M&M de la Petite Gourmette

A Short Story and a Tale of Tail

By izzy sommers, md.

I met Michelle and Martin LaSalle about 6 months ago.  They managed a Montreal grocery, “La Petite Gourmette.”  They sold many foods and cleaners, school supplies and bottled drinks, flowers and gifts, newspapers and movies, paper plates and hats and ice-cream and candles.  Their biggest sales seemingly came from the Quebec Lotteries et Jeuants Bureaux, QLGB, scratch cards and lottery tickets.

“M&M,” as their customers called them, each spent about 8 hours daily doing business, including selling, cleaning, stocking shelves and refrigerators, dealing with suppliers and shmoozing with customers.  They attended church separately so that the store was always open for business from 7 am to 11 pm.  Most of the time, each brought a meal prepared at home to eat surreptitiously while working.  Mostly, Martin did the work and Michelle did the supervising.

The M&M marriage was mostly a private matter.  I guessed that they socialized very little and that they spoke lovingly to each other, rather rarely.  What few conversations I overheard were terse and tense.  I supposed it was the usual: a happy, productive union with an unrevealed underlying current of discontent and poorly resolved issues.  The common issues were seemingly common to them.   I learned they struggled with Michelle’s aging mother who had come for a weekend visit and managed to take up permanent residence in M&M’s home.  She may have been welcomed by one of M&M, but surely not by both.  Certainly, the details were not revealed to me…

Today, I was shmoozing with Martin about the Liberal’s conservative policies, while Michelle was discussing newspaper distribution with the wholesale newspaper deliveryman, whose very large windowless truck was parked and idling outside, occupying three of M&M’s parking spaces.  Michelle looked animated and flushed, having to look up at the smiling face of the well-muscled, handsome, tall young driver.  She and Luke Dumont walked out to his large Quebecor truck.  I left soon after on a serious quest to buy a pair of sports shoes that were large and wide enough for my big feet.

Soft moaning emanated from the big white truck.  I walked past the partially opened door at the rear of the truck and spotted Michelle LaSalle with her rear end naked.  Luke Dumont wore his white uniform pants down around his knees.  Michelle was bracing herself against the driver’s seat while Luke thrust rapidly with his pelvis on Michelle’s bottom.  Luke and Michelle gasped loudly, simultaneously, as I passed the truck and headed for my car.  I drove away without alerting Martin, and wondering about M&M,s stability.

I couldn’t get the picture of Luke servicing Michelle in the big white truck.  During the next two weeks, I observed Michelle offering her bottom to Pete, John and both the Osmond brothers as they delivered groceries, and all the other stuff, to M&M’s Gourmette, while Martin stayed inside the store.  Apparently, he was oblivious to Michelle’s bold adventures in the delivery trucks, or so I thought.  I was torn between informing him and confronting her.

One fateful Tuesday morning, I stood outside La Petite Gourmette, smoking a small cigar composed of pipe tobacco.  Luke arrived and backed his truck into the parking lot, beside my Mini Cooper.  He carried three bundles into the store.  I climbed inside the truck and sat in Luke’s front seat.  I heard the laughing voices of Michelle and Luke as they climbed into the truck.  Pulling down my trousers, I exposed my manhood and awaited a surprise.  It was indeed surprising as Michelle assumed her provocative position, presenting her naked rear end to Luke’s readied manhood stuff.  While grunting and perspiring, both Luke and Michelle noticed me and my equipment in Luke’s front seat.  Finishing their act of satisfaction, they dragged me to the floor.  Michelle mounted me while Luke assisted her.  He helped her rock excitedly whilst mounting her from behind, again, and rocking rhythmically with her.  The three of us moaned and gasped, as we exploded all at once.  Dressing rapidly, we exited the truck in single file and walked toward the store.

Martin had come outside to smoke a small cigar.  He sighted us and smiled.  “Thanks again, dear Luke,” he said to Luke, and shook his hand.  “I’m a bit surprised at you, my friend,” he said to me.  “You haven’t paid the piper.  You owe Michelle and me a hundred bucks.”  I reached inside my pockets and retrieved a hundred dollars.  Michelle grabbed the money and smiled.  “A banner day!” she said to her husband and handed him the cash.  “Come on my friends,” she said.  “We have to clear the parking lot.  The triplets, Sam and Charles and Alex Bottomless, will soon be here delivering the dairy stuff.  So, Scoot!”  She disappeared inside the store.

Luke drove off and Martin put his hand on my shoulder.  “Rene, Mon Ami, I didn’t know you had an interest in my wife’s derriere.  Would you be interested in a younger woman?”  He led me into the storage room in the back of the store.  A smiling, lovely blond young woman sat in a chair in a corner behind the laden shelves.  She took my hand and sat me in her naked lap.  Zipping down my zipper, she extricated my growing manly thing and introduced it to her flowing girlie thing.  Martin was smiling all the while and helped us get closer and helped us begin our rocking.  We moaned and we grunted and we quickly consummated our encounter.  Martin introduced me to his niece, the youngish woman.  “This is Rene, my dear Elizabeth.  Liz, meet Rene.  Rene, this is my sister’s youngest daughter, Elizabeth.  She likes to be called often and by the name, ‘Dizzy Lizzy.’  Rene, Dizzy could be had here every Tuesday if you pay me $200, up front.  She’s worth it, isn’t she?”

I agreed that Dizzy was worth it, and then some.  “D’accord!” I said.  So, every Tuesday that year, I paid Martin $400 for Michelle in the Quebecor truck with Luke,  Lizzy in the store-room with Martin and Jeannette, M&M’s second cousin, in the tiny bathroom with Michelle assisting with the union and with the rocking, on the warmed up toilet seat.

Perhaps, my dear reader, you’re a little curious of Martin and his activities, in addition to his pimping for his wife, Michelle, his niece, Lizzy and his second cousin, and industrious, live-in maid, Jeannette.  On the sly, he told me that he attended naked Karate classes for prepubescent boys and over-the-hill grannies, every Monday and Thursday night, in Mattawan.  He said, “It only costs me $500 for a yearly membership at the YMHA.  In the meantime, I earn a lot of cash as the exclusive distributor of Scornful Porn, a comic book for wealthy teens and tweens.”

THE END, I think…

(C) izzy sommers and Rene Suffrage

Montreal, PQ, and Mattawan, ON

Easter Monday and April Fool’s Day

2013, 2014 and 2004