8 comments/ 46443 views/ 13 favorites Afternoon with a Princess By: jack_straw I have the picture mounted and framed, and it occupies a prominent place in my little impromptu gallery, the section of one wall in my apartment where I display my best work. It's a bit unusual for me, since I'm really not a glamour photographer. I'm a photojournalist by trade and inclination, good at shooting meat-and-potatoes stuff for the newspaper, much better at capturing sports action. Nevertheless, the portrait always draws comment, for several reasons. For one thing, it's a candid shot of a woman, a young woman of dazzling good looks with an awe-inspiring body. She's tall, probably six feet, possessed of thick red hair and a perfectly-placed set of tits. For another, it's what she's wearing, or, more precisely, what she's not wearing: a bikini top and tight, low-cut pants, both white as snow, with a string of pearls around her neck, a funky orange hat on her head and white come-fuck-me heels. But the main thing is the look. The woman is leaning forward on a chair in a provocative way, with her sparkling eyes gazing away, to something to her right, and they are eyes that draw the viewer like magnets, mischievous orbs that fairly scream out a lust for life and a lust for ... lust. Friends see the picture, they ask me about it, and I just smile knowingly. See, the picture is the only proof, the only memory I have of one of the most memorable experiences of my short life, now all of 24 years. It's the story about how I made love to a goddess, a princess, and so help me God, every bit of it is true. Her name was Cecilia and I met her in Paris one warm summer afternoon -- actually, it was late morning -- at a street-side café, and I have my natural curiosity and abundant self-confidence to thank for that. My name is Reese Matthews and I am the only child of a career cop and a schoolteacher from Pensacola, Fla. I wasn't spoiled by any means, but as the only child I could pretty much get anything I wanted, as long as I behaved, did well in school and did my household chores in a timely and efficient manner. And what I wanted, from the time I was 10 years-old, was a camera in my hands and an opportunity to shoot pictures. I liked action, and when I got into high school, Dad started letting me tag along when he went out to investigate crime or accident scenes. Needless to say, I saw some pretty gruesome stuff. I think that was Dad's way of letting me see for myself -- without him having to lecture me -- about the pitfalls of drug and alcohol abuse. Pretty soon, I started stringing for the local newspaper, and quickly earned a reputation as a kid who could be counted on to shoot anything, anywhere, any time, and come back with clear, evocative photos. That job, along with a part-time job at a local camera shop, allowed me to get my hands on some pretty sophisticated equipment. The guy I worked for was old school and he insisted that I learn how to develop film, even though the digital age has made film an anachronism. When I graduated from high school, I got a scholarship offer from the University of Florida and went to work for the school paper, while still stringing for several newspapers, as well as the Associated Press. The first two summers, I came home and interned with the local paper, but after my junior year, I decided to join one of my history professors on a three-week tour of Europe. The theme of the trip was, "The Footsteps of Napoleon," and the idea was that we would immerse ourselves in the life and times of Napoleon, including stops in Corsica and Paris, plus visits to the sites of his most famous battles. I'm a bit of a history buff, but my main reason for going was simply that it was a chance to visit Europe for a reasonably affordable price. I really wanted to go to France, more so than any place else on the itinerary. My mom is from Louisiana and I've got a bit of Cajun blood in me, not enough to speak much French, but enough that I kind of look the part. We were in Paris for four days, and on the last day, we had the day to ourselves. I was having a cup of coffee at this sidewalk café a couple of blocks from our hotel when I saw her. She was talking in an animated way with a man, arguing about something or other, then he got up and walked away rather angrily. It was as her eyes were following him that I got the shot, and the look in her eyes puzzled me. There was almost an amusement to them that was totally at odds with the scene I'd just witnessed. I shot several frames in rapid succession, and then I heard her say, in perfect English, "fucking bastard." I wasn't sure whether she was directing that comment to the now-departed man or to me. I found out when I saw her stand up and walk toward my table. "You!" she said standing over me belligerently. "I didn't give