Chapter 4
Sylvie and Mirabelle
Although losing my virginity had been kind of a non-event and subsequent encounters with boys in my age bracket were no patch on the pleasures I experienced with Charlotte, I remained curious about the opposite sex. Charlotte was not much help in this respect. She would just repeat her statements about the 'penetration conspiration' and how useless men were in satisfying a woman's sexual needs.
While I accepted that she was a lesbian, I wanted her to accept that I was interested in finding out more about heterosexual sex. We had many discussions about this and it put a certain strain on our relationship. It pained me that we were drifting apart, because the afternoons I spent in her bed - or in her 'love chair' or on the living room floor - had been the best moments in my life so far. And I wanted them to continue.
I started looking for other girls who had experience with the opposite sex and who were willing to talk about those experiences. This was how I made friends with Sylvie and Mirabelle. These two girls were constantly together. Their names were always mentioned in one breath, as if they were one unit: Sylvie and Mirabelle, Mirabelle and Sylvie. But this wasn't because they were sisters; they were just very close friends and happened to live next door to each other. Whenever they arrived somewhere, they arrived together, and, more often than not, they would also leave together, frequently with a couple of boys in tow.
In spite of their closeness nobody ever suggested that they were lesbians or that they had a relationship going between them. They were too obviously interested in boys. As far as their appearance was concerned, they were on opposite ends of the scale. Sylvie was blond and best described as 'petit'. She was like the miniature version of a fully developed woman. But she didn't lack any pretenders. Boys were attracted to her easy smile, her straw-coloured hair, constantly bobbing on her pretty head, her small, firm breasts and the fact she never wore a bra, her narrow hips and her warm and welcoming personality.
Mirabelle, on the other hand, had dark hair and could best be described as voluptuous. Her shapely body seemed to be always straining to be released from the flower-patterned dresses she wore. She would joke, "I was produced from an old-fashioned mould, a mixture of Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren." Although she was constantly talking about having to control her diet to keep her body from growing out of control, there were many boys who were quite fond of her curves, queuing up to dance with her and hoping to be the lucky one who got to walk her home.
The two girls' parents had similar views on their daughters' sexual exploits. They thought it was quite natural that girls - or young ladies, as they preferred to call them - wanted to find out what it was all about, experiment with different partners and eventually settle down into a steady relationship. They also knew that young people in Villiers did not have many places to go to for their intimacy, so they did not mind their daughters bringing some of their boyfriends home and spending hours behind closed doors with them. The lucky ones even got to spend the night. However, the parents never stopped reminding their daughters to take precautions.
"An unwanted pregnancy can upset all your plans for the future," Mirabelle's father used to say, "And a few minutes of uncontrolled passion aren't worth paying that price."
Once, when I was visiting Mirabelle, he told me, "You see, I'm not old enough yet to have forgotten what it's like to be young. In fact, looking at you, I wish I were young again."
I blushed and his wife said quickly, "You'd better watch what you say to Jacqueline, or her father will challenge you to a duel for making an indecent proposal to his daughter." She had obviously heard about my father's antiquated views.
Of course, when I approached Sylvie and Mirabelle I didn't say, "I want to find out about your experiences with boys." I asked them how they were preparing for the final exams and suggested that we might study together sometimes. They were a little surprised that I seemed to be looking for help with my studies - I was one of the best pupils of my year - but they thought they could only benefit and agreed to my suggestion. We would meet occasionally, taking turns in being the host, and review the subjects that were likely to come up in the exams. As I had expected, our conversations strayed frequently from the school topics and the two girls told me about their latest conquests and adventures. But, to my frustration, they didn't go into any details. They might say, 'we spent the night together,' or, 'I slept with X,' or maybe, 'we made love in the back of his father's car,' but they never talked about how they had felt during the act.
Did they reach a climax? Were they satisfied with their partners' performance? I felt I didn't know them well enough yet to ask these question and hoped that one day they might feel comfortable enough with me to talk about these aspects.
