22 comments/ 116568 views/ 7 favorites Quel age as-tu? By: Dinsmore The characters in this story speak French most of the time although I have written their dialogue in English with only a very occasional French phrase for some degree of authenticity. I haven't studied French in forty years and apologize if I've gotten tense, gender, grammar or syntax wrong. Steve had just completed his freshman year of college. He was a virgin. He'd felt a breast or two through clothing and gotten a couple of fingers just inside a girl's shorts but not far enough to feel anything. He'd had one briefly rub his cock through his jeans and spent most of one night in bed with a girl while they were both fully clothed. He was a damn good kisser; he'd had some practice in that area of male-female interaction. In the countless hours he spent at the massive university library, he had read everything he could get his hands on about sex from the absurdly clinical to the delightfully esoteric. He was positive that he knew more about sex than any other man on the planet---who hadn't ever gotten any. He was staying over for the summer term; students at all-girl schools around the state often came to the big university to take a course or two during the summer which was the only time they were allowed to enroll. Maybe this would finally be his time. There were mixers occasionally scheduled on campus during the regular term with some of the girls' colleges around the state, so he'd had a few---very few---opportunities to meet and at least make out with a few girls during the school year. Without a car and an apartment, there just weren't many opportunities to 'close the deal'. Steve had had the fortune or misfortune of starting his first year of college at the tender age of seventeen. His mother had lied way back when she enrolled him in kindergarten; in those days the school hadn't bothered to check a birth certificate. He was ready to start school and while slightly smaller than average, seemed to have no problems either relating to his classmates or doing schoolwork. Years later when someone figured it out, it was too late to do anything about it. Physically he caught up by the end of the ninth grade and was actually taller than average in high school, albeit only slightly so. He had participated in sports in high school, although he was certainly not a star athlete. Academically he had excelled. When college rolled around he had his choice of any school he wanted to attend---if he could afford it. Good old mom lied again. She had a distant cousin in a state which had arguably the best state university in the nation. Even to this day graduates from said university enjoy virtual Ivy League status. With a little help from her equally dishonest cousin, he received in-state status. Tuition and fees for a state resident were a fraction of the out of state costs thanks to legislative fiat. The university was very affordable if you lived in the state but very difficult to get into due to its obscenely high entrance requirements promulgated by its nationally recognized academic reputation. Steve had received a full scholarship which included both housing and meals. Good old mom had again cheated on the financial assistance paperwork with a little help from her brother, a CPA, who had a different last name. In addition to the state funded scholarship, Steve received a number of other stipends thanks to his excellent high school record, high SAT scores and official status as 'impoverished.' He was in fact impoverished; had things not come together, there wouldn't have been a chance in hell of him attending a decent college---if any. Mom had no intention of spending any of her hard earned or more likely, purloined money on her only son's education. In his first year at the university she had sent him a five-dollar bill at Christmas and that was pretty much it. She did what she had to do; he was out of the house. It was up to him now. A college education was a special gift. If he chose not to make the best of it, he could always join the military. She'd done her part; she'd fulfilled her legal responsibility. Dad had flown the coop years earlier. Steve barely even remembered what he looked like. Before enrolling in the fall term he would sign an affidavit which indicated that he had no parental support---his mother had already signed her part and mailed it back to him---and had lived continuously within the state for at a certain number of months. He would register for the draft in the state, acquire a driver's license in the state, register his vehicle in the state and would truly become an in-state resident for purposes of tuition and fees. He'd already tried to do it at summer term registration but they wouldn't accept it until he was eighteen---in spite of the fact that he was totally on his own financially. He was the last kid to get a driver's license in his high school class which certainly put him behind the power curve in back seat opportunities. He was still a few days away from being able to buy a watered down, 3.2 beer at a local watering hole named after the university mascot. He didn't look seventeen, act seventeen or talk seventeen. In an era when checking ID was not what it is today, he was usually successful in getting a fresh beer if he surreptitiously picked up a near-empty off a table, waved it in front of the busy bartender and said, 'how about another Bud?' Steve felt neither love nor loathing for his parents; other kids he had grown up with had fared far worse. They'd never beaten or abused him. They fed him and put a roof over his head. Since he had done very well in school, they never bugged him. They simply ignored him. His father had disappeared before he started junior high. His mother always seemed impatient for him to grow up and move out. He didn't hate the university---no! That's not right! He despised the university, but he loved getting an education and learning new things. The university was all male. Freshman couldn't have a car until second semester and then only if they had a 3.0 average. He had come in at 2.94. Not that it would have mattered, since he couldn't afford a car at the time and freshman parking was miles from his classes. Most of the other guys attending had money which bought clothes, toys and cars. The fraternity scene was dominant and he didn't find it attractive, nor could he have afforded it. He wasn't much of a party animal. Freshman had to live in the dorms and the freshman dorms were barely of barracks quality. Second semester of his freshman year he got a perfect 4.0 average. It meant that in his sophomore year he would be able to have a car. He ended up getting a small, used motorcycle because it was cheaper to buy and cheaper to operate; it turned out to be more fun than he had