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From: sandman@bitsmart.com (SandMan)
Subject: {SANDMAN} New Story: "French Kisses" (m/f) (m/F) (M/F) (M/FF) (cons)
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Content Warning: This work of fiction contains mature subject matter
and graphic sexual language. If you think you can't deal with this
story, or if it's illegal to possess such material in your locality,
please hit the delete button now. If you're a minor then you MUST
stop now and go no further. As a work of fiction, any similarities to
any person(s) dead, alive, or fictional is merely a really weird
coincidence.
Subject: A retelling of "Janey's April" from a male perspective. The
same story -- twice. One feminine, one masculine and when they come
together, why that is the moment of creation itself…
Subject Matter: (m/f) (b/f incest) (m mast) (m/F) (M/F) (M/FF) (Cons)
Rating: (X) Not suitable for minors. May be illegal in some areas.
Copyright (c) 1998 by sandman@bitsmart.com. Portions of this story
are Copyrighted (c) 1998 by Janey and are used with permission.
Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely WITHOUT MODIFICATION on
USENET, USENET II, not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit ftp sites,
and news archival services which offer free public access to archived
articles. Janey can do whatever she wishes with this story. All
other rights are specifically reserved by the author.
Creation Date: 5/9/98
Distribution Date: 5/12/98
Archive: http://extra.newsguy.com/~bitbard
Author's notes: This is a companion to "Janey's April" by Janey. The
order you read the stories in is not important although it will be
easier to understand the formal language in this story if you read
Janey's story first. If you read this story first you should next
read "Janey's April". If you've already read "Janey's April", kick
back and prepare to see the world through different eyes.
When I read "Janey's April" I was amazed at the richness of the
Jean-Claude character and wanted to know more about him. So I sat down
and wrote down the details that Janey hinted at in her story. When I
got to the point where Jean-Claude participated in Janey's story I
kept right on going. The ending of the two stories is *EXACTLY THE
SAME*. The perspectives are different though and therein lies the
tale.
A final note. This story is told by a Frenchman and the narrative
tends to be formal and is not always perfect. Some mistakes are
deliberate and some are accidental. You will enjoy the story more if
you imagine the narrative with a French accent.
Credits: From beginning to end this is Janey's story. It's her
character and her plot. Mike Ink, a reclusive wordsmith, has saved us
all the perils of my grammar and punctuation (among other things) and
polished this story more than I ever dared dream.
==========
French Kisses
(A companion to Janey's April)
-- By Sandman
===========
I was born in 1935 in Lyons, France. It was a very bad time to be a
Frenchman, it was a very bad time to be a child. All around me the
great post-war depression raged and people whispered in hushed tones
that the winds of war were echoing through the hills again. And at
the age of four, war did indeed arrive sweeping away the last remnants
of my childhood innocence for war cares nothing of such things.
My Papa, a great and noble man, spoke soothing words to the German
occupiers by day and worked for the French resistance by night. Often
we would shelter Allied soldiers on their way back to friendly
territory. It was a dangerous thing what we did, for the Germans
wished to make many examples, that people would not do what my family
did.
As the youngest brother of three older sisters, I had a very
pronounced education in the differences between boys and girls, all
the more so since our parents kept us separated from our neighbors.
Children know nothing of responsibility or danger. If I were allowed
to play with the other children my age, I might say something and my
friend might say something to his parents, and not all Frenchmen could
be trusted. My father was certainly not going to leave that trust up
to the idle chatter of young boys.
So, as war raged around us, I played house and sipped tea with my
sisters in our tiny dwelling. I saw them nude countless times, and
they I, for it was a small house and nudity to the French simply was
not the shameful thing you Americans like to think. And so, at a very
early age I knew the difference between boys and girls. Thanks to the
war, I learned at a very early age what that difference was for. I
also learned at the same time many things which to this day are burned
into my very soul.
It was 1943, and the war was going very badly for the Germans. Allied
bombers were wreaking havoc with their war effort, and they were
powerless to do anything about it. Like the bullies they were, they
took it out on those who were powerless against them, and ground the
people of France under their boots.
Occasionally the German forces would manage to shoot down a bomber and
just as occasionally a survivor would manage to make it to the
underground. That particular night we were housing a young American
soldier in the secret room our Father had built in the basement. My
sister, Jeannette, and I were keeping the young man company, and he
was telling us of the war and how well it was going.
His name was Bill Gere, and he was only sixteen, and barely that. He
went into great detail about how he had fooled the recruiting officer
into believing he was eighteen. He was only three years older than
Jeannette, who sat beside him, listening politely. It was nothing we
had not done hundreds of times before. But today would be different.
Today the war, which was always a thing raging around outside our
front door, came inside.
We fell quiet when we heard a pounding on the ceiling, a signal that
someone was at the door and to remain quiet. It was probably
Mademoiselle Vinchie coming to borrow a cup of milk, but even a false
alarm could set our nerves on edge. Though I was only seven, I knew
enough to feel fear and the frustration at being unable to do anything
about it.
How long we sat there listening quietly to the muffled voices and
thuds of people moving about I can not say. Time ceased to exist
after that first warning. Bill had put his arm around Jeannette,
trying to calm her, though there was sweat on his brow and he glanced
nervously at the ceiling.
When the door opened, we all gave a start, and Bill was on his feet
fumbling for his side arm.
My father's face was a mixture of fear and authority. "For the next
several days some German soldiers will be quartered in our house."
His voice was hushed, a whisper so low we had to strain to hear it
though its tone brokered no argument.
He stared at Jeannette a moment. It was a thoughtful stare, a
considerate stare. I did not understand it at the time, but I do now.
