Or an occasional mime artist would perform a series of comedic moves. Here and there, other street performers plied their trade, performing sketches for whatever change the passers by would drop. Up above on the Promenade, groups of school kids enjoyed outings in the fresh air and studied the plants. Smaller children and their parents and dogs came out of the apartments to the playgrounds and benches. The young lovers descended from the Promenade to a café below where they sat and watched a troupe of dancers.
After they had finished their act, taken their applause and collected the money thrown to them by the audience, Liz soon found that Max was again looking at her. She liked that he was always looking at her. He made her feel like she was something more than just an American tourist from small town USA.
"Did you do anything like this?" he asked her. "Dance? Sing? Perhaps you have acted in a play, no?"
"Maria's the singer, Max," Liz smiled. "She has an incredible voice and she likes to write her own songs, you know? As for acting, uh, no. I'm not into that. But I do like to dance."
"Really?" Max smiled.
"Maria and I have been taking lessons since we could walk," Liz nodded.
"And you perhaps dance on the stage in front of a huge audience?"
"No," Liz shook her head. "Sorry. I love to dance, and my teacher told me that I was really, really good, but I, uh... I don't like to dance in front of people. I mean, I had all the lessons, but I never took part in the pageants and stuff. I don't like being the center of attention. I guess it's the thought of all those people. I'm kind of afraid that they'll all be looking at me."
"Is it like your science, no?" Max smiled. "You dance with all of your passion?"
"Perhaps," Liz shrugged.
"And now," Max looked at his watch. "We must return to your hotel to make ourselves ready for tonight."
"What have you got planned?" Liz finished her coffee.
"Ah, ma chérie," Max grinned. "If I am telling you that, the surprise would be no more, ah?"
* * *
"Mais non, Liz," Max shook his head. "As much as I am loving you, we do not have the time to make the love just now. You must be patient, mon amour."
Her frustration, ever present throughout the day had threatened to explode when she watched Max strip naked for his shower. She had not made love to Max all day.
"We can be really quick, Max," she blurted. "Please?"
"Quick?" Max's eyes widened. He had a look of mock disgust. "Quick? No, no, no, no, no. Liz, making love to you is not something to be done quick. It is to be savored, enjoyed. And it is to be done properly. And we are not having any time to be doing that. We must leave soon and you have already showered. You would need another afterwards."
"You're such a spoilsport," Liz poked her tongue at him.
This I know," Max laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom. "But I will make up for it soon, n'est pas?"
* * *
Clothed as elegantly as she was in her shimmering gold wrap around dress, Liz couldn't help feel over dressed as she and Max stood in the corner of the crowded Metro carriage. They were on their way back from the outskirts of Paris where they had dined at an exquisite restaurant called 'La Forêt'. But at least she wasn't the only one so dressed. Other young ladies were dressed as glamorously, while a few were dressed far more daringly in their short clinging dresses with the low necklines, obviously destined for some club or other. She still felt as though she were on show, in spite of the fact that few people seemed to notice, or to care. And Max's commanding presence did seem to ward off any unwanted attention. So, with Max leaning against the back wall, Liz leaned against him, her back pressing against his torso while the crowded carriage continued to fill. One hand was holding the leather strap above her head.
Max's hand, ever present as it lightly rested on her hip, slid across her stomach. It held such a warmth that she couldn't help her soft moan of pleasure. The touch served to remind her that she and Max had not properly made love that day. When he started to rub her, soft gentle circles of his palm over her shimmering dress, her heart began to pound as her pulse raced. Amid the crowded commuters, a red flush crept over her face. She cast furtive glances around the carriage, looking to see if anyone was watching. His fingers played with the shape of her navel pin as they brushed across her.
Max's caresses grew and his hand dipped lower, stroking the top of her smooth mound, still over the material. Liz stood tense to the point of trembling, biting the inside of her lip as she concentrated on the feelings he was invoking within her. Was he even aware that he was doing this, she wondered? When his hand vanished, Liz couldn't be sure if she was disappointed, or relieved. But then his touch returned, causing her to squeal as her eyes widened. He had not replaced his hand on her belly but on her bottom instead. He was massaging her buttocks, through her dress. It was hard to ignore the hands that squeezed and caressed her like that.
