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Author’s note: This is rather different to anything I have posted here before. Hope you like it.

***

Paris, summer 1965. I had arrived to spend two months living with a Parisian family, the parents speaking no English; and attend classes (in French of course) at a prestigious lycee in Cinquieme – the Latin Quarter. It was a school exchange, and I was just eighteen.

One Sunday, a few weeks after I had arrived in Paris, the family went visiting relations in the countryside. The car was a big old-fashioned Peugot. M. Samuel (of course) took the wheel. He was a research physicist, and whilst pleasant, was the epitome of Parisian bourgeois: very straight-laced, always in a suit, and somewhat limited in the range of his mealtime conversation. Mme Samuel sat beside her husband. She was much warmer, and it was she who had encouraged me to learn Paris by foot; suggesting interesting places to explore which were off the tourist trail, like the delightful Place Mouffetard. She had told me where the folk club was in Citee Universitaire; and had even introduced me to, and tacitly encouraged me to date, her bonny but staid convent-school niece Annie.

I of course went in the back of the car with their energetic younger son Remi. He was a lively twelve-year-old with a smattering of English which he loved to practice, and a self-imposed mission to be guide and interpreter to l’etranger Ecossais. Which said etranger endured with good grace, as Remi was a lovely engaging boy, and I had grown to really like him.

Between Remi and I in the back seat sat douce seventeen-year-old Annie. Freed from the strictures of her convent-school for the day, it was her parents we were going to visit.

The Sunday-morning drive out of Paris began, through the south-west suburbs in heat that was increasingly oppressive. By the time we passed the outer Peripherique the inside of the car was stifling, though the close presence of Annie’s sweet-scented form squashed beside me was tinglingly delicious…Out of the city the car speeded up, and with windows down it became more pleasant.

The elder Samuels conversed between themselves, sounds sucked through the open windows by the heat. Remi’s constant Franglais commentary was mixed with Annie murmuring huskily to me in French about our route. The car rolled through the unending richness of L’Isle de France, a succession of broad rich grainfields interspersed with orchards and meadows where cattle and horses grazed moistly by riverbanks. The road was forever poplar-lined. Farmers with tractors and peasants with horses tended the land, and every so often we passed through quiet villages, rough brick and occasional stone cottages, but every village, it seemed, with a medieval church and fine nineteenth-century Mairie at the crossroads. The sun beat down relentlessly through the humid heathaze.

As she spoke of what we passed, Annie’s movements beside me were electrifying and, I thought, blood surging momentarily, not always involuntary. Remi dozed off as the journey continued, and I dared a few entirely voluntary movements against Annie’s thigh. She leaned closer and my glance showed me her eyelids were fluttering against dozing, but as her tentative surreptitious movements became more certain, I knew this was for the benefit of M. Samuel’s gaze in the mirror.

I desperately wanted to touch her with my hand, but it had to remain demurely on my lap. Instead I moved my hidden foot against hers and my blood surged once more as she responded immediately. I could feel her breathing quicken as I sensed my own deepening, and knew now that Annie was as turned on by this strange hot journey as I was.

After a trip of nearly three hours the car turned off the road and onto a farm-track. Annie excitedly pointed out trees, burns, henhouses; landmarks of her childhood; her enthusiasm, fragrance and warmth melting me. The car stopped in the yard: a south-facing low two-storey farmhouse, maybe eighteenth-century, flanked by barn and byre. We were welcomed effusively by Annie’s parents and entered a cool low-ceilinged kitchen, long table spread with bread, cheese, cold meats, artichokes, olives, and bottles of wine and cider. Fragrance from fresh-baked bread, and gentle scent from dried herbs hung at windows.

I was introduced properly to Annie’s parents, small, sunbaked, dark-clothed, and looking older than I thought they should be. Beside the Samuels they looked like peasants, though I understood they escort kocaeli were in fact well-off farmers who owned their own property. Hands were washed at the kitchen sink, a lengthy grace was said, hands graciously took food to mouths though as the conversation built, the food often remained suspended for minutes at a time. Of course I was deluged with questions, but in a coarser French than the clipped Parisian I was growing used to, so at first I had to ask, ‘lentement, s’il vous plait?’