Papa was thinking that Jeannette was no longer a little girl, and that
maybe it would be best if the Germans would not see her. Then he
glanced over at Bill, and I know now that he worried about Bill as
well.
"You two stay with the American." He told us. "Stay quiet. This
will pass if you keep your heads." And then he closed the door,
leaving us alone.
I can not begin to tell you how terrible that first night was. Even
today, I wish that we had had at least a clock in that room. The
tick-tocking away of the seconds would have at least marked the
passage of time, giving us something else to think about instead of
the danger we were in from men with guns walking above us. Boredom
and terror merged into an endless litany of torment.
The second day was just as bad, though by now we had at least gotten
used to our situation. Bill had taken on the role of Jeannette's
protector, his arm constantly around her. With nothing else to occupy
my attention, I noticed how they touched each other; how Bill's
fingers idly felt Jeannette's arm; how her fingers weaved into his;
how they would nuzzle their heads into each other. We could not talk,
nor could we move lest we give ourselves away, but between my sister
and this American crewman much was being said.
That night something happened upstairs. I later learned that one of
the solders had touched my eleven year old sister in a way he should
not have, and my Father took issue with it. There was a lot of
scuffling and shouting and the sounds of things breaking, and then a
gunshot. My father was not hurt, another soldier had grabbed the
man's arm and changed the aim. The soldier was moved to another house
and things got quiet again.
But we did not know what was happening. My sister and I were sure the
Nazis were murdering our family. We knew they would do it just for
the sport of it. I know that sounds horrible, but it was almost true.
In war, men do terrible things, things they would never do in
peacetime.
When the scuffling started, my sister rose to her feet, staring at the
ceiling as if somehow she could see through it and know everything
would be all right. When the gunshot went off she squealed. Loudly.
Too loudly. Bill, who was standing beside her, hugged her tight as
she trembled in his arms. We were sure we had been heard.
It was too much for Jeannette, and she began sobbing. The sobs were
small whimpers at first, but as the unknown and our danger gave birth
to her fears the whimpers became louder, just when it was beginning to
get quiet upstairs. Left alone, my sister would have doomed us all,
but Bill kissed her. It was not a friendly, reassuring kiss on the
cheek. It was a forceful, demanding kiss, on her lips, with all the
confidence born from their many hours of touching.
I know he did it to quiet her. Knowing what I know now of men and
women, Bill did not set out seduce my sister. The touching was a
comfort; nothing more, nothing less. The kiss was to quiet her -- the
only way he could do it without scaring her more. But the kiss,
surrounded on all sides by fear and terror, perched over the abyss of
life and death, took on a life of its own.
Everything became quiet as they looked into each other's eyes. To
them it must have seemed as if the world had stopped and maybe it had.
I sat in the corner watching them watch each other -- a seven year old
boy trying to understand things much larger than himself.
They kissed again, and it was not a slow, tender thing, but a thing
born of need. Not the need of lust, but the need to feel safe and
wanted. This too, I did not understand at the time, but do now. From
within this kiss they removed each other's clothing, in a strange,
silent ballet.
I knew the difference between boys and girls, but as Bill's engorged
penis came into view the second part of my education began, as I
learned the difference between women and men.
In the tiny room, Bill and Jeannette moved to the bed and she spread
her legs for him, an invitation he accepted readily as he slid into
her. In the dim light, I saw them move together in silence. There
was a muffled gasp as Bill stiffened in Jeannette's arms, and then he
rolled off beside her and they fell asleep in each other's arms.
The next day the German soldiers moved on, and life returned to normal
when Bill moved on to his next stop. A week later, I held Jeannette
in my arms as she grieved for Bill. He had been shot by a German
patrol. As I held her quivering body in my small arms, I began to
understand the intimacy of touch Jeannette and Bill had shared during
those terrifying days.
I grieved for Bill as well. He was a nice boy who deserved more than
a cold, unmarked grave. Many had passed through our doors to die
shortly thereafter, and I grieved for them as well. But not like
Jeannette grieved for Bill. Bill had become a part of my sister's
heart, and she never forgot him.
I love my sisters, one and all, but our shared terror in the basement
brought me closest to Jeannette. Naturally, I asked her about what
happened in the basement, and she surprised me by being honest and
forthright. Years later, she had confided that since I had watched
her with Bill, she felt there was nothing to hide. She was a little
afraid that if she displeased me, I would go to our Father. I had
seen sex, but Jeannette explained it to me, giving concept to action.
As time went on, the initial explanation led to still more questions
about touch, love, lust, sex, and eventually masturbation, all of
which Jeannette answered to the best of her ability. Though Bill had
been her first, and had not brought her to climax, she was still a
voice of profound wisdom to an inquisitive boy.
We grew closer still when I asked her how girls masturbated. When I
wondered at her answer, she took me again to the basement and showed
me. From there, she taught me how a woman really liked to be kissed.
It was all a great game to me. I was too young to experience anything
but mild pleasure as she would finger my penis, or on occasion suck on
it. But I enjoyed knowing how much my kisses pleased her. I enjoyed
her soft, warm fingers around my penis as I sucked her clitoris
between my lips. It was far more fun than playing house or tea party,
and for a young, isolated boy in the midst of a war, I guess it was as
good a way as any to pass the time.
Eventually the war ended, and I was suddenly free to be a young boy
again. My time with Jeannette became less frequent, as we both
cultivated other friends and experiences.
Though Jeannette was a most wonderful teacher, I was still very much a
virgin. Thanks to Bill and my sister I had a very good idea of how
things were done between a man and a woman, and thanks to my sister I
was far beyond my years in the art of pleasing a woman. But it would
be many years later before the last of my education was completed.
In the years following the war, it was a great time to be a Frenchman.