"Max!" What was intended to be a scolding complaint sounded more like a plea.
The hand vanished in any case, only to reappear lower down, on her thigh below the hem of her dress. His other hand appeared on her stomach. Both started to caress her. The hand on her thigh inched upwards, slowly inspecting the soft skin sheathed by the silk stocking. The hand on her stomach slid across and vanished inside the fold of her dress, soon discovering the firm, warm flesh.
"Ma magnifique Liz," Max's low voice rumbled in her ear. "You are so warm, so sexy."
She couldn't believe it. Max was seducing her in a crowded train compartment. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she could not understand how the people around her had not turned to see what the noise was. No one seemed to even notice them.
The hand on her leg disappeared beneath her dress, or rather, it continued its' journey and pulled the dress up with it. Max was soon teasing her naked skin above her stocking top. The hand on her top half moved upward, slowly, gently encompassing her breast, over the silky smooth material of her bra. She could feel her hard nipple pressing against his palm. Liz was glad that the noise of the carriage and the surrounding buzz of conversation hid her whimper of pleasure. She tried to turn to face him, so that she could kiss him, but as he had the other night on her balcony, he prevented her. All she could do was to hand there from the strap while one hand kneaded her breast and another snaked up her thigh and across to her panty covered mound. Still no one seemed to notice a thing.
Max's fingers dipped first inside her bra, teasing her nipple, and then inside the small lacy panties, finding he wet and ready for him.
"Max," Liz closed her eyes and groaned. "What are you doing?"
"Do you not like it?" his voice seemed to laugh in her ear.
"No," she murmured. "I mean, yes. But, Max? Here?"
"Did you not dance in the rain, completely naked, mon amour? In the middle of a public park?"
Liz gulped while Max's fingers continued to play havoc with her, driving her on toward an orgasm. He stopped only when the train did, to allow passengers on, and off the compartment. As soon as the train started again, so too did Max's ministrations. Each time, Liz knew that someone must surely see them. But if they did, no one gave any indication. Liz could hardly believe that she, Perfect Parker, was turning into such a brazen exhibitionist. What would the people who knew her back home think?
"Oh, god," she gasped. "Max!"
Liz leaned back, pressing against his body. She felt a sense of satisfaction when she felt his hard erection pressing back against her. He was not unaffected, and he was getting no satisfaction.
Suffer, Liz grinned to herself as she braced herself for the approaching rush of her orgasm.
It never arrived. The train stopped and Max's hands disappeared from her body. She felt cold for their loss. Liz twisted her head to see why he had stopped.
"We are here," he winked at her. "We must get off now."
"Yes," Liz groaned. "We must. Only you won't let me."
* * *
"So where are we?" Liz was looking around at the grand buildings.
"Down the street there," Max indicated, "is the Louvre."
"Okay," Liz could just see a part of the building.
"And this," Max pointed to a huge, ornate building. It was all arches, stones carvings and collonades. Huge golden angels guarded the corners. About 1 third of the way down, large golden letters spelled out 'ACADEMIE NATIONALE DE MUSIQUE'. "... is the Opera."
"Opera?" Lis face shone. "I've never been to a real Opera. Which show are we seeing? La Boheme? Carmen? Rigoletto?"
"None of the above," Max shook his head with a smile. "The other day, when you are making free with your credit card in the store, I am going to the booking desk where they can obtain for you the tickets to the shows here in Paris. I was seeing that a very famous show is in Paris for a very special performance. The show is 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
"Really?" her eyes widened as Max led her inside the amazing building..
Liz was stunned by the beauty and the elegance of the building. The statuary, the sculpture, the friezes were all just so totally amazing. Inside, there was the white marble staircase with a green and red marble balustrade that curved along the edges of the Grand Foyer. The floors were polished marble while sumptuouse décor proclaimed that this was a very grand, very important building. The Auditorium itself was magnificent, too, with sculptures, more friezes and a Chagall ceiling.