Gradually I began to absorb the conversation unthinkingly, and to speak faster myself. Annie on one side, and her father opposite me, ensured neither my plate nor my glass were ever empty, and the whole room glowed warmly. Annie pulled the cheeseboard toward me: ‘You must try this one Ecossais: fromage paysan, I made it myself.’ And she cut me a wedge of ripe semi-soft cheese, spread it on bread for me.

Annie’s folks were tu-toi-ing from the start, in contrast to their stiffer city relatives. I felt I was absorbing the heart of rural France here; surrounded by this warm hard-working family. Remi and Annie’s wee brother Pierre soon disappeared through the door. Annie was less formal than when I had met her in Paris, and she too was now using the familiars rather than the stiffer formal verbs and pronouns of our city meetings.

Rich tangy apples followed the farm lunch, and Annie’s father announced that there was work to be done. Annie was allocated to the orchard, where the first crop of apples was ready: ‘Douglas, veux-tu m’aider?’

We collected baskets and wandered across the yard between fat clucking chookies and Muscovy ducks, then down a lane between wheatfields. I tentatively reached for her hand once we were out of sight of the farmhouse, and my touch was returned warmly. I had had girlfriends in Edinburgh, but this careful flirting with sweet Annie had my heart pumping hard. I knew it was part of the strangeness of exploring this beautiful new world, but I also felt myself incredibly drawn to this bonnie girl, and was flattered and excited that my interest was so warmly returned.

The orchard was beside a river, at some distance from the farmhouse. I asked Annie what we had to do, and she looked at me wistfully: ‘I wish we didn’t have to work on a day like this! My dad is awful’ but her warm expression belied this. I put my basket down and with fingers trembling, placed my hands on her shoulders. She moved slightly towards me and looked up at me coyly, brown eyes wide, inviting…my head moved toward her and we moved closer…and kissed lightly. The soft pliant gentling of her lips on mine was electrifying: my whole body was trembling now. But I dared not overstay my welcome and pulled back. I said: ‘Shouldn’t we get to work?’

Annie moved away. Her gentle fragrance, her innocent but sensuous touch had sent my senses whirling. ‘We must start at the bottom, beside the river. We will do one tree at a time, but only the ripe apples. You take the lower boughs, I’ll take the upper ones from the ladder’. I protested from some well of chivalry that maybe ladders were men’s business, but she put her finger to my lips: ‘Douglas, tu es tres gentil, mais je suis le paysan ici!’ Of course, it was sensible she took the ladder, she had been brought up to do this.

‘Besides’, she said, with a very coy look…’don’t you want to see me up a ladder, silly?’

I blushed richly: ‘How did you know I just thought of that?’

She laughed: ‘Do you think I haven’t noticed how you have been looking at me?’ I protested but of course she was right, and my face went a deeper red.

Annie giggled richly: ‘Just because I am at a convent school, do you think I know nothing about boys? But come on, let’s get to work…and you may see my legs. I hope you like them!’

I didn’t know where to put myself as Annie, now thoroughly professional, dragged a ladder from a lean-to beside the river. ‘I’ll start on the ground with you, to show you which apples are ready to pick.’ She pointed out a couple of likely candidates: ‘But it is necessary to feel as well as see, n’est-ce pas?’ Her fingers closed gently round a fruit, then her other hand selected one which was also going orange, but was maybe a bit greener. ‘This one-‘ the first – ‘is ready for picking. Try it.’ Her long fingers closed softly over mine, around the fruit. ‘But this one’ – the second –’ is not.’ Her fingers lingered over mine. She had moved behind me to cover both my hands and I was gölcük escort aware of her yielding belly pressed against me. She spun me round and kissed me quickly, matter-of-factly, on my lips. ‘Now do you think you can manage on your own, city boy? Or does Annie have to teach you more about real life?’