One of the subjects which they got very excited about was the opening of 'Le Club'. Given the limited entertainment options in Villiers, it was to be expected that the opening of a new venue - in this case a disco with live music on weekends - would be the talk of the town. 'Le Club' had been created inside the shell of a disused warehouse, near the western edge of town, some way away from the nearest residential building. This had the advantage that the owners didn't need to worry about complaints from neighbours about the noise, but it made the place a little difficult to get to.
Sylvie and Mirabelle were regular visitors right from the opening day on and often talked about their adventures at 'Le Club' and afterwards, with boys they had met there.
The unique feature of the new disco was the black light. The owner had first installed it at the entrance as part of the access control. Instead of handing out tickets, which could be passed to other people, patrons had one of their hands stamped with an invisible ink. The mark was only visible under the arch of black light fitted in the hallway which lead to the main venue. Anyone who couldn't show a stamped hand was refused entry. (Later, the regular guests, particularly some girls, found that stamping a hand was boring and asked to have the mark placed on other parts of their body: arms, shoulders, their cleavage, or high up on their thighs.)
While they were testing the installation, the staff at 'Le Club' noticed that the black light had another interesting effect: It made any white garment shine like a fluorescent light, and it could even achieve this effect with white underwear if the clothes a person wore on top were made of light synthetic fibres. They thought it would make the place even more interesting if they installed the black light over the dance floor as well.
Originally this was programmed to switch itself on and off at random, but later it remained on as long as someone was on the dance floor. The black light made any white shirt or blouse shine like a beacon in the semi-darkness of the disco, but the effect was most dramatic with girls' underwear. The size and shape of any white undergarment was clearly revealed. In the beginning some girls objected to being exposed like this, but all they needed to do was to choose a darker colour. Exactly the opposite happened. Many girls who had been wearing other colours switched to white; they made a point of dressing specifically for the black light effect. They didn't see anything indecent or immoral in this, after all nobody would think twice when they wore a skimpy bikini - sometimes without the top - around the swimming pool. Compared to this the disco-girls were fully dressed.
Of course, this comparison misses the point. There was an obvious sexual undercurrent in the air and the 'glowing underwear show' drew in the boys like flies. Sylvie felt she was at a disadvantage because she never wore a bra, so the only thing that shone were her panties. One evening she persuaded one of the guys at the entrance to give her some of the ink which was used to stamp those who had paid the entrance fee. With this she went to the bathroom and wrote a big L on her right breast, a big O on her left breast and the letters V and E on her lower abdomen, just above her panties. Those last two letters were written so that they looked like an arrow pointing down - to her pussy. That night she was the big star at 'Le Club'. She was swamped by boys who wanted to dance with her and - what else? - make love to her.
But even without such special effects, 'Le Club' was the place where a girl could be sure to find a partner for the night - if she wanted one, of course - and Sylvie and Mirabelle returned frequently to this source.
One Saturday morning. I arrived at the agreed time at Sylvie's place for another session of exam preparations, when I saw her, dressed in a nighty, hugging and kissing a young man, who then left with a big smile on his face. When Sylvie let me into her room there was no sign of Mirabelle yet, so I thought I might use the opportunity to ask Sylvie on her own about her sex life.
I started by asking her who the boy was I had seen her kiss just then.
She said, "Oh, that was Daniel. My parents have gone away for the weekend so I felt more comfortable letting him stay overnight."
I asked her if she had enjoyed his company and she replied, "It was great. We fucked three times last night and once again this morning."
"Is that all you do - fuck?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you by using such direct language."
I assured her that I wasn't offended by her choice of words. I wasn't a prude, as many people thought. I was just very careful to hide my sex life from my father, which meant that most other people also believed I didn't have one. However, my encounters with men usually happened under quite uncomfortable circumstances, behind the bushes, in the back row of the cinema, on the backseat of a car, etc. and I was just curious to know what people did, apart from having intercourse, when they had the luxury of making love in their own home.
"Of course, we kiss a lot, we hug, we cuddle, he fondles my breasts, we talk - and we fuck. But what exactly did you have in mind with your question?"