expected it to be. Between the end of the regular term and the beginning of the summer term, he found an apartment off campus. Since the university essentially gouged the students who lived in the dorms, it was a better deal for him in view of his housing stipend. It had a kitchen and he loved to cook. It was far more than a single room with an obnoxious roommate and a communal bathroom at the end of the hall. He'd learned how to cook at an early age. Before leaving home, he couldn't remember the last time his mother had done so. He knew he could cook better food for less money than the meal ticket he had been required to use throughout his freshman year had provided. He had also acquired a much better part time retail job which paid a better salary---his hourly wage had increased by 250%. The job included commissions and bonuses. The two owners were nice people who cared about their employees. Their store was located halfway between his garage apartment and the campus. The majority of the guys attending summer school were doing so because they had flunked one or more classes during the regular term. Steve had calculated that if he took a full twelve hour load in summer school for three years, he'd be able to graduate nine months early, skipping his senior year. The faster he got away from the university, the sooner he could get a job and start his life. He had decided to knock out as many required courses as possible in summer term. The university required all students to pass four semesters of a foreign language. Steve had completed the first two during the regular term and intended to finish the last two in summer school. He would also take two semesters of English Lit which would complete his requirement in that subject area. He'd reviewed the course requirements and realized that he had read---and studied---every single work to be covered in the two semesters of the Lit courses. His foreign language of choice was French. He had first been formally exposed to it in elementary school, fortunate to have attended a school as a youngster that had a very progressive concept of teaching foreign languages to very young children. His paternal grandmother spoke fluent, unaccented French, and had enjoyed tutoring him when she had come to visit back before his dysfunctional family had evaporated. There had been a French Canadian neighbor who had enjoyed finding anyone who spoke his native language, even if it was a kid. His grandmother on his father's side had tried to keep in touch with him even after his father departed and in spite of the fact that she despised his mother. She had offered to pay for him to go to France and live for the summer with his aunt and uncle just prior to his senior year in high school. As much as the two women despised each other, there was no way his mother was going to turn down a chance to get rid of him for three months that wouldn't cost her a cent. That summer was without question the most wonderful three months of his life. His aunt and uncle were kind, friendly and loving. They treated him like the son they had never been able to have. They were cultured, outgoing, charming and moderately prosperous people. His aunt had received some training as a chef and was thrilled to discover his culinary interests. They spoke French and only French. Steve had had no problem with the first two semesters of French and didn't expect any during the summer term. He had taken four years of the language in high school and with all of the other exposure, spoke the language perfectly, read it with ease and was a reasonably proficient, if not perfect, writer. The summer term included a language lab in addition to the normal class. The lab met twice a week for a total of four hours in an old, dilapidated wooden building just off the edge of the campus. For the four hours a week of additional work, the course would earn him one additional semester hour of credit. There were unlikely to be any girls in the lab; they only came to the big campus to take specialized courses that weren't available at their own schools, not undergraduate requirements. The people who taught these labs were not professors but often simply contracted instructors. As he took a seat near the front, he attempted to check out the one handling this particular language lab. A female instructor was unusual; he had never even seen a female professor at the university. He judged her to be in her early thirties; if she was younger, then life had been less than kind to her. Her hair was coarsely cut and straight. It was frizzy. Her face was a bit gaunt and had no makeup; her features were classically French. She was not unattractive because genetics had been unkind to her. Her unattractiveness was some combination of intent and neglect further accentuated by a dour visage. He wondered what her story was. Her clothing was simple and plain. Her eyes would occasionally dart up from whatever she was looking over and then hurriedly return downward. Her mouth was set in what could only be thought of as a scowl...more than just a frown. She had ample breasts; even her plain, poorly tailored blouse couldn't hide that fact. She stood and turned to write something on the chalkboard behind her. She was neither wearing hose nor was she particularly fastidious about shaving. It was in the instant when she whirled around toward the chalkboard that he caught an alluring impression of her hips and buttocks. Her waist was almost petite; her hips and rear were not remotely so but nor did they appear fat or flabby. How pathetic, he thought to himself. You're fantasizing about a woman probably almost old enough to be your mother who isn't remotely even pretty. No English was ever spoken in language lab---much to the consternation of the guys who had flunked French before and didn't have even a marginal grasp of the language. She introduced herself and wrote her name on the board. It was Miss, not Missus or Doctor. She greeted each student in French as she put the faces with the names on her roster. Then she proceeded to go around the room and ask each student to tell the class about himself---in French of course. Those that slipped into English or fumbled and mumbled received the full brunt of her menacing scowl and piercing dark eyes accompanied by a shake of the head and a cluck of the tongue that bordered on pity. And then it was Steve's turn. "Etienne?" "Oui?" Steve spoke virtually letter perfect, Parisian accented, idiomatic, conversational French. He and the instructor were quickly engaged in a dialogue. He did so effortlessly. The other students in the class probably had little idea what they were saying as the two of them were doing so very rapidly. Not that they had any objections: the longer the two of them chatted, the less time she had to call