Monday, February 14, 2011

TIME DOUCHE CH. 4 - Let's Get It On

By MJ Heiser

Napoleon Bonaparte has a reputation for being cagey, smart, relentless, and incredibly short-tempered. He experienced a meteoric rise to power, and it began shortly after the end of the French Revolution. Yes, before long, he will be one of the most powerful men in the Western World.

But Marie is effing sexy, and there is no way you're letting this hot piece get away from you.
Besides, you think to yourself as you sink further into irrevocable arousal, I have a time machine. He does not. I can totally get away with this.

She whimpers as you pull her bustle-bottomed body closer to you. Curly tendrils of her soft, fragrant hair fall in your face. She straddles your leg and slowly starts to grind her delicious, curvaceous, straight-from-a-period-romance-novel body against yours.

"There is something so different about you," she whispers heatedly into your ear. "I saw it when you first arrived. You are – cleaner? Different grooming? You stand differently –"

Nubleman's totally unwelcome voice intrudes on this very sexy moment. "Please, dear God, tell me you're not about to boff Marie Therese."

"Who?" you ask your pocket.

Marie screeches and bounces away from your prong-accented lap. "Merde! What was that?"

Damn, you think, and you slap your hand over your forehead. You addressed Nubleman before you addressed the woman you were about to defile. You drag your hand down your face, then return your attention to Marie. She's wide-eyed and frightened, pressed into the far corner.

"Shh, it's okay," you whisper, approaching the young woman and trying to find a way to keep her from screaming. As the blood returns to your brain, you find it suddenly easy to reflect on how fear is a total turn-off.

"Someone referred to me as Marie Therese!" she whispered. This whisper is a far cry from the silky purr she'd slid into your ear just a moment ago. This one is harsh and accusatory. "Who said it? You tell me now, you peasant scum!"

You frown at her. Peasant scum? Who is this broad?

"Uh, I didn't hear anything." You want to slap your hand over your forehead again. You sure aren't going to be winning any Nobel prizes for rhetoric. –Oh, right. The Nobel prize guy hasn't even been born yet, has he?

The young woman's manner stiffens, and you see something almost regal in her bearing. "You lie, pig."

Pocket Nubleman has gone quiet. You want to ask him who the hell Marie Therese is, but she doesn't seem to respond well to him, and the last thing you need is evidence of what you're trying to convince her didn't happen.

There's commotion in the next room. Marie pulls you close, but it certainly isn't a move borne of desire or any of that lovely lust that was so thick in the room a moment ago. She hisses in your ear: "You listen to me now. No one is to know I am Marie Therese. As far as anyone is concerned, Marie Therese is on her merry way to Austria to escape the fate of her parents. I want no part of beheadings or anything having to do with my royal past – I want only to live my life as a common woman, and perhaps even the consort of Napoleon."

You think you hear a deep intake of breath from your pantaloons pocket. You wonder if Nubleman is rubbing his fat fingers together in glee over these dark intrigues. You don't really care. You suddenly feel the sleep deprivation down to your toes. Lust overrides fatigue, but the effects don't last forever.

What I wouldn't give for a Starbucks, you think wearily to yourself.

"Do you understand me, pig?" Marie adds.

"So I can't tell Napoleon that you're – whoever you are."

"I am Marie Therese," she says haughtily, drawing herself up to her full height. "I am Madame Royale, Fille de France, and eldest child of Louis and Antoinette."

"So – Napoleon won't like that."

She giggles. "He'll probably want to kill me."

You sigh. "That's not even a little awkward for me, is it?"

Her smile falters. "What isn't?"

French royalty was apparently not well-schooled in sarcasm.

Oh, well, it hardly matters. You're out of here tomorrow – right? Then Marie can play her little black-sheep, naughty-princess games with Napoleon and all of his other friends. In the meantime, you need sleep.

"Never mind. I won't tell Napoleon – but may I get some sleep now?"

"I still want to have you," she says, and that gorgeous sex kitten has suddenly made her reappearance in the room. She glides closer.

And right at that moment, the door to your private little hidden shelter explodes inwards, showering your head with wooden shrapnel. Four large brutes (really? France was capable of making men this big? What happened?) shoulder their way into the cramped space.

"What have we here?" says the biggest of the louts. He is obviously unaware he has uttered a total movie-line cliché. "Where is Napoleon? He is due back at camp. We have reports that Marie Therese has escaped."

Marie looks at you. Once again the fear in her eyes proves to be a total turn-off.

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