you permission to take my picture. Who the fuck do you think you are?" Whoever she was, one thing was certain. She was an American, and she was acting like every European's worst stereotype American, angry and arrogant. I'm not sure how she figured out that I was also an American, but started right in on me like she assumed I understood the language. For a moment, I was speechless, not because she intimidated me, but because I was absolutely in awe of this woman's beauty. Like I said, she was tall, well-built, with a healthy set of lungs, no visible excess anywhere, and very good-looking. "Well?" she continued. "You think you can roll your tongue back into your mouth long enough to answer a simple question? Uh, parlez-vous Anglais?" "Excuse me, but I believe this is a public place, and I'm entitled to shoot any damn thing I please," I said as I came back to reality. "What makes you think I was taking your picture? I could have been shooting your boyfriend, for all you know." "Oh? Then I suppose that's a banana you have sticking in your pocket, no?" she was smiling now, I guess because she thought she had the upper hand. "Probably isn't the first one you've seen today, is it?" I shot back. I'm not the biggest guy around, or the strongest, but I don't lack for confidence, especially in the face of snooty bitches, and I've got a quick wit and a deft way with a comeback. I was ready for more verbal warfare, having regained my equilibrium. But she surprised me. She suddenly started laughing. "Good one," she said. "Mind if I join you? I don't get too many chances to talk to an American these days." "With pleasure," I said, pointing to the chair across from me. She sat, and a waiter quickly came over and took an order for a glass of wine, and I got another café au lait. "So, what's a perfectly good American girl like you doing slumming around in Paris?" I asked with a puckish smile. "I am what you might call a kept woman," she replied with a seductive smile that had my groin throbbing. Turns out, Cecilia was a true Boston blueblood, as close as you'll ever find to royalty in America. She'd gone to the finest prep school in New England, then attended college at Radcliffe, where she majored in art and minored in French. She married right out of college, to a Harvard man from one of the "right" families, but she soon became bored with the stiff lifestyle that came with him. That changed when she met a wealthy French industrialist, a client of her father's company, who swept her off her feet, and was, in turn, beguiled by her beauty. He offered to set her up in a studio apartment in Paris and give her whatever she needed for her art if she would run off with him and be his mistress. So she did, and she had been living the good life in France for three years now. She'd had some of her works displayed at a few art galleries, and she supplemented her income by teaching English to the children of some of her lover's friends. "My parents were mortified," Cecilia said. "It was a big scandal in their social circle. Well, fuck them. My ex was a toad. I mean, for God's sake, we're in the South Pacific at this resort on our honeymoon and he spends most of the time on the phone making stock trades! Plus, he was a lousy lover." Of course, the flip side was that Jacques, her "keeper," was married with several other girlfriends besides Cecilia. "That's what we were fussing about a little while ago," she said. "He really is good to me, but I'd like a little more of him, and it frustrates me to always be competing with his other girlfriends, not to mention his wife." I just sat back and did what I do best, listen and empathize. She asked me what I was doing there, and I told her, and that's when things took a definite turn. "Let me see if I can guess where you're from," she said, then after a few seconds of thought, she had her guess. "I'd say you are from Georgia, or maybe Tennessee.." "You were closer the first time, but wrong," I said. "Then you must be from Florida," she said. "You definitely have a Southern accent, but it's not real thick." "Very good," I said, and I told where I was from and where I was going to school. "I've got a keen ear for nuances of language, especially English," she said. "Comes from studying French. I'm a very talented linguist." "Oh, a cunning linguist, are we?" I said with a chuckle. "I've linged a few cunnies in my time," she said, staring intently at me. "And I'll bet you're a pretty cunning linguist yourself." "With someone like you, I'd do anything you want," I said. The conversation meandered in a different direction, as Cecilia started talking about the French language, how tough it had been to put her schoolbook knowledge of the language into everyday practice. But there was an undercurrent of lust bubbling under the conversation and it didn't take