"I was just wondering if you had any oral sex," I said as casually as possible.
"Oral sex?" Sylvie looked at me. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Yes, oral sex. You know, fellatio, cunnilingus, sixty-nine."
Sylvie's eyes widened even more. Then she smiled and said, a little condescendingly, "Ah, you've probably read about those in a book somewhere. I don't think it actually happens in real life. I've never done any of these things and I don't know anyone who has."
"You know me."
"Yes I know you, but what's that got to do with oral sex?"
"Well, you just said you don't know anyone who's ever done these things and I answered 'you know me'. I've practiced oral sex."
Sylvie's mouth stood wide open, unable to pronounce a word.
"You? Sainte Jacqueline?" she finally gasped.
I was surprised to hear her use the nickname I had given myself. But I also felt annoyed that she still thought I didn't know anything about sex.
"I have sucked cock, admittedly only once so far; I enjoy eating pussy and I absolutely love it when someone else licks mine."
I never expected that Sylvie would be this shocked by my revelation. I had always considered her an open-minded person in questions of sex.
"You mean you've actually put a penis into your mouth?" she stammered in disbelief.
Well, if this game was about asking astonished questions, I could join in.
"You mean, you let this guy fuck you four times and never ever touched his cock with your lips?" I countered. "You mean, you've never experienced a screaming orgasm from someone exploring your pussy with his or her tongue?"
Sylvie changed the subject slightly. "Screaming orgasm - that's another thing that only happens in erotic fiction."
Now I was getting somewhere. I had been looking for someone who could confirm that it was possible to have a satisfying sex life with a man and so far I was under the impression that Sylvie was such a person. But her comment about screaming orgasms being an invention of fiction writers made me think otherwise. But this wasn't a game of one-upmanship, we weren't playing 'my sex life is better than yours', so I decided to drop the subject.
After a few minutes of silence, Sylvie asked, "You honestly think something like a 'screaming orgasm' is possible?"
"I've had so many, I've lost count," I said. I castigated myself immediately for boasting with my sexual prowess - hadn't I just decided not to play that game? I added, "But so far never with a man."
That remark intrigued her.
"But you think it's possible between two women?"
"I know it is."
I had a look around me. I was sitting on a chair near the desk in her bedroom. Sylvie sat on her bed, still unmade from her nightly exploits, wearing a nighty and probably nothing else.
"Would you like to try it?" I asked.
She didn't seem to be shocked by my suggestion, just a little confused. She had realized that her picture of the world needed a significant adjustment, but she probably wasn't ready to say yes. I decided to take the initiative. I unzipped my dress and stepped out of it as it slipped to the floor. This left me naked except for my panties. I remembered Charlotte's comments about my knickers being a turn-off and took them off straight away. When I walked towards Sylvie she just stared at me, as if she had been hypnotised.
I said, "Listen, I don't want you to do anything against your will. If you feel unsure about it, say it now and I'll leave."
"No, no," she said, coming out of her trance-like state, "I was just thinking how beautiful you are. I had never thought of you as a sexual being. But yes, I do want to carry on. I do want to experience a screaming orgasm."
I lifted Sylvie up from the bed and hugged her. She was quite a bit shorter than me, I could feel her chin against my breast. I could sense that she was still a little tense about this, her heartbeat sounded like a sledgehammer. I held the embrace for some time. I wanted her to relax, to start to enjoy the contact with another woman's body. Then I took her face between my hands and kissed her, first very gently, her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks; getting more assertive when I reached her mouth. When I kissed her lips she opened them for me to allow my tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. I could feel her tightening her embrace, a sign that she was starting to warm to the idea.
I lifted Sylvie's nighty and pulled it over her head. She helped me by raising her arms. She was wearing a pair of panties which matched the pattern of the nighty. 'No problem,' I thought to myself, 'we'll take care of that later.'