She clutched Max's arm as he guided her to their seats high up toward the 'Gods', but close enough to see the stage clearly. She was falling in love with him more and more every day but this, this was too much. Everything had been so perfect. Their meal had been amazing enough; with lobster medallions, fine wine, and delightful pastries. And now, the Opera. To see the performance of a play that her friends back home could only dream of watching... And later, she would be alone with Max in her room at the Hotel. Could her life get any better?
But the opera, the play was the thing; a special performance of "The Phantom of the Opera," with Sarah Brightman reprising her role as Christine Daiae and Andrea Bocelli as The Phantom. A special performance at THE Opera! Liz loved Brightman and Bocelli, especially Bocelli.
This truly was a special night, and Liz was glad that she had taken special care in getting ready. Black silk thong panties, a matching quarter cup bra, black silk stockings and black high heeled sandals under a gold satin wrap around dress, held in place by a single clasp on her hip. A touch of the perfume he loved... Actually, five touches. Behind her left ear, on her throat, between her breasts, on her belly below the navel pin and one final one on her hip. All places she had noticed that he loved to kiss. All the places but one; only natural perfume there.
She looked good and she knew it. She knew it because he had told her so already this evening. Frequently. Good enough to fire his desire, she knew. She had already felt first hand how he had been affected and if her treatment on the Metro was anything to go by, she could hardly wait until they would be at home, in bed. Together. Naked.
Max looked wonderful, too: his dark hair, the faintest hint of designer stubble, deep honey colored eyes. And god! Did he look good in a tux! She had never seen anyone she knew in a tux; at least, not a proper tuxedo. The ones Kyle and his groomsmen wore were nothing like the one that was currently fitting Max like a glove. Dark pants and a dark jacket, with a gold cummerbund and a gold bow tie.
They settled into their seats and the lights dimmed. She took Max's hand, ran her fingernail across his palm and his wrist. Teasing. She wanted to tease him, to build his passion over a long period of time. He had played her mercilessly all day and now it was her turn. She was going flirt with him during the performance, letting him catch a glimpse of her flesh as she moved in her seat. She was going to surreptitiously touch him, caress him, building his passion... and her own. When they finally made it to their room later, there would be fireworks.
Already, she was thinking about later tonight, when he would kiss those five places, and others, and finally make love to her. The day had seemed so long. She knew that he liked to take her softly, sweetly, teasing her with slow strokes until she was ready, and then... But tonight, she wanted passion. She wanted it to be totally animalistic. Tonight, Liz wanted Max to fuck her.
The orchestra began. The overture came first, starting with the haunting strains of the organ and then, the softer melodies of "The Music of the Night." And at last, the play began, with Christine - Sarah Brightman - singing so beautifully. Captivated, Liz held Max's hand in her lap just above the heat of her liquid core.
Liz was loving this play. It had long been an ambition of hers to see the Broadway production, even going so far as to make plans with Maria and Pam to take a trip from Boston, but to finally see it in Paris, with Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli - it was just perfect. Seeing it with Max made it even more so. This made it special.
The Phantom appeared on stage. Andrea Bocelli, in a white mask, and a black tux exactly like Max's. He started to sing, and it sent shivers down Liz's spine. Her whole body was buzzing. Clutching Max's hand tighter against her hot loins, she just knew that her small panties were soaked through. She really hoped that her dress wasn't.
She found herself transported to another wortld where make believe seemed reality. Down to the dungeon, down to the subterranean lake, the Phantom took Christine. Liz was right there with them. There were candles everywhere; candles even appeared to be floating on the lake. A small boat took them across the water
"Sing for me, sing for me my Angel of Music," the Phantom commanded
And Christine sang. Tears were welling in Liz's eyes.
"Sing for ME!" the Phantom commanded, and she sang.
"Ahhhhh!" her voice rising higher and higher as The Phantom commanded her again and again.