long for it to bubble to the surface. "About the only phrases I know in French are 'laissez les bon temps rouler' and 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir,'" I said. I swear I saw Cecilia's nipples spring to attention when I said that, and that's when I started to get a tad nervous. Up to that point, I'd been playing with her. I was relaxed and convivial because I knew I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting anywhere with this princess. But right then it started to hit me that perhaps if I played my cards right, I just might get a trip to paradise. Turns out, I'd already laid down a winning hand. "And would you?" Cecilia said quietly. "Would I what?" I answered. "Coucher, avec moi," she said. "Would you like to fuck me?" "Jesus H. Christ, Cecilia, what kind of a stupid question is that?" I said flippantly. "Man'd have to be queer or a eunuch, or a queer eunuch to not want to fuck you. Are you asking me seriously? If you are, then we're wasting time." "Reese, I'm bored, and I can't think of a better way to spend a hot afternoon than fucking a nice sexy man, a nice sexy -- American -- man," she said. "My flat is about 10 blocks that way. What about it? Do you think you're man enough to please me?" "Honey," I said, getting my face right up close to hers. "I may not be the biggest fish in the ocean, but I know how to swim with the barracudas. The sharks I stay away from. But I think you're just a barracuda -- dangerous, but not deadly. So, if you're ready, then let's go. But first..." And I reached for the back of her head and brought her face to mine and kissed her, gently at first, but with ever-increasing ardor. I knew I was only going to get one chance and I was ready to grab for the gusto with both hands. Cecilia lived on the top floor of an old house overlooking a pedestrian plaza. If you've ever seen the original "Day of the Jackal," movie, the one about the plot to kill deGaulle, you'll know what her place was like. There was a large open room that was cluttered with a variety of her work, along with the scattered supplies and stuff, and I have to say she was quite good. She seemed competent in a number of media, but it was her work with charcoal that was the most riveting. She had charcoal drawings of virtually every place in Paris that was worth drawing, along with still-life portraits. Charcoal allowed her to express nuances of shadow and light, much like a really good photographer does with black-and-white film. I was able to connect with her on that level, and I could tell my standing rose a few notches in her estimation. The bedroom and bathroom were off to one side of the apartment, and a kitchen area was at the other side. The place was actually bigger than it looked, but with all of Cecilia's things scattered about, it looked small. "Now, where were we?" Cecilia said as she tossed the hat onto a chair and shook her thick auburn locks free. "I believe we were discussing voulez-vous coucher avec moi," I said as I shed the photographer's vest that I wear everywhere I go to shoot pictures. "Yes, I believe we were," she murmured, and we came together in the middle of the room. Even though she had at least three inches on me, I took the lead. I reached up, pulled her face down to mine and kissed her. I gave her my Grade A best, sensually working my lips on hers -- and God, what lips she had! I casually slid my tongue into her mouth and we dueled languidly. After a couple of minutes of this, Cecilia pulled away with a flush to her face and a quizzical look in her eyes. I wasn't sure what her game usually was, but I had an inkling that she got her jollies by seducing young American guys like me and playing the dominant role. Well, fuck that. I don't believe in a dominant or submissive role in sex, but if push comes to shove, I'm sure as hell not going to be any woman's submissive. Ain't happening. "You are very, very sexy," I whispered. "But then you knew that." "What can I say?" she said. "I like sex and I like adventure." I kissed her again, and ran my hands over her sensuous body. I reached up and unhooked her top and let it fall to the floor. I think I hissed when I got my first look at Cecilia's naked breasts. They were round and fat, but not excessive, perfectly set on her chest, with plump nipples that were begging for attention. I filled my hands with her orbs, lightly caressing her flesh and rolling her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. This time, it was her turn to hiss in mounting lust, and I quickly pressed my attack by leaning over slightly and capturing one of her hot-pink tips with my lips. I sucked and licked on her nipple, then released it and captured the other. I was gratified to hear a low moan escape her mouth as I suckled her tits while I casually sawed my hand between her