We embraced again, pressing our naked breasts against each other. This time my lips visited her neck and shoulders and my tongue darted behind her earlobes. My hands ran down her back and caressed her bottom. I could feel her excitement mount and made her lie down on the bed. Lying next to her, I explored Sylvie's body with my eyes and hands. I decided to leave her panties on a little longer, hoping that she would remove them herself, kind of offering me her pussy as a sign that she really wanted this.
Her small, firm breasts were really beautiful, the hardened nipples sensitive to the lightest touch. They would be a feast for my mouth in a little while, but I was in no hurry. I passed my hands over her abdomen, her hips, her bottom and her slender legs. She didn't stay completely passive but her attempts to return my caresses remained quite timid.
I made Sylvie lie on her back and kissed her, starting with a long kiss on her mouth and moving down gradually. When I approached her breasts she was already moaning in anticipation. Her breasts were really tantalizing. Opening my mouth wide, I could take almost the entire breast into my mouth and then slowly slide my lips along this mound of flesh to eventually close them firmly around her nipple. She arched her back to meet my mouth and when my tongue started to tease her sensitive nipple, there was no holding back. She pressed my head against her chest and begged for more - which I gladly delivered.
After making her experience two wonderful orgasms (I don't know if they were intense enough to qualify as 'screaming') just from stimulating her nipples with my mouth, I continued my journey downward. Sylvie was only too keen to get the impeding textile out of the way. She lifted her bottom from the bed and pushed her panties down. Then, with a few quick leg movements, she kicked them off and sent them flying across the room.
Her pubic hair was the colour of a sun-drenched cornfield. Looking at her pussy made me think of a painting by van Gogh. But there were different pleasures at hand - or should I say at mouth? I continued where I had left off and soon reached her pussy - and it didn't take a soothsayer to predict that it would be quite wet and hot by now. And how wonderful it tasted!
I kissed and licked; Sylvie bucked like a bronco. Her clitoris was as sensitive as her nipples, the slightest touch made her moan. I tried to keep things cool but she was in a hurry; she wanted another orgasm and she wanted it now!
I firmed my lips on her pussy and flicked my tongue along her clitoris a few times. That did it. Her entire body convulsed, it seemed to want to lift off the bed and her scream filled the air - it made me wonder if the neighbours could hear it - then she relaxed back on the bed.
I wasn't satisfied yet. I wanted Sylvie to have another climax, one where she could enjoy the gradual build-up of her excitement, where I could keep her on the brink of ecstasy for as long as I wanted, until I finally decided to push her over the edge.
That's exactly what I did. I let my tongue play; sliding along her pussy lips, licking the juices from her pussy and caressing her clitoris. I let her arousal rise slowly, taking great care that she didn't get too hot too soon. It didn't take long and she was squirming on the bed, begging me to make her come.
I managed to ignore her pleas for a while but she was just too hot to resist. I plunged my tongue inside her as deep as I could; her body shuddered and she came. Again, the level of noise she produced in the process was quite astonishing. I took her in my arms and covered her face with tiny little kisses until she had recovered her composure.
"God, that was wonderful. I never thought something like this was possible," Sylie finally said.
I stroked her straw-blonde hair and resisted the temptation to say, 'I told you so'.
"You're a wicked girl, Jacqueline. A few hundred years ago people like you were burnt on the stake for being witches."
I didn't feel like delving into that scenario. My pussy was on fire and didn't need the extra heat from a witch-burning pyre. It always got hot and steamy when I treated another woman to a meltdown orgasm. I almost think I might be able to come out of sympathy with my victim. I wanted relief, any relief. I lay back on the bed and asked, spreading my legs invitingly, "Would you like to practice some witchcraft too?"
Sylvie looked at me, seemingly surprised that I could suggest such a thing. She bent forward tentatively, looking at my sex. Then she turned around and said, "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do it."
My parents taught me that it's undignified to beg and this is one of the few maxims where I fully agree with them. I got up from the bed and put on my clothes. Then I made my excuses. "Seeing that we won't study today, I might as well get a few things done."
