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Subject: {ASSM} Cloe - The French Evening Class (f + rom.)
Date: Wed, 31 May 2000 02:10:46 -0400
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This following contains material of an adult nature. If you are
below the age of 18, live in a state or country where it is
illegal to read such material, or if you might be offended by
explicit descriptions of sexual acts, please stop reading now.
My thanks and appreciation to Janey for her help, her proofing,
her suggestions, and especially her encouragement.
CLOE - The French Evening Class
Copyright 2000 Pee J
peej102@hotmail.com
It is the French evening class. Almost everyone is here. We are
seated both sides of a long table with the tutor in the middle.
She comes in a few minutes late, takes almost the only remaining
place next to the tutor and sits directly opposite me, less than
three feet away. Very quietly spoken, timid even. She is
probably the youngest of the group - seventeen, maybe eighteen,
with wavy blond hair, pretty face and... breasts that would make
your toenails curl. Evidently she is not shy about them either.
Their shape and size are superb, enveloped in a tight fitting tee
shirt, that showed every curve. The whiteness of her tee shirt
accentuates the contours and enhances them with provocative
shadows. As she moves, little pointed creases form in her tee
shirt under each breast and trail round her ribcage towards her
waist. It stretches the thin material tautly, perfectly outlining
their form, casting nuances of tone and curve.
I jerk myself out of my reverie. I just do not lust after such
young flesh, well, not this young, well not usually, but...
Her nearness is disconcerting. Propinquity, that's the word.
Each time I look up, she is there right in front of me. I can't
even look at the tutor without catching sight of those orbs. My
view is compulsively drawn to them. They have become mesmeric.
I have difficulty tearing my eyes away. She catches me watching.
I realise she knows that not only am I looking at her, but exactly
where my gaze is lingering.
The first time our eyes meet, I am greeted with a half-smile.
Later, as she catches me looking again, she offers another half-
smile but somehow it's different this time. She is waiting for me
to look, I sense it. It is as though she knows she has cast her
mesmeric spell on me.
She becomes the centre of attention as she makes a presentation.
This is something of a rehearsal for what she might expect in a
French oral exam she is taking later in the week. She starts her
presentation well, but later struggles a little and quietly I am
able to prompt her a little. She smiles in appreciation, again
with those half-lowered eyelids. She knows that I am unable to
tear my eyes away from her; from her and her boobs.
The class finishes and a few of us gather outside and chat before
drifting off home. I make a point of saying goodbye to Cloe, who
it would appear, is waiting for someone to collect her. A male
student protectively stays by her until her lift arrives. I wish
I had been quicker off the mark.
I go home to my empty flat, turn on the TV and watch a somewhat
spicy movie, 'Sex Lies and Videotape.' The seeds of my arousal
have flourished into a need. I go to bed and read an erotic
story. I substitute Cloe for the girl in the story. I am now
thoroughly turned on. My hand goes under the bed covers, and, in
the time-honoured way, I begin to masturbate and let the rapturous
stimuli flood into my consciousness. As they begin to build, the
book that I am reading falls from my hand. I can only concentrate
on the increasingly intense feeling in my loins. I close my eyes
and envisage removing Cloe's tee shirt and absorbing the sight of
those superb breasts, of removing her bra, imagining what sort of
nipples and aureoles she has, their size, their colour. My
fantasy takes my hand to one, my mouth to the other. My fingers
roll and squeeze, my lips suck, the nipple hardening at my touch.
My teeth scrape gently along its length. My hand cups and
massages. The skin is pure and smooth, the flesh firm and
succulent. In the fantasy I imbue her with rising excitement,
but mine has now gone too far and I can no longer hold back. I
succumb to a shattering climax, it overwhelms me.
After I recover my breath I find I am mildly disappointed as I
realise that in my fantasy I was not able to explore the rest of
her body. Oh well, next time maybe.