legs. I could feel the heat rising under the tight cotton of her pants and I knew she was ripe for fucking. She pulled me up then and began to undress me, which took almost no time. All I had on were shorts, a T-shirt, sandals and my boxers. While she got me naked, I worked her pants open and peeled them down her legs. We were frantic for it now. I hadn't gotten laid since the end of school, and I was horny as a goat with three dicks, and I could sense the same intense lust in Cecilia. She had on a pair of thong panties that were drenched in her juices, and tangy they were, as I quickly discovered when I swiped a couple of fingers up her drooling furrow. Her pussy was framed by a well-trimmed bush the color of burnished bronze, with well-defined labia that might as well have been like the gates of heaven. I dropped onto my knees and pressed my face to her crotch. I inhaled her aroma a split second before I dove into her creamy pie tongue-first. Cecilia wrapped her left leg around my shoulder, lifted her head to the ceiling and howled in runaway passion. Oh, she was sitting on a powder keg of explosive lust, and I skillfully worked my lips and tongue all over her churning flesh, as she undulated her hips in an effort to keep the connection between my mouth and her pussy. It didn't take much of that before I felt her body ripple with a rather intense orgasm. I clamped my mouth onto her twitching twat and let her ride it out on my face. When she was done, she looked down and noticed that I was idly stroking my cock, getting it ready for a trip to nirvana. "Nice one," she said as she pulled me up from the floor and led me to her bedroom. Cecilia had a sensual way of moving, as if every part of her body was in constant motion. She looked to be in shape, but her body was smooth and lean, rather than muscular. I lay back on her unmade bed and just stared into her eyes. I was content for the moment to let her take the lead, to let her show me her stuff. She crawled onto the bed with cat-like grace and set up shop between my legs. She hefted my throbbing, purple boner, stroked it lightly and hummed softly. "Oh yeah, it is a nice one," she said, as much to my dick as to me. "Like you said, not the biggest, but nice, very nice." In truth, I'm never going to win a contest for longest dick, but it is pretty meaty, and I do know how to use it to maximum effect. Cecilia brought her face right up to it, slashed her tongue up the underside, then lapped her way up the shaft, always up, until she reached the crown, which was covered by a film of pre-cum. I groaned heavily as she slowly opened her mouth and slid the head past her ruby-red lips. I swear it took every bit of my self-control to hold back the tidal wave of cum that boiled to the surface when she started to work her mouth up and down on my cock, with her tongue swirling around with every plunge. I've had some mighty fine blowjobs in my time, but Cecilia beat them all. She took every bit of me into her throat and worked up, then all the way back down again. I subtly thrust my hips upward to keep as much of my inflamed dick in the hot depths of her mouth. I happened to look beyond where her mouth was locked on my cock, and I could see that her free hand -- the one that wasn't hoisting my cock -- was underneath her body working her pussy back into a frenzy. I knew then that it was time to take command of the situation. I gently pried Cecilia's mouth off my cock, pulled her up the bed, rolled her onto her back and got up on my knees between her legs, my cock firmly in hand. As long as I live, I will always remember that sight of Cecilia lying back, her breasts heaving, her legs spread and a look of need on her face. It didn't matter that I was just an anonymous fuck toy for her to use at her pleasure, a kid she'd picked up at the cafe; she needed me right then, and I knew it. I slid the head of my cock between her lips several times, priming the pump, if you will, and that evoked a whine from Cecilia that spoke volumes. She was just another horny woman who needed her pussy stroked, and I was just the man to do it. "Fuck me, Reese," she panted then. "Fuck me hard and make me come." "Oh I intend to do just that," I said breathlessly. And I did. I slid the head of my cock into one of the hottest, juiciest pussies I've ever had the pleasure of fucking, and I rammed it home with a gentle authority -- hard, but not rough. As soon as I got all of my cock in Cecilia's steaming cunt and began to set up a steady rhythm, she started in with the vocals. She keened, she hummed, she gasped, she squealed, and she pulled me to her, wrapped her legs around my waist and worked her hips in time with mine. I'd love to say I lasted forever, but really I think it was less than five minutes of furious humping. But, man, what a five minutes! I