As I was about to leave, Sylvie said, "Jacqueline, please don't tell anybody about this - not even Mirabelle. I don't want anybody to get the wrong idea."
I took a deep breath and told myself that I had to accept people the way they are, that there was no point in calling Sylvie an ungrateful bitch or a hypocrite. If she didn't want to own up to her own feelings, that was her problem. I just said, "Don't worry Sylvie, I'm not in the habit of going around telling stories about my sex life," and left.
My pussy wasn't giving me any respite. I knew I had to masturbate, but I found the thought of returning to my room in my parents' house depressing. I decided to ring Charlotte. When she answered the phone I asked if it was okay for me to drop by. She answered, "You know you're always welcome here. There's no need to ask."
Charlotte's answer reminded me that my place was in her apartment, in her bed, not in somebody else's. I had mentioned my friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle to Charlotte, but only in the context of exam preparations.
Now I had made love to Sylvie. Had I been unfaithful to Charlotte? Did my conduct break any of the rules Charlotte had established for me as her sex slave? She had never said anything about sex with other women. I was sure that, if Charlotte had been present, she would have ordered me to do exactly what I did to Sylvie. Hadn't I acted in Charlotte's interest by spreading the message about how satisfying sex between women can be?
Although I convinced myself that Charlotte had no reason to be upset about my adventure with Sylvie, I decided to keep quiet about it.
When I arrived at Charlotte's place, I got undressed in the entrance hall as usual and went to the living room where Charlotte was sitting on the sofa, reading. I knelt on the floor in front of her, sitting back on my heels with my legs spread wide, and said, "Master Charles, please let me masturbate for you."
Later that afternoon, after we had sated our lust on each other's body, I told Charlotte what I had heard about 'Le Club'. She condemned the venue without hesitation.
"It's like a slave market where the women display their charms and the men chose the one who suits them best. How about the men showing the shape of their underwear, or better still, their cocks and letting the women choose?"
It was clear that she wouldn't want to be seen dead in a place like that. And that was the end of the subject for her.
But I always tried to explore things from different angles and said, "Look at it this way: When the girls parade around the swimming pool in tiny bikinis, they also do it for the benefit of the boys. In fact, many go topless, displaying their naked breasts. And you don't seem to object to topless bathing."
"That's right," Charlotte said, "I enjoy looking at those sun-burnt tits."
"The difference is," I continued, "that at the swimming pool and on the beach all this undressing happens under the pretence of getting a sun tan or being able to swim better with fewer clothes on. If that was the real reason, they should go without clothes altogether. At 'Le Club' it's more honest. There isn't any pretence. It's part of the game called 'female attracts male for mating to ensure the survival of the species'."
"Hmm, I never thought of it that way," Charlotte pondered. "But do you really believe the people who go to 'Le Club' see it like that?"
"There's only one way of finding out. Ask them."
Sylvie didn't keep her secret for very long. A few days later, Mirabelle approached me, a little nervous, unsure how to start and then told me she had found out from Sylvie what the two of us had gotten up to the day we had planned to study together.
Apparently Mirabelle had also hitched up with a boy the evening before and taken him home (her parents were travelling with Sylvie's parents). As the two of them were lying in bed the next morning, recovering from some exciting action, they heard Sylvie scream once and then, a little later, a second time.
Mirabelle had been a little worried at first but then assumed that there was some really hot action going on between Sylvie and her partner and left it at that. Later that day, when the two met, Mirabelle asked Sylvie what her boyfriend had done to get her to scream like that and Sylvie had hesitantly explained that her screams had not been the result of any boyfriend's action but of my oral skills.
Mirabelle was visibly ill at ease, it wasn't easy for her to talk about this subject. But the most difficult part was still to come. She said she had been intrigued by Sylvie's story and would I mind very much, or better, could she be so bold to ask, or, in other words, was there a chance...
I didn't want to prolong her agony and said casually, "No problem, Mirabelle, I'd be delighted to eat your pussy."