* * *
The following week I contrive to sit opposite her again. This
time it's a little warmer and she has on a shirt, and both the
first and the second buttons are undone. `Oh, please lean
forward,' I silently plead. I keep watching, but she does not
indulge me. Then at last she relents, and I glimpse the top of
those gorgeous orbs and the lace at the top edge of her bra.
Looking up, she catches my stare immediately, and smiles demurely
from those half-raised eyelashes. During the session, I am
treated to several more glimpses, each time accompanied by that
half-smile. I feel myself becoming aroused again. I am sure I am
being teased, but she seems so coy and ingenuous, innocent even.
To my sorrow the period ends and we exit into the street and stand
round talking, Cloe included. Some go off to their cars, I stay
around. She is evidently waiting for her lift. Then a mobile
phone rings. It's Cloe's. Her lift is delayed, can she find a
taxi to take her home. Naturally, being the Good Samaritan that I
am, I offer to drive her home. We go to my car in the far corner
of the now almost-deserted car park. We talk for a few moments
about the class, and then she suddenly comes out with, "You like
looking at my figure, don't you?" I can hardly deny it, can I?
"Does it excite you?" she asks. I can hardly deny that either.
I am rather taken aback by her forthright attitude, especially
from someone so young.
"Yes, I do," I manage to stammer out.
"You seem to like looking at my boobs, don't you?" It's more a
statement of fact than a question. She's looking at me and I nod
weakly. If I wasn't entirely aroused before, I am now. She says,
"I don't mind you looking, and I think they're quite nice, too."
She practically makes my heart miss a beat when, bold as brass,
she asks, "I bet you thought about me after the class last week."
Her mouth creases with an all-knowing smile. She tilts her head
down, looks into her cleavage and undoes the next button down. I
see the same smooth rounded form that I had glimpsed in the
classroom. She raises her hand and caresses the top, exposed
curve of her breast.
"They feel nice, too," she intones, "I like touching them and... I
like them being touched." She takes hold of my hand resting on
my thigh. Hers is cool, whereas mine is burning. She places it
under her shirt and onto her breast.
With the direct contact of hand on flesh, I am now fully turned
on. My heartbeat is so loud that I think she must be able to
hear it. My eyes half close as I savour the sweet sensation. I
twitch - something, her hand has touched my knee, then halfway up,
gliding inwards and upwards. As her hand reaches my groin I
quiver in excitement. Her hand is rubbing up and down. Its side,
through my jeans, is in contact with my crotch. I notice my
breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I am aware that I have
stopped kneading her breast. The feeling is electric. As we
turn towards each other, our lips meet and open. Our tongues
entwine. I savour the sweetness of her soft mouth. I breathe
in her freshness, the scent from her hair, her feminine odour.
My hand slips under the top edge of her bra and my fingertips find
the nipple, already quite hard and then becoming rigid as I start
squeezing and rolling it between forefinger and thumb.
I feel her fumble at my zip. Her hand, still cool, touches my
stomach and slides under the waistband. It creeps slowly through
my pubes and with a jolt I feel her fingers in contact with my
sex... I can feel that I am already lubricating, I'm wet, very
wet. She's surely not going to stop now. I grab the inside of
her thigh up by the crotch of her jeans, driving the edge of my
hand between her thighs. I wonder how wet she is. I think about
what I should do. I fumble at her zip. I am nervous, I don't
seem to be as dextrous as she was. Her hand clasps mine and stops
me. She whispers hoarsely, "No... not tonight, trust me."
Reluctantly I return my hand to the comfortable, intimate place
between her legs, close my eyes and allow myself to be engulfed in
the delightful things she is doing to me.
Her fingers work hard on me. The friction is exquisite, just
below the pain level. She continues the slow manipulation and I
feel myself becoming wetter. The lubrication only hightens the
sensation. My excitement builds inexorably. There is tightness
in my chest. I am unable to breathe properly. My breathing rate
increases. She asks, "Does it feel good?"