on the rest of them. She was fighting it, Steve could tell; she was enjoying their conversation. He was certain he detected the hint of a smile at the edges of her lips. He was enjoying it too but too soon it had to end as the realization came to her that she had a class to teach. And then, there it was! If you hadn't been looking for it, you would have missed it. Barely a nano-second, and the lips barely parted but it was a damn smile and even in that parsimonious display of pleasure, she became a different woman, if only for an instant. As the lab droned on she would occasionally come back to him, speak to him, ask him something, and listen intently as he spoke. Sadly no one else in the class gave her much reason to smile and she declined to do so for the next two hours. There was an assignment. Each student was to prepare to have a discussion with a street vendor or shop keeper and that would be the exercise during the next class. The class ended; Steve had hoped he might chat with her but she seemed preoccupied and hurried out the door. Returning to his apartment he had to chuckle. Miss Jardienne---he didn't know her first name---had provided the closest, most intimate encounter he had had with any member of the opposite sex under the age of forty in too long and he was fantasizing about her. How pathetic. The next class two days later was almost a repeat of the first one. They had chatted in rapid fire dialogue. She had smiled---he was sure of it---and the smile had lasted longer. The rest of the class was every bit as inept as they had been the first time. As the class ended, she turned to erase the chalkboard and the sway of her hips caused an instant reaction in his shorts. Just as he had decided that she had no interest in further conversation, she spun around and spoke. "Etienne? Quel age as-tu?" "I'm seventeen today; tomorrow I will be eighteen." He replied in French in response to her very personally phrased inquiry. "So young!" she said, moving her hand to her mouth as her eyes widened. He quickly told her why he was such a young college sophomore. "So! A big party tonight with friends...a girl?" "No girl...no friends...no party." "What a pity!" she replied. "That's life," he responded softly. "Your French is perfect and your accent is not remotely American." "It's kind of a long story." "What other classes are you taking? I can't believe you had any problems in your French classes during the last term." He explained to her why he was attending summer school and what else he was taking; she smiled again. "English Lit! My spoken English is, sadly, not very good---certainly not as good as your French---so many idioms! I too am taking classes—to learn to speak better English." The two of them had collected their things and were moving toward the door. She was walking very close to him; he could feel the warmth of her body. He didn't want her to leave. "If you would like, I'd be glad to help you with your English." "Help me? I'm sure you're much too busy as arduous as a summer term can be." "Not at all. I have a part time job during the day. The classes I'm taking aren't that taxing. I'm free almost any night of the week. Where do you live?" She stopped and turned toward him, examining him critically; he was sure she was on the verge of cutting it off right then and there. "I'm very new here; I have an apartment...I'm not very good with---wait! I have a map in my purse. I'll show you." On examining the map, he noted that her apartment was several miles farther from campus than his was. "I live closer," he said, pointing at a spot on the map. "here. I only moved out of the dorm a couple of weeks ago. I looked in that area where you are but it's a little far to walk or ride a bike." "You don't have a car?" "No---but I just got a small motorcycle. Where is your car? I'll walk you to it." She frowned, but this time it was not an angry scowling frown; it was a sad little girl frown. "No car---no license yet. And not very much money. I take the bus to here," she said, pointing at the map, "then I walk from there to my home." "Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?" he asked. A real smile...a very pretty smile...it lit up her whole face. She was remembering a happier time...a special person maybe? "Yes---yes! Many times but not here of course...in France...at home." "I know the bus schedule like the back of my hand---that's pretty much how I've gotten around for the last year. The next bus that goes that way isn't due by here for almost an hour. By then it will be dark and it's not safe to walk in that part of town after dark. I'd be glad to give you a ride home---on my motorcycle." She was perusing him again, trying to decide if it would be appropriate. "If you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble---isn't it out of your way?" "It's only a couple of miles---hardly five minutes---and it's not as if I have anyplace else to be." A smile again followed by an almost coquettish nod of the head. They walked together to where he had chained up his motorcycle. "Not so small! When you said small, I think of little scooters in Paris." "It's relatively small by American standards---only 150cc." He strapped their collective belongings on the small luggage rack; he started the motorcycle and she climbed on behind him. He attempted to move as far forward as was possible toward the fuel tank to give her more room. To his surprise he could clearly feel the warmth of her mound as she scooted forward to avoid disturbing the luggage rack. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. The feel of her full breasts on his back excited him; her hands fell to his hips and rested scant inches above his crotch. He pulled over and pointed to his apartment as they passed. Occasionally he would feel her sweet, warm breath on his cheek and neck. "Do you have a kitchen---stove?" "Of course. I love to cook---hated living in the dorm." "I do not have a stove. I have a hot plate and toaster oven but no real place to cook. I worked as a cook in Paris---sous chef. I miss not being able to cook." He had to take a shot. "Look, Miss Jardienne, I..." "Marie. You should call me Marie." Quel age as-tu? "Okay...Marie. After I dropped you off I was planning on going home and cooking dinner; I really don't like cooking just for myself. I'd already planned out my birthday dinner and I know I have more food than I can eat. The handful of friends I have are not on campus for the summer term. I even saved up and with a little help from a guy at work, procured a decent bottle of wine. Why don't you come back and cook with me...have dinner with me." "I shouldn't...I..." "I wasn't looking forward to being alone on the eve of my birthday. We can work on your English and...cook together." She was pensive