circled her clit as many times as I could with every thrust, and I could feel her sweaty tits, rubbing together with my sweaty nips, sending shock waves of lust one to the other. I could feel her climbing higher and higher to one of those orgasms that rattles every bone in a woman's body, and I could feel the rusty crackle of overheated cum boiling over. "Unnnnnnh, yeah!" she wailed. "Don't hold back; don't hold anything back, baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck meeeeee!" Afternoon with a Princess And that was all she wrote. When Cecilia's whole body went into convulsions, I felt the cum explode from my scrotum as I basted this beauty's hot cunt with a thick, creamy load of pent-up semen. I felt like my whole body was flowing out through my cock and into Cecilia's womb. We grunted, groaned, laughed and sighed as the orgasmic waves washed over us, until finally we were sated, our lust spent -- at least for the moment. Finally, I rolled off Cecilia's body and marveled at how much cum flowed out of her dilated pussy. I laid back and she rolled over to face me, her hair a tousled mess, her eyes sparkling with passion. "Wow!" she giggled. "I'll bet you keep the girls at Florida mighty happy." "I do all right," I deadpanned. "So let me ask you something. Do you do this a lot?" "Do what a lot?" she said. "Fuck? Yeah, I like to fuck." "No, I mean pick up strange men, bring them home and let them fuck you," I said. "That seems a bit dangerous, don't you think?" "Actually, it's not," she said, tossing her hair back. "I have a keen eye for the American college guys, and I can spot one a mile away. I know they're going to be safe, and usually they don't get this far. Most of them come in my mouth when I give a blowjob. You're one of the few that actually got to fuck me." "What happens to the ones who come too soon?" I asked, intrigued by this woman's complex personality. "I usually send them away," she said with a laugh. Then she got up and walked out of the bedroom, across the studio to the kitchen area. I heard her puttering around in there for a minute or two, then she returned with a cutting board that had a circle of cheese sitting on it, a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured some wine into each glass, cut some slices of cheese and we sat on her bed and lunched on wine and cheese. We fed each other slices of cheese and held each other's glass of wine while the other drank. It was good, sturdy Swiss cheese, not that gooey stuff the French prefer, and the wine was a robust red. After we had polished off the cheese, Cecilia poured another glass of wine and I sat back to contemplate the question that had been bugging me the whole time. Finally, I decided to just go with it. "Does Jacques know you pick up college guys to fuck?" I asked. "What little I know about French men of means suggests that he probably wouldn't like it. Am I right?" "Oh, he'd get over it, I suppose," she said. "But he would be very angry. It's all right for him to have several lovers, it's OK for him to pass me around to all of his friends while he watches, but for me have someone without him being there would be a blow to his pride." "Then why risk it?" I said. To my surprise, Cecilia got a sad, wistful look on her face that was totally at odds with the sparkle in her eyes. "I don't know if I've ever told anyone this, because I'm not sure I've ever really understood why I do it," she said. "I guess it's something I can do that I have control of, something where I dictate the terms of my actions." She took a deep breath, got a far-away look in her eyes and I swear I could see her eyes brimming with tears. "My whole life, I've lived on the terms of others," she continued. "I went to Radcliffe to please my mother, because that was her school. I married Frederick to please my father, because Rick's dad was a business associate. I thought running off with Jacques would liberate me somehow, but he's just another man calling the shots in my life. My relationship with him is defined on his terms, at his behest. I see him when he wants me, not when I want him. In the meantime, I've turned my back on my family; they've disowned me. I still have a few friends in the States that I stay in touch with, but I haven't seen any of them since I left. I have a fair number of acquaintances over here, but that's all they are -- acquaintances. They're all friends of Jacques. I'm 29 years-old, I've never really been in love, never really had a man that truly cared for me, for my sake, rather than for his benefit. I just ... feel like I've hit a dead-end. So I pick up American college guys to remind me of the time when I didn't have any cares in the world, when my life was mine to be lived, not somebody else's. Does that make any sense?" She was trying hard to maintain her imperious