Though the war had ravaged our country and scarred our lives horribly,
thanks to Allied assistance and our own determination we were
rebuilding our shattered country. For the first time in memory,
French people looked to the future with anticipation instead of dread.
The war had taken a generation of men, leaving only the very old, the
very young, or the very lucky. Millions of widows had sacrificed
their husbands for our freedom, and they all looked with envious eyes
at the women whose men still remained. In the years after the war, a
man in France did not have to look for a woman; in France, a woman
would find him.
In 1950, at the age of fifteen, my Father took me into his business
and I helped him wherever I could, learning the trade our family had
been in for generations. I suppose I knew what my father was doing
when he and his secretary would sneak away in the afternoons. Their
flushed skin and dishelved appearances on their return were more than
enough clues for a boy with my background.
It was a surprise at first, for if a child knows anything at all, it
is that he will live forever, and that his parents would always be
together. When I first realized what they were doing I was worried,
but I realized that my Father still loved my Mother, and so after a
while I accepted this as something grownups did.
It helped that I rather liked Celeste. She was a very beautiful woman
who had lost her husband in the war. In the office we would often chat
while we worked, sharing many likes and dislikes.
My father got a tip that a large American newspaper needed a reliable
source of paper, and so would be gone for a month while he followed
that lead. At first, nothing seemed any different, other than the
fact that the office seemed more peaceful and work seemed to flow more
smoothly. But when I looked up from my desk, it was often I would
find Celeste looking at me as if she were lost in thought.
A week had passed before Celeste asked me, "Your Father and I usually
go out for a glass of wine at this time. Would you like to join me?"
It seemed harmless enough, and I agreed readily as it was a warm
spring day and the office seemed so gloomy and oppressive. We walked
a few blocks to a sidewalk bistro and sipped wine while we chatted and
watched the people bustling along.
"So many women." Celeste said pointedly, noting that at least twenty
women passed by for every man. "With things as they are in France
these days you must have many beautiful girlfriends, no?"
I blushed for the answer truly was no. At fifteen, I thought of such
things, of course, but Jeannette was long married, and I was so busy
between school and helping my Father at business that I had no time
for such things. I told her the latter.
She tisk-tisked me. "You remind me very much of your papa. So big,
so strong, so handsome. It is hard for me sometimes to think of you
as a boy. It is a shame you do not have a girlfriend to share these
qualities with."
My blush grew deeper, from her flattery. I did not know how to reply
to her. And so an awkward silence fell over what had been a light and
cheery afternoon in the sun.
"Did I offend you?" Celeste asked with an almost amused expression on
her face.
"No. Not at all!" I answered hastily. "I - I - No one has ever told
me I was big and handsome before. I do not know how to respond!"
And there my friends, you have my secret to charming the ladies. If
my sisters taught me anything at all, they taught me that there is
nothing a woman hates more than a lie, and an avoidance of the truth
or a lie of omission is just as bad. To admit ignorance or weakness
is no great thing to them, and they will not think less of you should
you do this, but to speak a lie will build a wall between you that is
very hard to tear down.
Celeste laughed lightly at my confession and took my hand in hers,
patting it soothingly, "Why Jean-Claude, when a woman tells you how
big and handsome you are, you tell her how pretty she is! And if she
is not pretty, tell her how nice her dress is or how nice her hair is!
If you do this small thing very wonderful things will happen, you will
see!"
"You are very pretty." I said, following her instructions, but I
meant it too and was glad for the excuse to say it.
Celeste laughed lightly again. "Oh, that is very good! Next time,
say it with more conviction. Then tell her why she is pretty. A
woman will never believe she is beautiful until a man tells her why.
But be careful, Jean-Claude, because if you do this small thing, the
woman shall give you her heart, and that is a very delicate thing
indeed!"
"I love the way the sun highlights your hair." I said, my voice
becoming wistful. "I love the color in your cheeks and the way your
eyes sparkle. I love the way you look at me in the office when you
think I'm not looking."
Celeste's smile faded at that, softening into an expression that
seemed to me that I had said it right. She leaned over and kissed me
on one cheek with her full, moist lips, then on my other cheek, but it
was a stretch for her and the corner of her lips pressed against mine.
She paused briefly, and drew back until her lips were pressed to mine.
Her lips parted slightly in invitation, but I did not know enough to
reply, and the moment passed.
She was blushing furiously when she pulled away; the blush of a woman
who has done something which perhaps she should not, but something
which she has enjoyed anyway.
"You see? Very wonderful things!"
For the second time that day I was speechless.
We finished our drinks and returned to the office.
That night I lay in bed thinking of Celeste, and the feel of her lips
pressed to mine. I dreamed of kissing her between her legs as I used
to kiss Jeannette, and wondered if Celeste would enjoy it as much. I
wondered if Celeste would do other things with me as well. Things I
had been too young to enjoy with Jeannette, but things I now was more
than ready for.
>From the room next door I heard the muffled moans and shuffles of my
sister Annette as she pleasured herself; something she did far more
frequently now that my other two sisters had married, leaving Annette
with her very own room. Sometimes I would lie awake wondering what
would happen if I went to her at such a time and offered myself to
her. I wondered if maybe she would let me play with her as I had
played with Jeannette.
But what had happened between Jeannette and I had simply happened.
Annette and I were not so close and I feared that if I did something
so foolish it would estrange me from my sister. And so, through the
thin walls, I contented myself with listening. Maybe she listened to
me too. Maybe she thought of offering herself to me at such moments.
Life is strange is it not?
I removed my penis and began the soft, rhythmic strokes that had
always brought me such pleasure. Annette's muffled moans filled my
ears and the memory of Celeste's kiss filled my thoughts, as my hand
danced in the darkness.