again. "Okay, that would be fun. Let me run in and dump my school things and change---you wait for me?" "Of course." She was back in under ten minutes. Her hair was tied with a pretty ribbon into a pony tail. She had changed into a soft cotton blouse and modest shorts. She smiled as she approached him. She was carrying something with her. "A bottle of wine! It is my only attempt at luxury. In case one bottle is not enough." Steve was positive that she hugged him even more tightly on the short ride back to his apartment. He had been very lucky to find this place. The owner, a widow had given him a key to the garage so that he could park his bike inside. She had an ancient Cadillac in there which she never seemed to drive. She wasn't a snoop and her only iron clad rule involved parties and the noise they created. He sensed that she had taken a shine to him and was not charging him as much as she could have. There were two entrances, one an outside stairway and then another from inside the garage. He followed Marie up the steep stairs. For the first time he got an uninterrupted and unimpeded view of her posterior. She had a magnificent rear, full and lush but also, evidently quite toned. He felt the twitch again. "It is so big! I have basically one room---an efficiency? You have a real kitchen, living room, eating area and bedroom. I am so jealous!" "Places like this don't end up in the want ads, Marie; they're word of mouth. There are lots of homes in this neighborhood with garage apartments. My landlady knows everyone---I can ask her if you would like me to. There are almost always possibilities at the beginning of the summer after the regular term ends. Do you have a lease?" "Lease? Oh, yes. But it is up very soon---a couple of weeks." "We can ask her right now if you want to?" "Right now?" "Sure. I know she's home---but I warn you she gets a little talkative at times. She's not lonely---she plays bridge almost every day and seems to have many friends. It's early and we have lots of time." Steve called his landlady before Marie had time to say no. She in turn invited them down on the spot. Steve made the introductions. "Mrs. Rogers? I'd like you to meet Marie Jardienne. She's very new in town---in the country. She teaches over at the university. She's renting an awful place too far from school---she doesn't have a car---in a less than desirable area and I was wondering if you knew---if any of your friends---might have something available?" It had all come out in a hurry and in a jumble. Marie had had some difficulty following; Steve slowed down and gave her the gist of what he had said in French. To his surprise and Marie's joy, Mrs. Rogers jumped in, in very passable French. She ultimately explained that she had been in the Women's Army Corps, had taken French in college and honed her skills as a translator for an American general during the war. The three of them chatted on, mostly in French for almost twenty minutes. Mrs. Rogers had a very dear friend, almost like a sister to her who owned an almost identical home a few doors down. It too had a garage apartment which was almost identical to the one Steve was renting. Her good friend was away for the summer visiting family and Mrs. Rogers was taking care of the place for her. The apartment was vacant---and partially furnished---but her friend was not interested in renting to college students so Mrs. Rogers hadn't had many inquiries. "Steven, here's the key. You can't miss the house----it has a huge yellow climbing rose in the front yard. I have to get ready for bridge but, Marie if you want the place---it's yours for the same rent Steven is paying. Just leave the key and a note in the mailbox. What am I saying? If you like the place, keep the key. You said you had two more weeks on the lease so let's say ... we start the rent at the first of the month?" Marie and Steve walked three houses down the street and up the outside staircase to the garage apartment. The apartment was quite adequately furnished. The appliances had been updated. Marie was like a little girl with a new toy. Impetuously, she ran to Steve and threw her arms round him, hugging him tightly and brushing her lips against his neck. He was sure he wanted that hug to never end. It lasted longer than he could have hoped. "Marie, my boss at the store---one of the two owners---has a truck. I'm sure he would let me borrow it for gas if I asked him. You should move immediately; you should move Saturday. I'll help you. I'm not comfortable with where you are living." She turned, smiled and took his hand. "You worry about me? You hardly know me. Your landlady didn't know me at all yet she just handed us a key...Forgive me. This is very different. You are very sweet. Thank you." And then she kissed him on the mouth. It wasn't an erotic lover's kiss, more like an overly friendly aunt or something. No, it wasn't like any aunt he'd ever had. It was a kiss; a real kiss, albeit probably a very platonic one. Back at Steve's apartment, Steve and Marie began to prep their dinner together in the kitchen. Steve quickly figured out that she indeed had formal training in the culinary arts. "Let's try something different. We've been speaking French since we left the university. You said you need to work on your English. Let's speak English. The idioms can drive you crazy but I should be able to translate them for you." They just plain had fun. They laughed and giggled at her malapropisms. There was a lot of touching. They decided that they weren't hungry enough to cook once all of the prep work was completed. They opened one of the bottles of wine and moved to the couch in the living room. She asked him to tell her his story; he did so. Her eyes moistened as she heard his saga of parental indifference. Then it was her turn. He was flabbergasted to discover that she was only twenty-eight years old. He was speechless as she told her story. She had been born on the outskirts of Paris before the war as the Nazis were just beginning to rear their ugly heads. Her parents had been trapped in Paris through the occupation. Her father had cooperated with the German invaders in an attempt to keep his family alive. He had succeeded, but after the liberation, a spirit of retribution arose and those viewed as collaborators were shunned, lost their ability to make a living or worse. In her father's case it was worse. He had been jailed awaiting trial on vague and trumped up charges. He had been beaten to death in prison before ever seeing a day in court. She and her mother had been driven out of their family home; everything they had had been taken from them. They survived, thanks to friends and those who knew that what was happening was every bit as evil as the occupation. Her mother had succumbed to illness when Marie had been