Somehow I mumble, "Oh, yes."
She says, "I'm going to make you come for me - very soon."
I now know that the release I crave will not be long delayed.
She seems to sense this too, and speeds up her actions. I begin
to gasp, as deep inside me I feel my orgasm start to build. She
knows I am near, and now further increases the pace. She is
slightly rough but I find that even more stimulating, and starting
deep, deep inside, my orgasm begins its final crescendo.
Involuntarily I let out a stifled cry and explode into her
fingers. Her hand movements slow, letting me gradually drift
back to reality. My head is tipped back against the headrest as I
regain my breath. She seems to have found a Kleenex from
somewhere, and wipes her hand and slips it into her pocket.
"Do I get the idea that you enjoyed that?" she asks.
"You're fantastic," I reply. She smiles, and turns and kisses me
full on the lips.
"I think we should get going," she says. I zip up my jeans and
start the car.
We reach her home. She turns and gives me a quick kiss, and says,
"See you next Monday evening? Shall I say I won't need anyone to
pick me up?" I nod weakly. "Maybe we should both wear skirts
next week," she suggests.
She smiles and is gone.
* * *
The following week on the day of the evening class, I am as
excited as an atom in a centrifuge, anticipating the evening
ahead. I feel like a pre-teen going on a clandestine first date.
I have taken extra trouble with my preparation. I don't usually
wear much makeup but tonight I added a little eye shadow and a
trace of lipstick. I used a drop or two of perfume - in all the
likely places.
Naturally, I arrive early, taking my usual place with my back to
the door. Every time I hear someone coming in, I involuntarily
turn round impatiently to see if it is Cloe. I become conscious
that I am being too eager. I try to curb my natural instincts,
but each time I hear someone entering I have to turn and check.
Eventually the class starts without Cloe. I have difficulty
concentrating, in following the conversation. My thoughts are
elsewhere, or at least I am thinking about Cloe and wondering
where the hell she is. Then, during a short break in the
conversation, the tutor announces that 'Cloe is unable to make it
this evening'. This was of particular disappointment as it is
the last period before the summer break. I wonder if I will ever
see her again. True, I had taken her home, but it was dark and I
had relied on her for directions and I had been totally distracted
by her charm and by what had just taken place. I hadn't even
taken any notice of the road, let alone the house she lived in.
Although the rest of the session, being the last for three months,
is taken up with less serious matters, including a quiz, my mind
is miles away and I am more or less unaware of what is going on
around me.
Dejected, I return to my car, thinking about what had transpired
the previous week, and wondering if I will ever see her again. I
start racking my brain to try and think up an excuse that might
persuade the college office to break their confidentiality code
about giving out addresses of fellow students. I think, I could
say I had lent her a book and I wanted it back, so could I please
have her telephone number.
I try to be at my most persuasive when I contact the office, but
they are adamant, they will not give out details of other students
under any circumstances. I feel despondent. Where was I going
to find her address? I have of course tried to retrace my
journey back to her place on that fateful evening, but although I
am able to work out roughly where she lives, I cannot, with any
certainty, identify her road, let alone which house it is. I
curse myself for being so caught up with her charm that had I paid
no attention to the directions she gave me.
I take to hanging round the road in which I think she lives, but I
feel very conspicuous parked in a residential area, and in any
case my vigil bears no results. Gradually I resign myself to the
idea that I am unlikely to meet up with her again.
Life goes on and the summer blooms into its fullness. Some days
are hot and a few are wet, but particularly when it is warm and I
spot a young woman in a white tee shirt, my heart flutters. My
eyes then focus first on the bosom, and then on the face, just in
case it is Cloe. Though some of wearers have pretty busts and
equally attractive faces, none match those of Cloe. I am always
disappointed.