bearing, but I could see a couple of lonely tears coursing down her cheeks. I honestly felt sorry for her. Here she was, this princess, so to speak, living in her little castle all alone, with a distant lover and no family. I guess she sensed my feelings, because she smiled then and let her maudlin thoughts fade away. "That's why I immerse myself in drawing," she said. "When I paint, or draw, I can lose myself in my art. It's the only thing that really defines me, and I'd be lost without it." The afternoon sun was still high in the sky, so I knew we had plenty of time left before I had to be back at my hotel. I had the answer to the questions that had been vexing me about Cecilia, and I wanted the rest of our time together to be more playful. So I reached over, picked up the bottle of wine and suddenly poured just a little splash over each of her breasts. Cecilia squealed in surprise, a squeal that turned to a purr as I quickly followed up with my mouth. I licked as much of the wine off her tits as I could get, then did it again. "Mmmm, that feels wonderful," she said softly as I held her flesh to my mouth. I could feel my cock growing by leaps and bounds, all the more so when Cecilia's hand began to softly stroke it into rampant hardness. I licked my way up her neck to her face, to her lips and we kissed again, slowly, but with an undercurrent of passion. As she slowly jacked me back up to strength, I slid my hand into her swampy pie and found her bloated clit, standing tall out of its hood. Cecilia looked at me with some longing when we broke our lip lock. "Reese?" she said softly. "Make love to me, please? I can fuck any time I want, but I haven't had a man really make love to me in so long I've almost forgotten what it feels like." "Jacques doesn't make love to you?" I said, intrigued. "Not really," she said. "Oh, he's a good lover, as far as technique goes, and he can make me come in buckets with his mouth. He's also got a pretty nice cock, but when he gets up to fucking me, there isn't a lot of passion there. It's all about his performance, and there isn't much love there. And then there are the parties..." "Baby, if you were my woman, I'd love you every chance I could," I said in a voice thick with emotion. "Sure, Cecilia, I'll make love to you. I'll give you what you need." And with that I rolled her onto her back and swooped onto her body. My lips found hers and we kissed with something deep, something animalistic. We were connecting on some astral plane, two ships from wildly different ports crashing together for a single moment in time. As we kissed, I gently stroked her pussy, opening her folds and lightly thumbing her clit. My rock-hard, throbbing cock was leaving trails of pre-cum all over her thigh, but I was in no hurry. If this princess wanted me to love her, well, by God, I was going to give her everything I had. I could feel her breath quickening, as her arousal began to mount, and she seemed to come to herself then, because she got a really hot look in her eyes, rolled me onto my back and straddled my hips as she held my cock tightly at the base. She fit the head of my cock to her drooling slit and slid her pussy onto my cock in one delicious plunge. We both groaned, then laughed as she slowly began to work her body up and down, while I slowly worked my hips up and down in a thrusting motion, filling her with my meat. Cecilia's hands were gripping the sides of my chest, and they were softly, sensually caressing my skin as she threw her head back, swishing her long auburn locks back, and gave voice to her mounting passion. There was nothing intelligible in what she was saying, just a lot of grunts, groans, gasps and squeals. But I understood perfectly the language of love she was speaking. Her cunt was like a wet velvet vise massaging my iron-hard cock, and she was in her element now. I was giving her something she hadn't had in a long time -- real passion, for her, not the man she happened to be with. I think she'd gotten so used to by-the-numbers sex that when I came along with a whole different attitude, it did something to her. And I could see the lust, the love -- even if it was only for a moment -- written all over her face. As much as I wanted to stay in that position, I needed to be in control. I wanted to govern how long and when I finally cut loose with my climax. So I rolled her over, then got her on her knees, with her ass in the air. I knelt behind Cecilia, and marveled at the angry red hole that winked up at me, wet and inviting. I felt a chill run through my body as I saw her look back at me with passion etched on her beautiful face. "Love me, Reese!" she cried. "Love me good and make me feel something." I was going to do that. I settled in behind her and slid my cock back into her burning gash. And now I began to fuck her