My directness shocked her only briefly, after all, now it was out in the open and she didn't even have to say it herself. She wanted me to go with her straight away, but when I heard that her mother was at home, I declined the invitation. The last thing I needed was a worried mother checking what that noise was about and finding me with my face immersed in her daughter's pussy. I convinced Mirabelle to wait until her parents would spend some time away. She didn't like the delay very much but bowed to reason in the end.
Not long after that, one Saturday afternoon, Mirabelle phoned me with the good news that her parents had gone to Paris to see an exhibition. They had told her they wouldn't be home for dinner. Mirabelle seemed to be in a great hurry; she wanted me to drop everything and come round to her place immediately. I told her to relax and promised I would be there as soon as possible.
When I arrived Mirabelle didn't have a stitch on, so eager was she to experience that thing she didn't even dare pronounce. I wondered where this eager anticipation came from. I hadn't said a single word to Mirabelle to persuade her. Had Sylvie been singing the praises of oral sex?
But Sylvie had been unwilling to own up to her feelings! She had asked me to keep it a secret for fear of being branded a lesbian or bi! Had she enjoyed it as much as her screams suggested, but didn't want to admit it to me? And now she was telling Mirabelle - maybe others - what a wonderful experience it had been? Sylvie had never talked to me about the events of that morning. She behaved towards me as if they had never happened.
I didn't have much time to ponder about this mystery; there was a naked woman smiling at me sensually, waiting for my embrace. Mirabelle took me to her bedroom where I promptly undressed. As soon as I had taken off my last garment she dragged me onto her bed where she hugged me closely. I had never seen her this geared up. Was she like this when she slept with boys?
I gave her everything she asked for, probably more. I caressed every part of her womanly body with my hands and lips, feasted my mouth on her ample breasts and buried my head between her voluptuous thighs. She squirmed and writhed on her bed, gasped in surprise and moaned with pleasure.
If anything, Mirabelle was even more vociferous in her appreciation of my skills than Sylvie had been. Like an artist returning to the stage for an encore and then another one and another one, I took her shouts of appreciation as requests for more and more and didn't stop until my tongue had completely lost its strength.
Mirabelle had been very responsive during our sex bout. Now her hands caressed my breasts, exclaiming how beautiful they were, full but firm; how my whole body seemed to be that of a Greek goddess and how my mouth had given her one delight after another.
I hadn't expected her to try to return the pleasure I had made her feel, but Mirabelle's hand found my pussy and she started to stimulate me - a little timidly at first but getting more and more assertive. Not being the passive type, I put my hand on her sex and returned the favour as good as I got. This brought both of us to a wonderful relaxing climax.
The experience had helped Mirabelle lose some of her inhibitions, but only some.
"This was the first time I touched another woman's ... you know ..."
"Pussy," I said, "And, did you like it?"
"Well, yes," she said hesitantly, and then added quickly, "but that doesn't mean I'm a lesbian."
"Of course it doesn't. Just enjoying sex with another woman doesn't make you a lesbian. But I'm a little surprised about you saying that my pussy was the first one ever. Seeing how close friends you are with Sylvie, I would have thought ..."
This time it was me who didn't finish the sentence.
"Oh no, there's nothing between us, absolutely nothing. Only once were we naked in front of each other, but we didn't touch."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" I tried to help her come out of her shell.
"It happened one weekend this summer when we went with my parents to the hut in the mountains - you know, my father has a hut in Tracy-le-Mont, about two hours by car from here. My parents go there occasionally and on that particular weekend they suggested I'd come along. I asked if I could invite Sylvie as well and they agreed. The hut is quite basic, but there is hot water and electricity. There are two bedrooms. My parents slept in one and Sylvie and I got the other one."
"I see. You got undressed and looked at each other without touching."
"No, no. Nothing happened in the hut. We slept in our nightshirts and there were two separate beds," she clarified.