seventeen. Marie had found employment as a maid in one of the allied installations. She had been raped and impregnated by a drunken American soldier. Although he had received a court martial for the offense, the punishment meted out was minor. Marie had miscarried a few months later. Life improved for her for a few years. She got a job at a respected restaurant and began to train to become a chef. She had a boyfriend...a fiancé. They had moved into increasingly nicer places together. She had been promoted and ultimately became the sous chef in a top Paris restaurant. What she did not know about the man she loved was that he was a communist who had attempted to spy on the NATO forces and he had been caught. While she was interrogated and cleared of any wrong doing, she lost her job and could no longer afford the apartment they had shared. She was virtually on the streets again, certain that she would soon have to sell her body to survive. Only a year prior to coming to the university, she discovered an NGO that had demonstrated success in getting people like herself out of France and to the United States. It took many months but she finally got her visa; it was only a two year work visa. The wife of a university professor who was involved in the charity had helped her get her current job as a learning lab instructor. Steve was speechless. Her story made his piddling life issues seem so insignificant. "Marie...I'm so sorry...I..." He held her in his arms not even sure how she had gotten there. She cried softly on his shoulder. "Steven, I had no right to burden you with my troubles. I haven't talked about it in a long time. You're just a boy and you shouldn't have to hear about such things..." "Hush, Marie, it's okay. What you've gone through makes my story almost silly. I'm your friend." "Thank you," she said, kissing him on the lips for the second time...lingering longer but not probing, "now, enough of this sad talk! It's time to cook!" Steven quickly assumed the role of under chef as Marie expertly and efficiently bustled around his small kitchen preparing their dinner. By the time they sat down for the first course it was nine o'clock. The desert wasn't served until after ten. While Steve fancied himself as a pretty good cook, the meal was beyond anything he had ever prepared or consumed. After cleaning up the dishes, they made coffee and retired to the small living room. Steve put some Coltrane on his inexpensive stereo. Marie knew jazz and knew Coltrane. They talked about nothing and they talked about everything, sliding back and forth between French and English. They related happy moments in their respective lives. They spoke of hopes and dreams. Steve found himself lying on the small sofa with his head in Marie's lap. Her hand softly stroked his hair. Her other hand held his hand. "It is almost time!" she exclaimed. "Your birthday---only five more minutes!" She extricated herself from the sofa and scampered to the small bathroom, returning only a minute before the witching hour. Splitting the remains of the second bottle of wine between their two glasses, she raised hers in toast as Steve did likewise. Their lips met; their arms went around each other. He pulled her to him, his hand softly caressing her neck. Their lips parted and their tongues explored. He felt her sigh...her body shuddered. His other hand found its way to the top of her full rump. They staggered back to the sofa and sat down without breaking the kiss. Their hands began to roam and explore through their clothing. She pulled away momentarily but not in anger. She looked into his eyes. She smiled and met his lips again as her hand fell to his lap and purposely found his raging erection. She giggled, and then got serious as she took his hand and they both stood. "Steven...have you ever...are you..." "No. Marie, sadly I never have...I'm a virgin." "Steven, nothing to be sad about or have regrets about but you must decide what is right since I've lost all sense of what is right or wrong..." He took her back in his arms and kissed her, pushing his hard cock into her hot, moist mound. His hand slid down her back...around her slim waist and then down to her rear. His fingers trailed along her tight cleft. His lips trailed down her neck and found the top of her breast. She spoke, almost in a whisper, in French. "Do you want to sleep with me...make love to me?" "Yes," he whispered hoarsely. Wordlessly she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Examining his double bed she spoke playfully. "Room for two, I would think." And then she giggled like a little girl as she turned to face him and pulled him down on the bed with her. An hour earlier, Steve had felt tired; he no longer felt that way. They continued to make out for some time. There was no hurry; they had all night. At some point they had essentially undressed each other partially. Steve still had his boxers on. Marie still had her blouse on but it was open and her bra had long since been removed. They both looked at the small lamp at the same time and wordlessly determined that it should remain on. Marie decided that Steve's boxers were in the way and adroitly removed them and her blouse. Her lips left his and trailed down his chest. She would occasionally look up into his eyes, as if seeking approval. As she moved closer to her target, she continued to look up at him but a devilish smile replaced her look of uncertainty. Steve felt her hot breath at the root of his cock...her soft hands gently stroking his hard balls...her tongue sampling him as if tasting some new confection. Her lips and tongue moved to the head, sampling his secretions and moaning in appreciation. Without warning she engulfed him in her full mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, plunging his rock hard tool to the depths of her mouth and then beginning a slow, lazy motion as her head bobbed up and down. He knew he would not be able to hold back. This was, after all, his first blowjob. He would understand as he grew older that it would end up being the best one he would ever experience or, more accurately that no woman who would ever take his cock in her mouth would come remotely close to Marie. He came quickly; she hungrily swallowed his virgin essence and then continued her oral attention until he literally could not take it any more. She looked up at him and giggled again. She grinned at his discomfiture. She started to rise; he pulled her back to him and kissed her, probing her full mouth, tasting his own seed...his hand fell to her hairy mound...his fingers explored. His lips left hers and trailed down her body, teasing her with his soft kisses, caressing her soft thighs with his mouth, moving steadily inward to her center...to her special place. He almost panicked as he realized