Jeannette's instructions had left me with very vivid memories. About
now, Annette's finger would be pressing in fast circles around her
clitoris, her hips rising to meet her imaginary lover. Another hand
would be stroking her breasts, tracing the areola around an erect
nipple, or maybe she was thrusting her fingers inside herself. My
head arched as I followed the vivid imagery. I cupped a hand around
my balls to heighten the pleasure, then I let my thoughts drift to
Celeste, and I took her as Bill had taken Jeannette. I was young; it
did not take long. I was alone; it did not need to.
The next day, Celeste arrived late to work, but she took my breath
away when she did. It was a new dress she wore that day, but even
without what had passed between us the day before, this thing would
have planted the seed of lust in my heart. Today, she wore a blouse
with a plunging neckline that gave tantalizing glimpses of her
breasts. Celeste did not have huge breasts as some women do, but what
she did have were perfectly shaped breasts. They were just the right
size to hold in one's hands, with two very, very prominent nipples,
which were, at the moment, creating two very prominent bumps in her
blouse.
Her skirt was very short. It was not a miniskirt, for it would be
years before that boon-to-mankind would be adopted. But it did end
just below her knees, which at the time was considered a very racy
thing for a woman to do -- even in France. And to highlight the legs
she had placed on display, she wore high-heeled shoes. To a man, wise
in the ways of the world, the dress would have made her seem an object
of desire. To a boy, the dress was devastating. My penis was
saluting her from the moment she walked into the office.
She greeted me as if nothing of note had passed between us the day
before, and as if she were not wearing a dress designed to instill
lust in any man who saw her. Then she began to chat about trivial
things, things I paid scant attention to, as my eyes stayed glued to
the vision of loveliness before me.
She would have been blind not to have seen the effect she was having
on me, but she did not acknowledge it. As the day wore on, I was
treated to tantalizing glimpses of her as she played with me. When
she bent over to look at some papers on my desk, the plunging neckline
suddenly revealed even more of her tantalizing breasts. When she
moved the chair over to start filing some papers, she was positioned
so I could ALMOST see up her skirt. When she bent over to pick up
some dropped item, obscene thoughts immediately sprang to my mind.
I say these things and know they sound cheap, like she was throwing
herself at me, hoping to drive me so wild with lust that I would take
her right there on her desk. But that is not the way it was at all.
She toyed with me like an elegant stripper toys with her audience. It
was as a game to her to tease me. If she had planned to go no
further, it would have been a very cruel tease. But Celeste was not
cruel.
Again that afternoon we went to the bistro to share some wine and
enjoy the fine spring day. When I stood up from my desk for the
first time that day, Celeste's eyes drifted down to the bulge in my
pants, and her self-satisfied smirk was the only acknowledgement she
gave to her effect on me.
Over wine, she asked me to help her rearrange some furniture at her
apartment after work, and I readily agreed. I did not know what to
expect, but the merest hint of a possibility of a chance was enough to
make me her willing slave. The rest of the afternoon could not pass
quickly enough.
The job consisted of pushing a few chairs and a sofa around -- nothing
too strenuous. When I was done, Celeste was very pleased with the
results, and she offered me some wine as I rested on the sofa.
She sat next to me and took a small sip of wine before saying, "I have
been wanting to rearrange my apartment for the longest time. It is
so nice to have a strong man around to do these things."
"It is nice to do these things for a pretty woman." I replied,
remembering her instructions. But though the words were coached, the
meaning was not -- I meant every word.
She smiled then leaned over and kissed me. Again, on the cheek.
Again, a friendly kiss.
"You remembered," she said, smiling as she ran her finger around the
rim of her glass.
"It is easy when it is also the truth," I replied. "You are a very
pretty woman."
"Why?" she asked, reminding me of the most important part.
A million reasons sprang instantly to mind and I struggled to give
them form. "Your skin is like the softest silk, and your lips are
sweeter than wine. The way you smile, the way you brush your hair
from your eyes, the way it falls across your shoulders, and your
dress, your dress," I stumbled, unable to find the words.
""You like maybe the way my breasts fill out my dress?"
Oh yes! I could only nod.
"And my skirt? Do you like the way they show off my legs?"
With each word that fell from her lips, I died a slow lingering death,
but what a way to die. The world had stopped, and this time there
were not even soldiers around.
She reached over and took my hand in hers, then ran my hand along her
arm.
"Soft like silk? That's very nice. You'll have to remember that for
the other girls you will charm." She ran my hand down to her skirt,
running it under the fabric so that it rested on her knee. "But
perhaps I am softer here?" she asked, her voice falling, becoming ripe
with anticipation. She pulled my hand up farther along her leg,
guiding it along the inside of her thigh. "I think that now maybe you
would like to taste my lips again." And as she guided my hand ever
upward, she leaned into my arms and kissed me.
As she parted my lips with her tongue, Celeste expanded my knowledge
of intimacy. A French kiss had never been a part of my education.
The feel of her tongue rubbing against mine, and then my tongue
exploring her mouth was almost as earth-shattering as the discovery
that Celeste was not wearing panties and that she was slick with
desire.
The kiss was new to me, how to pleasure a woman was not. It had been
years, but my fingers had not forgotten how to part a woman, and how
to seek out that special spot that gave her so much pleasure. Celeste
gasped in pleasure and surprise as I touched her.
She pulled back and looked at me with surprise and maybe a little
fear. "You've done this before?"
"This, yes." I answered, pausing in my ministrations. "Am I doing it
wrong?"
She softened, and put her hands on mine, moving my hand in slow
circles, as she answered, "No." And then she kissed me again.