Liz felt goosebumps.
The song climaxed and Christine hit and held the piercing high note.
"AHHHHH!"
To Liz, it was erotic, almost orgasmic, and she felt her body respond. She wondered if anyone else saw eroticism in Christine's cries, her submission to the Phantom. Sing for me. Come for me. Liz was wet. It wasn't Bocelli. Well, it wasn't just Bocelli; it was the Phantom. A mysterious man who had appeared from nowhere to take her to untold heights. Liz squeezed Max's hand. He squeezed back.
Before Liz could regain her composure, Bocelli launched into an incredibly beautiful rendition of "The Music of the Night." When Bocelli sang, 'Silently the senses abandon their defenses', she was entranced.
The rest of the first act was a blur, until the Phantom cried "GO!" and the chandelier flew across the theatre and crashed to the stage, shaking Liz from her trance. The lights came up for the intermission. Liz was breathless.
"You need some air," Max whispered into her ear.
Liz nodded and helped by Max, they rose from their seats. Her legs were very shaky.
Max led her out to the hallway while "The Music of the Night" ran through her head. The narrow hallway that led to the main foyer was blocked by the passage of the rest of the audience. No one seemed to want to let the couple slip into the crowd. There was a door to the right, with a sign that probably said staff only, but Liz couldn't read it. Max drew her to it anyway. He opened the door and she saw a dimly lit stairway, spiraling down.
"Where are we, Max?" Liz wondered if they were taking a short cut to avoid the crowds.
"Sing for me," Max smiled at her, dropping his voice to mimic Bocelli's. "Sing for me my angel of love."
"Max," she grinned at him as he pulled her into him.
Wordlessly, Max placed a finger to Liz's lips. He dropped his hand to the clasp at her waist and Liz felt her dress come loose. With a quick sweep of his hands across her shoulders, Liz was standing on the other side of a door that people were walking past, naked but for her wet panties, her bra and her stockings.
Their bodies crushed against one another. Their mouths open allowing their tongues to meet and dance together. They were both breathing heavily, their breath sawing in and out through their noses. Liz could feel the soft bite of Max's tux against her hot, needy skin. His hands were roaming across her back, tantalizing touches of his warm, firm fingers. Her bra became unfastened and fell to the floor with her dress. Maz's hands dropped from her shoulders, across her waist, over her hips and finally, teasing the globes of her firm backside. He teased her from behind which made her writhe against him, pressing herself against his raging erection.
She slid her hands to his groin and unfastened his flies. Unceremoniously, she pushed his pants to his knees. His manhood was quickly enveloped in her small hands. He groaned into her mouth, a counterbalance to her own higher pitched whine.
She felt pressure from Max as he guided her down to the carpeted floor. She surrendered herself totally, eagerly positioning herself on her back, without once breaking contact from him.
"Sing for me," he whispered again, breaking from the kiss.
"Max!" Liz begged when she felt the hardness at her wet core.
"Sing for me!" he demanded, pulling the wet cloth from her opening.
And then with one firm thrust, Liz cried out as he entered her.
"Sing for ME" he grunted as he started to give Liz what she was so desperate for.
Liz sang. Her cries of excited passion echoed down the empty stairwell as Max pounded into Liz with as much desperation as she had been feeling all day. Their climax came together. An explosion that dazed them both and left them motionless on the floor, gasping for breath.
"Max," Liz finally managed to murmur. "That was fantastic."
"Oui," Max nodded against her neck where his face was nuzzling. Kissing the spot at which she had placed a dab of perfume. "It was incroyable. But now, we must return to our seats, no? I would hate for you to miss the rest of the play, and the phantom, he has the second half to perform."
"Yeah," Liz panted, her eyes closed with the shear pleasure that Max was giving her. "And 'my' phantom has a second half to perform, too."
"And a third," Max nodded. "And si tout va bien, a fourth."
"And don't forget," she giggled. "I'll want an encore."
* * *
Itinerary is pretty self explanatory. 
Think it will succeed? 