that he was on completely uncharted ground. He'd read about it countless times; he was pretty sure he had the anatomy committed to memory but he had never actually gone down on a woman before. She sensed his momentary hesitation and whispered to him. "Very nice... tender...don't worry...I'll help you." He was proud of the fact that he remembered damn near everything he had ever read about this particular act. He knew how important the tease was...the anticipation...don't get impatient...don't rush things. She was murmuring words of encouragement...telling him that he was pleasing her. He ultimately found her turgid button, caressing it with his lips and tongue...be gentle...it's very sensitive there. She whispered a word now and again to aid him in his duties. When her soft, furry mound began slowly pushing into his face and her breathing became more rapid and ragged he stopped thinking, remembering and worrying and quickly began to enjoy himself as much as he hoped she was enjoying his ministrations. Her body arched...she writhed beneath him...her body broke out in a cool sweat...her hands were on his head, stroking his blond locks, running her fingers over his ears. She came. Her body froze as if in rigor. Her hot cunt pushed into his face as if she were trying to pull him inside her. She shuddered...she moaned and gasped. He continued his oral attention to her hot, musky slot, finding the profuse discharge of her womanly secretions to be an aphrodisiac. He wanted all of it; his tongue reached to its limits inside her cavern desperately recovering every salty drop. As his lips pushed against her most sensitive place and his tongue ventured deep inside, she came again, this time furiously fucking his mouth with her steamy mound. He did not stop even after she fell back in exhaustion; he knew there was more of her precious nectar inside...he wanted all of it. Finally when she could take no more, she pulled his head up toward her own and kissed him, now sampling her own womanly essence in his mouth. Their arms were again around each other, her face buried in his neck as he buried his face in her hair. "Thank you," she whispered, nestling her body as tightly against him as was humanly possible. They laid together wordlessly for several minutes; she sensed his cock stirring and reached between them to confirm her suspicions. "I need you inside me," she whispered urgently. "Marie, I don't have a..." "Protection? I'm not on the pill, Steven, nor do I need a cap. The miscarriage...so long ago...there were problems...I can't ever have children...can't get pregnant. I've not been with a man in...several years...and you, with a woman...never before?" "Never before." "Then there is no issue." She said matter-of-factly, as she rolled on her back taking his body with her. She scooted her body up and found his completely recovered organ with her hand. "Nice cock," she said, playfully, as she nipped his ear. She positioned his cock at her opening, raised her hips and whispered, "now, Steven...inside me...now...please." In spite of having come in Marie's sweet mouth a few minutes earlier, Steven was completely unprepared for the warm envelopment of her tight canal. No amount of reading and study could have prepared him. He gasped. "Slow...don't move...just remain still. Don't worry about anything, Steven. This time it is for you...only for you...the first time for you. You fill me very nicely...you made me come before...we have plenty of time...all the time in the world. I want this to be magic for you, my sweet baby...I want to be special for you...you will always remember...remember the first woman...remember your Marie. Now, Steven, slowly...move...look at me...I want to watch your beautiful eyes...your kind face...so good...it's been so long...make love to me now, Steven...yes, like that...oh, God, yes! Don't try to hold back, baby...faster now...oh, baby...that's wonderful...harder now...yes...oh, Jesus...oh, baby...fuck meeee!" His orgasm was unlike anything he had ever experienced with his trusty right hand. It consumed every fiber of his body. She was holding him tightly, now moving her furry mound against his pubic bone. "Stay inside me, Steven...yes...that's perfect...grind against my...oh...oh...ohhhhh!" He felt a sense of loss when his deflating organ left her hot cavern. Her soft lips caressed his neck; she whispered again. "I came again, Steven...you made me come...you are a wonderful lover...so very wonderful...special. That was so special for me...thank you." They dozed but their night of sexual exploration was far from over. He awakened some time later to find Marie on her knees between his legs sucking his cock. When she sensed that he was awake, she looked up at him, grinning, then playfully nipped his inner thigh. Wordlessly, she turned away from him, than backed up on her knees until her perfectly formed full rump was inches from his face. He needed no further guidance or invitation. Lifting his head, he began lavishing her musky pussy with his mouth. She squealed in appreciation. His hands found her full dangling breasts and he touched them gently. She took his hand and placed the fingers over one of her hard nipples, silently demonstrating what she enjoyed. Her mouth again found his now rock hard organ. She was teasing him again, playfully lapping at his fuck tool as if it was a lollipop. Her fingers stroked his balls...one strayed back to his anus. He watched her stick it in her mouth and then insert it gently inside him. Simultaneously, his tongue found her nether region and explored its taut rim, then pushed inside. She did not protest but instead began moving her ass as if trying to pull his tongue inside her. Quel age as-tu? He felt her finger leave his asshole. She quickly slid her body down his and squatted over his cock. Positioning it expertly, she languorously descended, momentarily resting her body on his, then back up again. He placed his hands on her slim waist and caressed her full buttocks as she increased her pace. Her hand fell to her slippery slot. She began riding him with abandon, slamming her soft ass down against him...moaning now...mumbling unintelligibly in French...faster...harder...and then she screamed softly as the orgasm came over her...slowing her pace...her upper body collapsing over his legs. The posture caused her butt cheeks to separate lewdly. Her drenched pussy, still impaled on him, was in full view, her tightly wound brown muscle quivering in anticipation. Extracting himself from under her, he positioned himself behind her on his knees, slipping his fingers inside her steamy slot. She rotated her full rear, fucking his fingers with her slippery cunt. He quickly replaced his fingers with his as-yet-unrelieved organ, penetrating her completely in a single