"The next day, it was quite hot, even though we were in the mountains, and my father told us about a waterfall a short distance up the path. 'The water there forms a natural pool which is very refreshing,' he told us, and added with a wink, 'Nobody ever goes there, you don't even need a swimsuit.' The question of the swimsuit was purely academic - neither of us had brought one, after all, this was a trip to the mountains - but we set off unperturbed. The waterfall wasn't far away but it was a steady climb and by the time we got there we were dripping with sweat, looking forward to a dip in the refreshing water.
"The waterfall was in an exceptionally beautiful setting. The creek cascading down from a great height formed a pool of completely transparent water. The pool was surrounded by lush vegetation in multiple shades of green, lit by rays of sunshine which were bursting through the gaps between the trees. This could have been a picture from a travel-agent's brochure.
"To our great disappointment we found that two boys had put up a tent right at the edge of the pool. They were sitting in front of their tent, contemplating the scenery. We said hello and they nodded back, then we sat down, not too close to them, cursing them under our breath.
"We were still wondering what to do when one of them turned around and asked, 'Don't you want to take a dip?'
'We'd love to, but we didn't bring any swimsuits.' Sylvie came straight out with the truth.
'Neither did we,' the guy responded.
'Why don't you go first? We'll follow you later,' said Sylvie.
"The two boys looked at each other, then they got up and took off their clothes. When they were down to their underpants, they turned their backs to us, stripped quickly and ran into the water. What they were trying to hide but we still managed to see, was that both of them had sizable erections. However the cold water soon took care of that. The water was so clear we could watch their penises shrink. Then we decided to peel off our sweaty clothes and jumped in quickly before they could see too much.
"The first sensation was the temperature shock between our hot bodies and the cool water. I could feel my nipples harden, and my areolas became even darker than they usually are. Later, one of the boys told me that looking at my breasts had been the biggest turn-on he'd ever had.
"The pool wasn't very deep and it was almost impossible to swim. So we both just stood there, shivering slightly and displaying our breasts to the eager eyes of two strangers. To our relief, the two boys soon felt they'd had enough refreshment and went to their tent where they proceeded to dry themselves with their towels. This was when we realised we had a problem: we hadn't brought anything to dry ourselves.
"Sylvie shouted to the boys, 'Can we borrow your towels? We forgot to bring ours,' and received the answer, 'We can do better than that, we'll dry you.'
"We left the pool, shivering in the cool air, covering ourselves as best we could and walked straight into the towels on the outstretched arms of the two strangers. My partner - I found out later that his name was Jean-Paul and the other one was called Guy - wrapped the towel around me and proceeded to dry me. He did a very thorough job, he rubbed every part of me, until I was completely dry, warm and invigorated. It felt almost like a massage.
"When I looked for Sylvie I couldn't see her, nor the boy who had been drying her. I asked Jean-Paul and he said 'They're in the tent.' Then he added, 'There's only room for two people. We have to wait until they're finished.'
"Questions started to race through my mind. Wait with what? Finished with what? And what was Sylvie doing in that tent with that boy, neither of them wearing any clothes? That last question was the easiest to answer and after that, everything else fell into place.
"I looked at the boy in front of me who was still holding the towel around my shoulders and noticed that his penis was rigid, standing up like a totem pole. He followed my eyes and smiled. 'So this guy thinks I'm going to crawl into that tent with him and let him have his way with me,' I thought. And you know something? He was dead right. That was exactly what I felt like after the beautiful rub and massage he'd given me.
"When Sylvie and Guy came out of the tent, stark naked, they went straight back into the pool. Jean-Paul put his arm around my shoulders and said, 'It's our turn'.
"We went into the tent and made love. It was wonderful. We spent the rest of the day like that. There was always one couple frolicking in the pool or rubbing each other dry and the other pair rocking the tent. When we returned to my father's hut, late in the afternoon he was a little surprised that we had stayed away so long. 'It was just such a wonderful experience' I said, and Sylvie added, 'It's a piece of paradise.'"
I was deeply moved by her story.
"What a terrific experience," I said, "Making love in such a marvellous setting and having the freedom to spend as much time as you want. I wish I had been there."
Mirabelle was a little surprised about this remark. She had come to conclusion that I was a lot more experienced than her, but I told her that my encounters with boys so far could best be described as 'Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am'.