As her breathing became heavy, her hands drifted down to my pants and
began tearing at them to free what lay inside. Then she leaned back,
pulling me on top of her, and guided me inside her.
It was not what I expected.
It was better.
For a day, my penis had protested at the confines of my clothing as
Celeste had teased me. For an afternoon, I was ready to explode from
the feel of Celeste's womanhood against my fingers. Suddenly I was
free, and wrapped around me was a warm, moist vagina that was pulsing
from the attentions I had had given it. And below me was Celeste, my
beautiful Celeste.
I moved as I remembered Bill moving, then I moved as I needed to move.
I did not need to move for long. It had barely begun, and it was
over; the feel of Celeste around me, providing more stimulation than I
had ever experienced before, after so much anticipation, was too much.
But when my pleasure came, it was no weak, timid thing.
Celeste looked disappointed, as my eyes focused.
"Are you always so quick with your girls?" she asked.
"You are my first," I answered.
"Surely not!" she protested.
Then I told her of basements and sisters, while I rested in her arms.
"Then the next time shall be better." she said firmly. "Next time,
you must not be so quick. It is not the ending, for that is always
the same, it is how you get there."
I was very young; and if youth is quickly spent, it is quickly
replenished. The second time was better -- for both of us.
Celeste was my second teacher, but my first true passion. When my
father returned from his trip, it seemed so strange to have to share
her with him, and I even felt jealous of him when he and Celeste would
leave the office in the afternoons for their rendezvous. But this too
I eventually accepted. Celeste still made time for me, and that was
enough.
My time with Celeste ended when I joined the army, as all young
Frenchmen of age must do. It was 1953, and the war was now well
behind us, but never again would we allow our beloved France to be
soiled by the boots of foreign tyrants. And if any man left in the
world fit that mold, it was Joseph Stalin. And so I got my training,
and I got my gun, and was stationed in Innsbruck, Austria to protect
the French zone from the red menace.
Mostly this consisted of drilling night and day, and living the life
of a bored, chaste, private. I had friends, of course. In the army,
you depend on your friends not only to save your life, but to make the
boredom bearable. As 1953 turned into 1954, one by one my friends
found local girls to keep them occupied, and I discovered I had a
problem.
I had never had to seduce a woman. I did not know how. Up to now, I
didn't have to. But Innsbruck had a large military base, with plenty
of men to keep the women occupied, those who weren't otherwise
occupied that is, and sometimes even them. In short, there were more
than enough men to go around. I had never felt so lonely in my life.
In my explorations of the city, I discovered a group of Americans
staying at the Kreid, a local hotel. From my experiences with the
war, I had a fascination with Americans, and I would visit the hotel
often to speak with them and learn more about them and their country.
It was a very pleasant way to pass the time.
That was how I first met Mary Elizabeth. She had come into the bar
with Don, a man who had been at the hotel for a few weeks. He seemed
to spend each evening in the company of a new woman. The first
thought that crossed my mind as we were introduced was, "How could
such a wonderful woman involve herself with Don?"
Of course, people would also wonder why a woman like Celeste would
involve herself with a mere boy. The answer to both questions, of
course, was that we were both handy. But this I would not understand
until later.
As we talked, I noticed that Don's hand was not visible, and that Mary
was flushed in the manner I have seen a woman flushed before. It was
hard for me to keep up with the jovial conversation, when a few scant
feet away from me, a very beautiful woman was wrapped in the throes of
sexual ecstasy. I never liked Don before, but never less than at that
moment when the two of them left the bar.
I was very miserable when I returned to my apartment.
Three days later I had leave again, and decided to pass the afternoon
in the bar. It was a slow day, and only Fritz, the bartender, was
there to keep me company. I would have left, but really, I had no
place to go, and if you had no place to go, the Kreid was as good a
place as any.
"Gruess Gott, Mam'selle!" Fritz called, and I looked up from my
newspaper to see Mary Elizabeth enter the bar. She smiled at him, a
warm, amused smile, and then turned to survey the empty room. When
she saw me, I stood. It was, after all, the polite thing to do when a
lady enters the room. I wanted to know this beautiful woman better,
and patted the chair next to me, a silent invitation to join me. One
which she accepted.
"You should not have gone with Don that night," I said. "Don is an
idiot."
No doubt, by now she already knew this, but it did not hurt to remind
her. It is not perhaps the best way to start a conversation with a
beautiful woman, but at the moment it was the only thing which sprang
to my mind.
"Then why didn't you push him away, and take his place next to me?"
she asked, a note of challenge in her tone.
"I am shy. I am young, and I am careful. Today I have no one to push
out of the way, so I asked you to sit with me," I answered sincerely.
"Well," she said, "I am young, too, and perhaps not as careful as I
should be."
"I am younger than Don," I said, "but I am not an idiot. Please stay
with me this afternoon. I will buy your wine and make you happy to be
with me."
It was a hope more than a promise, but I certainly meant to try, and
she accepted my offer.
Over wine, I told her of my life in the army, and what I wanted to do
when I got out. She told me of her home in Ireland, and how she was
touring Europe after graduating from a university. Such things were
rare in those days. It was not unheard of to hear of a woman who
graduated from college, but it was very rare to meet such a person. In
addition to her most formidable beauty, Mary was a person of
exceptional intelligence, as our delightful conversation revealed.
When she had finished her second glass of wine, I asked her if she
would like to take a walk in the park. I had meant to continue our
conversation as we stretched our legs a bit and walked off the
alcohol. But, the day was so beautiful, the scenery so breathtaking,
and the company so divine, that I found myself at a loss for words. I
worried that the silence would disturb Mary, but she seemed content
just to hold my arm as we enjoyed the walk.