Every part of me was spinning at this gentle, apparently innocent but ambiguous banter from sweet Annie. I blushed again: ‘I’ll ask you if I need more assistance, ma’m’selle.’ I must have stuttered over that: she pushed me gently – ‘idiot!’ -and asked me to help her place the ladder, pointing out the safe way to put it. Then she grabbed her basket, took off her city shoes, and twinkled up the ladder in her stockings. I moved so I could look up without the sun in my eyes, and she playfully extended one leg so I could see her calves under the dress…and a little higher too, just a flash of white panties.

‘What are you looking at, Ecossais? To work!’

I picked up my basket and started, sweat dripping from me after a few minutes. I soon got the hang, and my tentative picking speeded up, but my basket was just over half-full when Annie reappeared beside me, basket brimming with apples. She walked over to a stack of shallow wooden boxes beside the lean-to. ‘When the basket is full, you must place the apples in a box, so;’ and she quickly laid the apples in the wooden box; ‘gently, so: we do not want them bruised.’

Her long black hair, which had been up in an elaborate bun, was straying loose with her stretching, and I was entranced by the long wisps of escaped dark on the brown of the back of her neck as she bent over the apple box. Patches of dark showed at her oxters, and a faint scent of her sweat overlaid her gentle perfume. I gently stroked the back of her neck and as she straightened, drew her to me and kissed her. Softly, on her moist brow, her eyebrows, her long nose, her mouth…this time the kiss was longer, and her lips were as eager as mine to taste, explore. We were both panting as we drew apart: ‘Annie, I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted to taste you, smell you, feel you…’

‘Well, maybe I couldn’t help myself either,’ she faltered. I knew we were both on a path neither of us had explored before. My whole being was suffused with tenderness and joy for this girl, nothing I had felt before in my adolescent gropings and fumblings at home.

‘But Douglas, my father will not be impressed with only two boxes of apples. He will think you have been leading his convent girl astray!’

So we got back to the picking. I discarded clothing as the afternoon sun burned me; until, me bare to the waist, we had filled about fifteen boxes. I straightened, wiping my brow, as Annie stepped from the ladder to fill another box, sweat pouring down her browned skin. Once more as she bent over the box I was thrilled at the way her black hairs curled over her neck, and this time put my hands on her waist as she leaned over, my fingers tingling in excitement at the sense of her skin through the damp material. ‘Annie, I think I need a rest now, in the shade. I’m not used to the heat like this.’

‘So my fine Ecossais, you can’t take the French heat? Or is it the French girl’s heat?’ Straightening as she turned, she pulled my face to her mouth and kissed me long and deep on the lips, my nascent arousal fully provoked as she pressed herself hard to me, making me feel the delicious firmness of her breasts, the pressure of her lower torso.

‘Chere Annie, I love this French girl’s heat,’ I breathed between kisses, trembling now with delight, soft gentle care for this amazing lassie, deep desire to please her, and, it must be admitted, pure lust.

‘Well perhaps we should go somewhere to rest for a bit:’ Annie took my hand and led me to the river bank. ‘I always rest in my secret place: only my best girlfriend has ever been here,’ as she pushed through soured broom, well past its best. ‘So you are my first ever secret boyfriend to come here.’

The spot was so densely surrounded and overhung with low willows, I was not surprised it was Annie’s secret. Half in sun, half in shade, it had a soft grassy slope with the river beyond. Kingfishers dipped, iridescent flashes of blue and green. On the far bank was a big deserted wheatfield.

Annie settled on a shaded spot and lay down, pulling me with her. As we lay back, my arms curled round her and she snuggled in close. I was electrified. Tentatively I moved izmit sınırsız escort my leg between hers, and she parted her thighs slightly. We were kissing now, all over each other’s faces and necks, and I relished the eroticism of her bodyscent. Still kissing, I moved my hand from her shoulder to her soft firm breast and she squirmed and moaned slightly as I gentled her nipple through thin fabric…’ah Douglas, tu es mon cher…but I think I need more control here…’ and she slipped round so that she was leaning over me, now flat on my back.