thrust. One hand reached around to find her button as the other grasped her soft hip. His body was over the top of hers, his mouth able to kiss her neck, her shoulders, her back. For some time they fucked like that...slowly...tenderly...his hips moving as if having a mind of their own. She rested her forearms on the bed, causing her ass to elevate to a more acute angle. He squatted behind her, then over her, entering her with an almost vertical stroke. He slapped her full ass playfully. She giggled. Her own hand again found her slot, alternately touching his cock with her fingers as it slid in and out. He looked down, watching her ass hole open and close slightly as he thrust into her. He removed one hand from her hip, his thumb finding her tightest entrance, remembering to lubricate it as she had done earlier. His thumb moved easily inside the tight muscle, marveling at how it granted him entrance when it had seemed almost impossible a minute earlier. He felt his arousal building and consciously slowed his pace, gripping her hips tightly in his strong young hands. "Don't move!" she commanded. "Stay like that...deep inside me...stay still...I'm almost...yesssss!" Her fingers combined with the fullness of his cock inside her had brought her another wave of pleasure. "Now, Steven...just fuck me...fuck me hard and fast...cum so deep inside me...don't try to hold back...I need to be fucked. Your woman needs to be fucked hard! Fuck your woman, Steven...fuck her good...so good." Even with permission to do so, Steve did not cum as soon as he had expected. The few moments during which he had remained motionless while Marie's talented fingers completed their own task had been like a reset button. When he finally came it was even more intense than the others; he felt several strong streams of cum leave his body and shoot deep inside Marie...his woman. He roared her name, driving into her again and again even after he was certain there was nothing left inside him and then the second small orgasm surprised him...made him laugh...left him totally exhausted and completely in awe. *** Steve helped Marie move two days later on Saturday. For the two months that remained in the summer session, they could well have shared a single apartment since they spent every night together. At some point, he called his grandmother --- collect, of course. On the occasions when he had called on his own dime she had insisted he hang up and she would call him back or tell him to hang up and call collect. He told her about Marie, indicating that she was a special friend and briefly recounting her situation. His grandmother owned a small business with another woman which was involved in planning dinners and parties for the socially prominent. She had many contacts within the restaurant industry. Marie had shown him her diploma from a top French cooking school and spoken of the places she had worked in Paris. He had helped her prepare a formal resume. During the short break between summer session and the regular fall term, Marie and Steve took the train to New York. His grandmother lived alone in a small apartment; she arranged lodging for them in another small apartment nearby which was owned by a friend of hers who was away for a few weeks. Steve's grandmother fell in love with Marie on the spot. She well knew that the woman was older than her only grandson by a decade and assumed that they were in fact lovers but it was no matter to her. She marveled at what a fine man he had turned into and the fact that he was mature beyond his years. He had inherited none of the bad traits of his parents---of that she was certain. She had arranged a series of interviews for Marie with a handful of respected establishments which specialized in French cuisine. During Marie's absences she treated her grandson to some new clothing and several exceptional meals. "Steven, I know something about the food business in this city. Marie has impeccable credentials. If her skills live up to her resume, she will doubtless have an offer very quickly---and a good one, I would expect. When she moves here, I will certainly look after her...help her find her way. What is in your future, young man?" "I expect to graduate from college nine months early so it's back to the grind. Then---who knows? A job of course but I've no idea doing what." "I can also help you at the appropriate time in that area. I have many solid business relationships here in the city." "I love to visit you here but would hate to live here! It's just not me." "And Marie?" "Marie is my friend...my very best friend in the world...probably ever. But she should be here, doing what she loves and has trained to do...finding happiness again...starting her life again." "And that life...Steven...where do you fit in that life?" "Always as her friend. We've been very good for each other...we've brought each other happiness...we are both very different people for knowing each other over a painfully short couple of months." "You are lovers, of course." Steve should not have been surprised as his grandmother's perceptiveness nor her blunt candor. "Yes...I should have known you had figured that out. She taught me how to love...make love for the very first time. I helped her to love again...enjoy love and making love again. I will always love her and believe that she will always love me. My Lord, marriage was never remotely in the cards! We're ten years apart in age. We are from very different worlds and have very different hopes and dreams. We had that discussion the day after the first time we...Marie brought it up over breakfast. She feared that I would become infatuated with her---think that I was in love with her and that we should stay together. She wanted to end it right then and there. "Actually, looking back that could have happened, I suppose---but it didn't. Because we wouldn't let it. We've both had our bumps in life---hers far more painful than mine. The upside of those life experiences is that neither of us are silly dreamers. We're both painfully grounded and practical. I'll miss her---more than just the sex. I'll truly miss her but if you really love someone, if they really are your friend---don't you owe them much more than what just makes you feel good?" Her eyes filled with tears as she threw her arms around her only grandson. "I'm so damn proud of you. Your genetic makeup should have guaranteed that you'd be a complete screw-up. Your father never grew up---nor did your mother. Here you are at eighteen almost too grownup. You need to live a little, kid! You've paid your dues. Don't be in such a rush to get to the next milestone in life." Marie received several offers from excellent establishments. Before she and Steven departed on the train, his grandmother had already found her a rent-controlled