Mirabelle said, "We've kept in touch with the boys via e-mail and we're planning to meet again, probably as soon as the exams are over. If you want, you can come along. But you have to bring your own boy, preferably one with a tent."
My friendship with Sylvie and Mirabelle continued as before. We met to study and always took some time to talk about whatever subject came to mind, which often included their adventures in their pursuit of the ideal boyfriend. Neither of them ever mentioned oral sex or screaming orgasms, nor was there any suggestion that they wanted to repeat the experience.
It puzzled me that they would go into denial about what must have been one of their most exciting sexual experiences, but after some thinking I found a plausible explanation. They were trapped in their parents' value system. Sylvie's and Mirabelle's upbringing had been 'liberal' as far as sex was concerned. Their parents understood that youngsters at a certain age develop a desire and a curiosity for sex. They knew it was useless to forbid it. Instead, they acknowledged the need to experiment, to gain some experience. They even turned a blind eye to the fact that their daughters had not yet reached the age of consent.
The girls were grateful to their parents for their apparent tolerance and enjoyed their freedom, going out chasing boys - or allowing boys to chase them. But this freedom had its limits which were fixed, either explicitly or implicitly, so that they excluded everything that might be considered 'kinky'. And the girls accepted and obeyed those rules without question. They were like chickens on a farm yard who had been given enough food and space to run around and had completely lost the desire to explore the world which lay beyond the farm gate.
I, on the other hand, did not come from a liberal environment. My parents - more specifically my father, as my mother never dared to disagree with him - had made it clear that everything to do with sex was bad and therefore forbidden. But once my desire had grown strong enough to make me transgress that rule, all forms of sex were the same to me, there wasn't one purer or more wicked then the others. People like Sylvie and Mirabelle who had been given the covert permission to do what 'young ladies' their age normally do, could not bring themselves to practice other forms of sex which didn't fit into the 'normal' or 'accepted' category. It seemed ironic, but I felt that somehow my conservative upbringing had resulted in a more natural, open-minded approach to sex than theirs. And with Charlotte as my master, I had learned to pursue sexual pleasure - my own and that of others - without letting convention get in the way.
In the meantime, my knowledge - at least theoretical - of anything to do with sexual gratification was expanding. Charlotte and I had built up her collection of 'dirty' magazines and books into a small library. We now also had some volumes showing men having sex with other men. What impressed me most about these pictures was the size of the cocks which were being sucked or inserted in the partner's behind. I hadn't come across anything near that size in my timid forays into the male anatomy. We found it interesting to know that these practices existed, but couldn't really get turned on by looking at men having sex with men.
There was another section, in large part my contribution to the library, which was dedicated to practices involving bondage and spanking. We had pictures of people being tied up with ropes, chains or other implements, being gagged and blindfolded and subjected to all kinds of torture and humiliation. We saw bottoms - but not only bottoms - being spanked, paddled, caned and whipped.
I remember one particular picture which fascinated me. It showed a girl about my age. She was completely naked and tied spread-eagled to some contraption the shape of an X. Clamps had been attached to her nipples and pussy lips. The clips on her pussy were fixed to thin chains which were pulled taut to pull her pussy wide open and expose her clitoris. A hooded figure stood between her legs and whipped her sex with a cat o' nine tails. I instinctively pressed my thighs together when I imagined the excruciating pain that girl must have felt when the whip came down on her most tender parts. And I couldn't stop looking at her beautiful face which didn't show any trace of pain, only bliss and ecstasy.
Charlotte noticed how engrossed I was with this photograph. "Would you like me to tie you up like this," she asked.
The answer 'You're the Master, you know best' passed through my mind, but that would have given her carte blanche to do anything she wanted with me and I didn't feel comfortable doing that.
Instead I said, "Well, you already tied me up and blindfolded me once."
Charlotte didn't let that count because it had happened on my own request, to carry out some harebrained plan of mine. As with so many other topics, this conversation never came to any conclusion.