Eventually we came to a restaurant I knew well, and though it was
early, I asked Mary if she would like to stop for a meal.
"This is a good place to eat," I told her after she said yes. "Most
Austrian food is not good, but the cook here has been to a better
school than most. If you let me, I will order for you. Will you drink
beer?"
"Certainly," she answered.
It seemed so strange to lead, and have such a pretty woman follow. To
her, it seemed no great thing, but to me, I was feeling my way
blindly. I ordered for the both of us and then again fell silent.
But this time Mary did not seem as content with our silence.
"How did you learn to please women so well?" she asked.
Was I pleasing her? That was good to know! I smiled at the thought.
"Perhaps you overestimate me," I answered. "I only want to please
you."
"I like being with you because you are quiet and calm," she said.
"I am not quite so calm on the inside," I replied honestly, even
though it showed weakness. "You disturb me. You are a very nice girl,
yet you went with Don that night so easily, as if you spend every
night with a different man."
Oh, no!" she said hastily.
She repaid my honesty with her own, as she told me the most remarkable
tale of what she thought sex to be, and confessed her innocence in the
area. She chose Don to introduce her to the joys of lovemaking, and
the result had been a laughable fiasco.
"That is a very sad story," I said, as the waiter brought us our
dinners. We waited patiently for him to serve us and retire. "I wish
now that I had pushed Don away that night. After we eat our dinner,
perhaps I will not be so shy."
We talked of small things over dinner, ignoring for a time the great
honesty that had grown between us. This woman was becoming very
special to me in ways that even now I can not truly say. Even when we
disagreed over my taste in beer, it was like a fire between us that
only burned hotter.
When we finished and got up to leave, we found the hours had slipped
by over good food, drink, and company. It was dark outside, and it
was beginning to rain as we left.
I very much wanted Mary, needed her even. The day had been so
wonderful that I did not want the night to end it. I did not know the
things to say to a woman at such a time, so I fell back on honesty,
which had served me so very well up to now.
"When you talk to your very good friends years from now, I would
prefer that you not mention that night. Instead, I will be your first
man, and you will forget that night." I looked at her, imploring her
as I asked the question I had to ask "Will you come with me?"
When she said yes, my heart soared and I walked on air beside her back
to my apartment. The feel of her as she huddled close beside me under
the tiny umbrella the proprietor had lent us was the barest hint of
what was to come.
She looked over my apartment as I hung up her bag, and I gave silent
thanks that Annette had decided to visit me a few months ago and
change the decoration from post-Neanderthal to almost civilized.
"This will make you feel daring," I said as I poured us some cognac.
"It will also make ME feel daring."
The cognac, together with the beer, did help a little, though I lived
in fear that my inexperience would cause this wonderful woman to fly
away. I swallowed the last of the cognac in a large gulp. It was
now, or maybe it would be never. If anything was to happen, it must
be now, and I must make it happen.
"I have been wanting to kiss you ever since I first saw you," I said,
pulling her gently to me.
I gazed into her eyes for a moment, for the eyes are the windows to
the soul. Mary had a beautiful soul. Her lips parted slightly in
anticipation. If she did not refuse me now, I was no stranger to this
place. In getting a woman to this place, I was a virgin still, but
once here, I was master of all I surveyed.
I kissed the back of her hand, then her elbow, tasting the sweet,
salty tastes of her warm flesh, and she shivered as I did this. I
pulled her closer, putting my arms around her. Her eyes were closed
as she enjoyed my kisses and touches. I kissed each eye before I ran
my lips over hers, just enjoying the simple contact of lips passing
lips. I ran my tongue around her lips as I tasted her, and her lips
parted to accept me. Then Mary began pulling at me as the kiss turned
passionate.
We parted for a moment to gaze at each other, acknowledging the
pleasures felt thus far. It was her chance to say "No." This thing
she did not say. And I kissed her again.
"Come," I said. "I want to see you. Now you must take off your
clothes."
Yes, I know this is not the best thing to say at such a time. But I
was young, and Mary made me feel powerful and weak at the same time,
and the cognac made me feel bold. When Mary started to remove her
shirt, I knew that I had said the right thing. If what I said was
incomprehensible, yet produced the desired result, then that too would
be the right thing, no?
We disrobed, and Mary was as beautiful as I had imagined, young, soft,
and round in all the right places. Then I took her hand in mine, and
together we walked to the bedroom.
"You are much more beautiful without those clothes," I said after I
had turned down the sheets to the bed. "I should like to see you in a
beautiful gown, but now I think this way is better."
I could not help but let myself gaze at her lovely form as she stood
there, and under that gaze, she blossomed before my eyes, becoming
very proud in my adoration.
"I want to touch your breasts," I said, "but I will wait until we are
in bed."
Yes, yes. This too is not the best thing to say to a woman at such a
time, but with Celeste and Jeannette, I had merely to ask. There
would be much time for me to learn subtlety, and fortunately, Mary was
a very understanding woman.
Mary climbed onto the bed, and then she did something I shall remember
always: she smiled and held her arms out to me. Such a simple thing,
really. But I was very grateful at the calm it instilled in me.
There was no need for me to panic. I accepted her invitation with a
joyous heart.
I kissed her in the way I know women like to be kissed; her face, her
neck, and her breasts--oh yes, definitely her breasts. Her nipple was
firm yet yielding to my attentions, as my lips and tongue partook of
this bounty. Her hands pulling me closer, and her writhing, told me
that, yes, she was being pleased as she so very much deserved to be
pleased. Don would know nothing of these things. Don was an idiot.