with a hard, steady pace, and I cold see her head lolling about as her climax picked up steam. I leaned over and captured her right tit with one hand, and slid my other down her abdomen to the place where we were joined. I pressed my index finger onto her fat clit, and when I did that all hell broke loose. Cecilia started wailing and shaking from her head to her toes, and I just kept at it, stroking her clit as the orgasm rocked her to her core. My cock was a churning piston of lust, almost as if it was detached from my body, a living thing all its own. "Aiiiiii!" she wailed. "C-c-c-c-come innnnnn meeeeee! I neeeeeeeed iiiiiiiit!" I was ready. I pulled my hand away from her super-sensitive clit, clamped both hands on her perfect butt and gave her everything I had left to give. Sweat poured off our bodies as I hurtled to the finish, and I couldn't hold it back any longer. I gave out a gasping cry as I lurched forward one final time, then spewed a torrent of white-hot cum deep in Cecilia's spastic cunt. We both cried out almost desperately in our release, as if we were unwilling to acknowledge the approaching end of our dance of love. But finally, it was over, and we both slumped forward onto the bed, still joined, still panting the dregs of our climax. At last, my cock slithered out of Cecilia's pussy and we rolled into a spoon position. I just held her there for a long time, and I don't know, maybe she was crying. But we just lay there lost in our own afterglow. After a time, she turned to me, and I could see her eyes were indeed shining and her cheeks were indeed wet. "I wish I'd met someone like you eight, nine years ago," she said softly. "It's been a mighty long time since I've experienced something like this." "You can always come back to Florida with me," I said, and I may have even meant it. She gave a soft laugh that was tinged with sadness. "Don't tempt me," she said. "No, Reese, I'm not the woman for you. I'd eventually break your heart, like I did Rick's, like I did my parents. I'm trouble, and I can't stay tied down. I'm near the end of my time here in Paris, and I'll probably go back to the States. Maybe I'll try to patch things up with my folks, set myself up in a studio in Cambridge or Stockbridge or some place like that. I've got a pretty good nest egg saved up, and I can use that to live on until I get back on my feet." "Cecilia, don't sell yourself short," I said. "You're a hell of a woman, and someday you'll find someone who won't try to tie you down, but who will simply love you. If I was five years older, I'd give it a try. But ..." "You are something else," she said then with a laugh. "Regardless of what happens, I'll always have a spot in my heart for you. You've done something I didn't think was possible. You've made me feel something again, and I'll always remember you for that." We got up then and showered, and had a little fun with the detachable nozzle, which is about all the shower they have there, then I casually dressed while Cecilia pulled on a little shift. In that moment, she was as sexy as she'd been all day. Then she saw me to the door, giving me a warm kiss goodbye. I looked back one last time before I headed down the stairs, and I could swear I saw her dabbing at her eyes. We exchanged addresses, and we've stayed in tenuous contact. About every three or four months, I get a letter from her, just letting me catch up with her, and I've let her keep up with me. I've sent her copies of some of my better photos, and she seems to enjoy getting them. She did indeed break it off with Jacques, not long after I left, and returned to Boston. Her family did accept her back, sort of like the prodigal daughter, and she got a job as an art teacher at Bentley College. She also said she's actually dating a guy, a history professor, and she thinks it might turn serious. I hope it does. She deserves to be happy. Cecilia was one of the most fascinating people I've ever met, a complex woman who would be difficult to manage, so I hope her new boyfriend knows what he's getting into. Me? I graduated from the university and quickly got a job with the paper in Orlando. I've got a steady girlfriend, really for the first time, and we're starting to talk about a future together. I don't know how much my life changed because of my encounter with Cecilia. I think I discovered a capacity to love that afternoon that I may not have had before, and it certainly boosted my ego to know I could not only please a goddess like her, but change her whole outlook on life. Regardless of whether it had any serious meaning, though, it was a memorable experience, probably the best sex I'd ever had up to that point. My girlfriend is certainly benefiting from the things I learned that hot afternoon. I made love to a princess that day, and I have the picture to prove it.