apartment owned by friends of hers who had recently decided to move to Florida permanently. As soon as they got home, Marie and Steve packed up her personal things and shipped them North. Their last night together was emotional and even painful but also their most special night together. In the dim pre-dawn light, she spoke first. "You'll come to visit?" "Of course." "I owe you so much, Steven---not just the job---so much more...I can never repay you." "I owe you just as much or more. I have one thing I have to say---and you don't need to answer." "What is it?" "I love you...I always will. If you are ever in trouble...if you ever need anything---anything! All you have to do is ask." Marie chuckled. "We were never going to say those three words, Steven. We never really talked about it but we knew those words were off limits." She kissed him softly. "I denied it and rejected it, Steven. In the end you have to know I wanted to say it...I felt it in my heart. Yes, I love you...and will until I die." They kissed and held each other in the dawn glimmer. "And now, Steven, we have time to fuck one last time before I have to get ready to catch my train. We made love more than once over the last few hours and it was so very sweet but that's not how we should part." Her hand dropped to his quickly inflating organ. "You have a magnificent cock, Steven; it fills ever inch of me so completely." Marie rolled onto her knees and allowed her head to rest on the bed. She waved her perfect rump in front of her lover. "Fuck me the way you did that first night, hunched over me...driving into me...slamming your beautiful cock so deep...do me now, Steven...now while we have time!" *** Her train left very early the next morning. They held on to each other as long as was humanly possible. The conductor had just made his final call. "Friends forever, dear Steven?" He nodded wordlessly. "But no longer lovers, my sweet, dear boy. You will find a girl---a woman---and she will be a lucky woman indeed...someone closer to your own age...someone to love, marry and have babies with. I will never forget you...always love you." And then she turned and was gone. As he watched the train leave the station, he had tears in his eyes. The fall term would begin in two more days. So much of his life over the summer had been devoted to Marie. He felt a pang of emptiness...loneliness. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned in response to the words---words in French. "Excuse me, Monsieur? I'm sorry to bother you but I don't speak very good English and I heard you and that lady speaking French as she was getting on the train. I wonder if you could help me?" He examined her quickly before responding. Slender, soft brown hair, huge brown eyes...absolutely beyond the definition of adorable. "Quel age as-tu?" "Pardon? Oh, yes. I am, ah, twenty-one years old. I am here to work at the University as a language instructor." "Where are your bags?" "I have only this small one." "Do you have a place to live?" "A boarding house but then I will need to find something more permanent very quickly." "The lady who just left; her apartment is vacant. I'm sure the landlady would be happy to rent it to you." "Really! That would be so wonderful! If you can give me directions, I will get a cab and..." "I'm so sorry for my rudeness! I'm Steve or Steven if you like." "Michelle. So pleased to meet you, Steven. Are you a student at the university?" "Yes, a sophomore. Michelle, I would be happy to give you a ride. I live in an apartment on the same street. The lady looking after the apartment I mentioned is also my landlady." "Are you sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience?" "Not at all but I need to tell you, I don't have a car, I have a small motorcycle and in your skirt it might be inconvenient for you." "A motorcycle? I had one at home---very small. More of a scooter, really." "This isn't a scooter...you have to sit astride it---but it's a short ride." Steve said. "I really have very little money. The cost of a taxi...I'm sure I can manage a little immodesty." "Well, shall we go?" He said, picking up her bag. "Steven, I need to also find some place to take classes; my spoken English is not so good." "I can help you with that Michelle. French is my second language. I'm an American; English is my first language. I helped Marie---the lady you saw me with---improve her understanding of American idioms." "I would never have guessed! Your accent is not American at all." "That's a long story. Michelle, you look very young; I was surprised when you said you were twenty-one." "One has to be twenty-one to receive a work visa and get a job teaching at the university, Steven. I assure you I am twenty-one. I have papers." "I believe you, Michelle. You would have no reason to lie to me---would you?" She paused as he was attaching her small case to the luggage rack. Her mouth formed into a pout that was more confused and uncertain than angry. It also made her even more adorable, if that was possible. "How old are you, Steven?" "I'm eighteen, Michelle." "Eighteen? You seem so much older." "You're not the first to make that observation." "Are you married? You and the lady who boarded the train seemed very...intimate." "I'm not married. And Marie and I are very dear friends but she is moving to New York to start a new job as a sous chef and won't be returning. You're not married, are you, Michelle?" "Of course not! I'm far too young to be married. Look, Steven...this job is very important to me. In addition to a job, the university is going to allow me to take some classes toward my degree which I am told is very unusual since I am a woman but since I am an employee they are bending the rules. No one must know what I am going to tell you. I started college in France very young; my parents died in an accident. I had nothing; a relative helped me get papers that said I was older. I am not twenty-one; I'm eighteen...just like you. I would have been a sophomore also." "Your secret is safe with me, Michelle. I promise. Shall we go?" Michelle spoke the next time as they parked the bike in Mrs. Rogers' driveway. "I feel so fortunate to have met someone who speaks French. I was terrified coming to a strange city and a new country, knowing no one and not speaking the language very well. I hope we can be friends, Steven." "You can count on it, Michelle. You can count on it. Do you like to cook?" "I like to but I am not very good in the kitchen. Why do you ask?" "I've always loved cooking. Marie, my friend, taught me many things." "Perhaps you could teach me?" "I would enjoy that very much, Michelle." This story is dedicated to the author's college language lab instructor...Marie. May her life have been filled with happiness and joy. Edited by Techsan and crazysoundguy