But she needed more than this. My lips on her teat only whetted her
appetite. I longed to take her, as she longed for me to take her, but
I worried that I had been too long without a woman. I still
remembered my first time with Celeste. So I put off my needs, and
indulged my pleasure as I kissed her stomach, and then moved lower.
Her legs parted for me as the Red Sea parted for Moses. I let my
tongue savor her juices as I explored the thing which all women have,
yet in each is so different. And, as I pushed in to her with my
tongue, she shuddered and grasped me, writhing in ecstasy below me. I
was not prepared for how quickly her pleasure came, nor was she.
If everything else went wrong, she would still remember this moment of
pleasure, and cherish it, for it was the first time she had found
pleasure from the touch of a man. As she relaxed, I continued to
partake of her, determined to make this night something she would
cherish always.
When she was well on her way to a second climax, I stopped and said,
"I think I will find you ready for me,"
And indeed I did, for as I moved above her, she grasped my penis and
pulled me into her. I moved, and she moved with me, demanding a
conclusion to what I had started. She was so close to the edge, it
did not take much at all for her to shudder below me, as her body
trembled from our pleasure. And yes, I had been too long without a
woman. Mere seconds after Mary's climax, my own began, and it
consumed me as a fire consumes the tree until only ash remains.
She had made me so happy that words can not express the joy I felt. I
was happy that she had found what she had looked for, just as I was
happy for myself.
"You are lovely," I said. "I am not a poet, but I wish that I could
write a poem about your breasts. They are fine, and firm, and soft and
oh, so wonderful! And you taste like nectar. And I love to look into
your eyes."
It would be many months before I would learn to say such things before
making love, instead of "Come, I want to see you. Now you must take
off your clothes." If Mary had not already been nude, she would have
been tearing off her clothing when I uttered those words.
"You are a wonderful man," she said, as she ran a finger down my
cheek, "My first. I will be your slave."
What did I know of slaves and masters? A woman asks, I do. I ask, a
woman does. Our pleasure was born from the giving and taking. But
seducing a woman was a new thing, and so I played her game.
"Good. That is the way you are supposed to feel."
"And, once again, I ask, how did you learn to please women so well?"
"I think most important is that I want to please you. I love my
sisters, and I know from them a little about not being pleased. I have
held my oldest sister, who is years older than I am, while she cried."
I remembered Celeste, and even in the arms of another, that thought
brought a tender smile to my face. "Also, my father's mistress is a
very nice woman."
"Your father's mistress!" she exclaimed, astonished. "You know your
father's mistress?"
"Of course," I said. "She is very nice to me. Does your father not
have a mistress?"
"Not as far as I know," she said, still sounding shocked. "No, of
course not. Not my father!"
I shrugged. "I suppose things are different in France. We lost a
generation of men in the first war, and more in the second. It would
be--I think you say, ungallant--for my father not to have a mistress.
It is also very fortunate for me."
The look on her face was so disbelieving that I had to laugh.
"I suppose so," she said in a resigned tone.
"Now I have a job for you, if you are really my slave," I said.
She looked at me inquiringly.
I caressed her breast as I said, "I do not think we are finished
here."
It was not necessary that she be my slave, but for her to, how would
you say, suck me like I sucked her, would to me be a regard, or maybe
a thanks for my attentions. For years, I had been the student. It
felt so odd as the role changed, and I instructed her in the art of
giving a man pleasure.
At nineteen, for so long without a woman, I was more than ready as her
tongue ran along my penis and then over my sensitive glans. She
seemed to enjoy this greatly, and licked me as a child licks a
lollypop. I shuddered at the feel of her malleable, moist tongue, as
it worked its way up and down my penis, and I could only groan as she
let that marvelous tongue play over the tip of my penis. When her
lips curled around my glans, sucking it into her mouth, I was in
nirvana itself.
I stopped her before she could take me too far down that garden path.
It was so tempting to let her continue, but I also enjoyed pleasuring
her, and the first time had passed far too quickly. This time I would
last longer. But not if her tongue kept stroking the ridges under my
glans.
I lowered her onto the bed, and took her. As I had been taught, I set
a lazy pace so that we could linger in the pleasure, but Mary met my
easy thrusts with wild abandon. I fell onto her, laughing at the
comedy of it all. Realizing this, Mary laughed with me, and just let
herself relax and enjoy a less hurried pace.
"I must tell you." I said, "You are even more beautiful when I am
inside you. It does something to your face. It makes you look
innocent, which is peculiar. But very nice. I think you should make
an effort to see that I am inside you quite often."
Mary agreed, quite enthusiastically, as nature demanded we abandon the
lingering, lazy explorations, and we clung to each other in orgasmic
bliss.
For the next three days, we were inseparable, really, as we explored
each other's bodies and pleasures. It was a most wonderful time to be
a Frenchman in Innsbruck.
For a time, I thought I was in love with Mary, but as we learned more
about each other, we learned it was merely infatuation with our
lovemaking. She was a very smart woman, and realized this before me.
But I do not think it is possible to sleep with a woman so often, and
not feel a little love for her. But she would be returning home, and
in three months I would return to Lyons. Even if it were true love,
it would have been a hard thing to hold onto.
Then Mary asked something which came as a complete surprise. Mary had
been touring Europe with her friend, Alice, a shy and charming girl to
whom Mary had introduced me. Mary told me that Alice wanted to watch
us. Together.
I smirked.
I was not smirking at Mary. I was smirking at myself for feeling so
down for going so long without a woman, and now suddenly finding not
one but two women landing in my lap, and not even metaphorically!
What could I do but agree? I did not want to risk offending Mary.
We met for dinner that evening, and the thought that I was appealing
to not just one woman, but two, and therefore three or four, or even
more, bolstered my spirits. I was quite talkative as I grew to know
Alice more intimately. But I began to worry as Alice and I talked
about how quiet and considering Mary had become.