‘OK my dear, I want you to be in control…Ow!’ as she kissed my neck, started biting gently. ‘Is this’ – I was giggling now – ‘what they teach you in convent school?’

‘Silly, I saw it in a film…’

‘And did they do this in the film…?’ as I started to unbutton the top of her dress and, feeling her compliance, reached round to unhook her bra. She kissed my mouth now, eagerly, as my fingers gently found the softness of her breast. Kissed me long and wetly, moaning, my fingers softly pulling her nipples. She lay back and I could see her eyes, unfocussed with yearning.

I leaned over her, totally overwhelmed, and kissed every inch of her face and neck, then slowly down her breast till my mouth enclosed her nipple and I sucked her gently. Her fingers were exploring my upper body, lingering below my stomach, at the top of my trousers, and as I sucked on her, still kissing, I let my hand move south softly, over her hip, and into the cleft…rubbing gently through the fabric.

‘Ohh Douglas, you are touching my secret place, no boy ever…’ she moaned deliciously as my emboldened fingers drew up her dress, touched the damp fabric of her panties…’it is so beautiful…I am trusting you, mon cher…ohhh more but gently please…’

Her fingers had moved to my groin and I groaned as she stroked the bulge…’ahh cherie…’ and my fingers slipped inside her panties.

‘Do you like this my sweet Annie?’ I whispered, fingers parting her lips, stroking her moistness…

‘Ohh mon cher, just so gently, maybe a little faster…’ as her fingers covered mine to show me what she needed…’but Douglas…I am a virgin and want to remain so, please be careful…’ I was not a virgin, technically, but this gentle shared joy was somewhere I had never been before. Whilst Annie’s fingers were stroking me to the edge of explosion, I knew we were sharing an unique joy, and I was going nowhere Annie didn’t want.

‘Douglas,’ she was moving, pulling her panties off, ‘please, would you…kiss me please?’

‘Oh Annie…’ my heart was bursting for her…’something else from a film?’

‘Mm, yes, I have yearned… to try it’ – she stumbled over words – ‘but you are my first…I mean, I have never before…’

I shuffled down to lower my face between her thighs, catching her intensely erotic secret scent for the first time…

‘Non mon cher, pas comme ca’ as she struggled to lower my trousers over my bent hips. ‘I want to taste you as you taste me Douglas…’

Trembling with excitement and anticipation, I stood up to remove my trousers and pants, and Annie’s eyes widened: ‘I have never seen before…’ and I crouched over her face, licking down her belly, jerking as she very tentatively touched me. My mouth settled over her wispy dark hair:

‘And I have neither seen or tasted before my dear…’ heart pounding, my tongue lapped as her excitement opened her, and it slid into her delicious scented pinkness. I felt her lips close over me and sighed with a fulfilment I had never dreamed of, a million miles from furtive torn playground magazine photos…’oh my Annie, you are so delicious…’ teasing round her hard bud as she licked me wetly.

‘Ohhh mon cher, more pleasse’ as she writhed beneath me. ‘Quicker, ahhh’ and my tongue flickered faster over her…’ohhh’ her hands were pushing my head hard into her and I was near explosion at her tongue on me…’so near now’, she whispered. My face was engulfed in her sex and my fingers moved back to stroke her breasts…then I felt her take me all into her sweet mouth and as I sensed a surge in me I felt her jerking hard, straining her legs wider, moaning as my tongue entered her and my seed exploded in her mouth…I continued licking her, kissing her sex gratefully and transposed in delight. She spluttered a little: ‘Tu es magnifique mon cher, I think you just took me to the moon’. She sank back with a sigh so profound, as I licked into her wet deliciousness a final time. We shuffled round so we could lie together, gazing into each others’ eyes in deep wonderment at what had passed between us.

‘Je t’aime, ma cherie’, I whispered: ‘I never understood what that word meant before’.

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