Wednesday, February 9, 2011


By Debbie Davis

You laugh nervously and move her hand away. “We don’t need to do that,” you whisper.
She smiles and puts her hand back on your chest and you try to remember the last time a chick this hot was throwing herself at you. Oh. Right. That’d be never. “I would like to say thank you for saving Napoleon, Monsieur Fred.” She brings her mouth close to yours and tries to kiss you. “So, merci.”
Her accent is spot on. At least from your vague memory of French class. The way the words flow from her lips makes you want to put yours there….No! Stop! You jerk your head away. “Wait, aren’t you from Austria?”
“Oui,” she nods. “How is it that you know this?”
Shit! You shouldn’t know that! Unless, of course your from hundreds of years in the future. Shit! Shit! Shit! Faux pas, even.
“You told me,” you offer. Her hand has now moved to the task of loosening the God forsaken shirt you’re wearing and your eyes dart around. Her bedroom door is closed, and the fireplace in the area you’re in flickers as if it is trying to set the scene for you out of some romance novel like the ones your mother used to read.
“I told you no such thing.” She smiles at you. “You would only know this if you were following me. Were you following me, Monsieur Fred?”
“I wasn’t following you,” you tell her.
“Monsieur Fred,” she shifts her body, rolling it closer to yours, and brushes her lips on your neck. Sweet Jesus. “It is not good to lie.”
“Napoleon told me then,” you try. “Earlier, before we came here. He wouldn’t stop talking about you,” you add, hoping she may allow this knowledge to sway her from the original mission. As much as you’d like to bone her, you’re no fool. She belongs to Napoleon Bonaparte, the emperor of France, for God sakes!
She smiles. “Ah, yes Napoleon is a great man, which is why I must thank you for saving his life.”
“Words are enough!” you say frantically. “Truly!”
A voice comes from your pocket. A voice that is going to be haunting your dreams for all of eternity. Thomas. “Could you stop talking you bloody eediot! It’s three thirty in the morning.”
Marie stops abruptly. “What was that?”
You shrug and shake your head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A disturbingly evil expression paints her face right before she grabs at your manhood roughly. You yelp. “You think I am stupide, Fred? Your crotch is talking.”
Actually, your pocket is talking. More aptly speaking, Thomas is simply back with his mindless babble. Blah. Blah. Blah.
“I assure you, Madame, it is not.”
Oui,” she says. “It is.”
Maybe she’s as pretty on the inside as she is outside. Perhaps the truth will work. You move her and sit up. “Marie, I am from far in the future. I came here in a time machine and I just want to get home.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. This story you tell is ridiculous and impossible.”
Okay, so that didn’t go off as well as you thought it would. You try the next best thing… rejection. “Listen Marie, I don’t know what you were hoping would happen between us, but I just don’t see you that way.”
She takes a lot of air in and before you realize what she’s about to do, and far before you can stop her, she screams, “TRAITOR!”
The word works like a flipping dog whistle and you jump to your feet just in time to see Napoleon storming from the room, naked as the day he was born.
Zut Alors! What is going on here?”
You look down at yourself: your shirt is unbuttoned, and despite how much you tried to think of your big toe while she was throwing herself at you, there’s a tent pitched in your pantaloons.
“N-n-nothing,” you say with as much confidence as you can find.
Napoleon's eyes dart to your pants. Since he’s naked you know he’s about to get a serious case of envy. “It does not look like nothing.”
Marie rushes to his arms. “Ah, Napoleon. This man Fred, he is a brute. He came here as your friend and confidante and now he tried to take advantage of me. The worst kind of animal.”
Napoleon is eerily quiet but he doesn’t need words. Anger swirls in his eyes, and he mumbles something to Marie that you cannot hear. She retreats into the bedroom and you look for something, anything you can use to defend yourself, but the only thing around is the blanket Marie tried to take advantage of you on.
You hold your hands up. “Listen man, your woman came on to me. I rejected her, end of story.”
“YOU LIE!” He screams.
“No,” you shake your head, “I swear, it’s true.”
“My woman is not unfaithful.” As he says it, Marie returns from the bedroom with the biggest sword you’ve ever seen.
“She’s unfaithful!” You yell. “And if she isn’t, it’s not for lack of trying!”
Napoleon lunges forward wielding his sword like the fencing people you’ve seen on TV. Only his sword is ten times as wide and three times as long. The frigging thing is huge. Well, we all know what he’s compensating for, you think to yourself in the seconds before he takes your head clean off your shoulders.

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