I began to feel she was angry with me.
I grew up around women. I was taught by women. But to this day, I do
not understand them.
This was Mary's idea!
We retired to my apartment, and Mary and I began. Never before had I
done this while someone watched. I found it exciting.
"I think," I began, "that we must show Alice the ways these things
begin, as well as the mere mechanical aspects."
I took Mary's hand and said to Alice, "Now that Mary Elizabeth and I
have become friends, we always start with a nice big kiss."
Which I demonstrated by drawing Mary close and parting her lips, as we
displayed to Alice's envious eyes a very, very passionate kiss.
We moved to the bedroom, and Alice took a small chair in the corner as
Mary and I got on the bed.
I made passionate love to Mary, doing what I knew she loved me to do,
and she returned my favors. Things had not become routine or boring
between us. Not after so short a time. Not with such a vibrant and
exciting woman. But Alice's hot gaze upon us threw gasoline on a
roaring flame; it was a spice and adventure that made our lovemaking
this time as memorable as our first time.
As Mary and I panted from our exertion, Alice disrobed and bounded
into bed with us, landing beside a very surprised Mary.
"My turn!" Alice bubbled. "Do me, too."
A year and a half without sex, together with my youth, had given me a
very short refractory time. But the continual pleasure with Mary was
straining that momentary gift. There are limits after all, even for a
nineteen year old boy!
"Now, wait a minute!" Mary protested, "You were here to watch!"
"Not any more," Alice proclaimed. "I did watch. Now I want
Jean-Claude to do me. You don't mind, do you?"
Two women in my bed? How could I mind?
"Me, I don't mind," I said. "But you haven't seen the entire show.
Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure," Alice said. "What next?"
"Well, I'm the one who's not sure!" Mary said angrily.
I winced at her tone. This had been Mary's idea, and I, like any man,
knew that once Alice saw the two of us together, she would want to
join in. Such things were only natural after all! Didn't Mary
realize this? But Mary made it sound like I was two-timing her in her
own bed, when she wasn't even out of the sheets yet! One day, I will
understand women, and on that day, I will be too old to do anything
with that knowledge.
"Please," said Alice. "You can't keep this all to yourself!"
"You might even help," I said. "Let her get between us." Oh yes, I
was young and foolish! If Mary had been really angry, she would have
beheaded me right then and there.
Fortunately, Mary was not really angry, and she let Alice get between
us.
Alice kissed me, and I returned the kiss, enough to keep her
interested in the game.
"Alice," I said, "I told you that you missed part of the show. See
this?" I said, pointing at my flaccid penis. "It must be inflated."
Alice looked puzzled, but Mary, who had sat up and was watching us
with an amused expression, smirked. I could almost hear her wondering
how shy, timid Alice would react to my expectations.
I took Alice's arm and moved her closer to me. "It is essential that
you help me by using your tongue to make it come back."
Alice looked at Mary in askance. Mary nodded and said soothingly,
"Just sort of suck on it a little. You won't mind."
"If you say so," Alice said doubtfully.
Alice said this but moments before she opened her mouth wide and took
me into her mouth. Alice learned very quickly, and her enthusiasm and
my pleasure grew with her confidence. Mary was watching all this with
a bemused grin on her face.
I signaled Alice to stop and helped her onto her back.
I looked at Mary and said, "I think we must caress her breasts, don't
you?"
"You definitely must," Mary answered.
"No, no," I countered. "I have not done this before, but I think we
should both do this."
Why this was important to me, I can not say,, save that maybe I think
it is unnatural for people to share a bed and not share pleasure as
well. But on reflection, I think I savored the thought of two women
touching each other.
"Why not?" Mary said finally.
As I began to caress Alice's right breast, Mary touched Alice's left.
With a little encouragement, Mary became as enthusiastic as me, as
Alice's firm, fleshy breasts yielded their pleasure to our caresses.
This did not go unnoticed by Alice, and she almost purred with
satisfaction.
I leaned over and kissed Alice's nipple, and then looked up at Mary to
see if she would follow suite. She did, and Alice began to shudder
under us as wave after wave of pleasure wafted over her.
"I think now I had better do this alone." I said finally.
It was sad but I could think of no way for Mary to fully participate
in what had to come next.
I slid between Alice's legs and Mary took Alice's hand and guided it
around my penis.
"Put it in," Mary said. "It's not doing you any good waving around
that way!"
Alice did.
What Alice lacked in experience, she more than made up for in
enthusiasm as she rocked below me, straining to achieve the maximum
amount of contact and friction. Her taut belly rose from the bed as
her back arched, her legs rubbed up and down mine, her hands ran along
my back. Alice gasped and then climaxed in loud abandon.
But this was my second time. The second time after so short a rest
always takes longer. Alice's eyes sparkled as she smiled at Mary, and
I began moving again. After a few minutes, our moans mingled as our
shared orgasm washed over us.
I rolled off Alice, and winked at Mary. _It was fun, lover, but only
because you asked for this. I need only to please you_
Mary winked back. She understood.
The next day, Alice arrived at my door alone. I will love women until
the day I die, but I will never understand them.
And that is my story. My three firsts. How I learned to pleasure a
woman, how I learned to make love to a woman, and finally, how I
learned to seduce a woman. Everything that followed was just a
refinement of what these women taught me.
There were many other women who followed, and all of them very much
loved at the moment. But for these women, I have made a special place
in my heart and made them a part of myself.
--Sandman
Endnote: This story is a companion to "Janey's April" if you have not
read this story yet you should look it up and read it immediately
while this story is still fresh in your mind.
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