The heat of August gives way to the more temperate September and
once again the time for the resumption of college draws near. As
I make my application for the new French class, my thoughts return
again to Cloe and I sadly remember what I have lost, but, in
truth, it is something I never really had. Such is life, but I
know I will be thinking of little else during the first class.
The evening arrives and I get there early and the old faces
welcome one another and we eye the newcomers in a friendly but
cautious way. I settle into my chair as previously, almost
opposite the tutor, and the session commences. The new arrivals,
as is traditional in these classes, are asked to give a resume of
where they live, their family, their jobs, how and why they came
to be leaning French, and so on.
Being unfamiliar with the voices or their intonation, and even
their style of speech, requires some concentration on my part, and
for a moment my thoughts are distracted from Cloe. Between two
such little introductions, I hear the door click and a voice
behind me quietly says, "Bonsoir." There is a mumbled apology for
lateness but long before I turn my head, I recognise the voice and
my heart leaps into bass drum thumping mode.
Why is she here? She should be off to university. She takes
the seat opposite me and, in that ingenuous way of hers, raises
her eyebrows and looks at me, a faint but vaguely mischievous
smile playing around her mouth. It seems to say, we have
something of a secret the others don't know about. I don't think
I am able to contain my return smile. I mouth, 'Great to see
you,' and I get a full-blown smile by way of acknowledgement. She
is being warmly greeted by the others, and explains that she has
gained a good grade in her French exams, and she has been accepted
at the university of her choice; she is due to move in before the
weekend. My heart sinks as I realise that in less than a week's
time she will be at the other end of the country. Still, what a
pleasure it is just to see her, especially when I had given up all
hope. She is wearing a light jacket, under which is a white tee
shirt! The trouble is that the jacket hides most of her chest,
and only occasionally can I glimpse what lies beneath. It is
quite warm in the room and, to my delight, she removes her jacket,
and as she goes to release her arms from the sleeves, those
perfect orbs are perfectly outlined by the stretched cotton of her
tee shirt. She looks so attractive and her manner is so
engaging! My concentration now vanishes like a summer downpour
in a storm drain. Somehow, in my distracted way, I manage to get
through the period without making a total fool of myself. I am
spurred along by frequent eye contact and the now familiar half-
smile.
As the lesson breaks up, I quickly manoeuvre myself next to her,
and immediately ask if I can run her home. Dropping her chin and
looking at me obliquely, she responds, "Oh, I would love it if you
could." Poets talk of soaring eagles, and I become one and, sure
as hell, I was spiralling up to heaven. We make our way to
where my car is parked, making small talk on the way. There
seems to be an unspoken agreement that anything personal we have
to say will wait until we are inside the car. Except for one
thing. Is it casual? She mentions that all her family is away
for the night. My senses crash through the sound barrier of
anticipation.
Inside the car, out of earshot of the others, she immediately
says, "On the evening of the last class I was ill and couldn't
make it. I did try to get your phone number, but the college
refused to give it to me."
"They wouldn't give me yours, either," I reply. "Let's get away
from here, and this time, I am going to listen carefully to your
directions, and not forget how to get to your place. You have no
idea how hard I have tried to get hold of you," and then I add,
"Do you really have the house to yourself tonight?"
With that she leans over and kisses me on the cheek, murmuring,
"Yes, everyone's away for the night. That's good, isn't it?"
Her eyes sparkle and she rests her hand on the middle of my thigh.
I half close my eyes and breathe in slowly. I can feel myself
starting to lubricate. I just know this is going to be good.
I try to keep my speed down, but that hand on my thigh is, to say
the least, distracting and I constantly have to check that I am
not going too much over the speed limit. After what seems an age,
we arrive at her house and I pull into the driveway. We get out
of the car and, using the remote control, I lock it. The amber
flashers seem to be pulsing at the same rate as my heart. Oddly,
I wonder if her heartbeat is anything like mine.
She opens the door, puts on the lights, and lets me in. The door
is barely closed and I am on her, clasping her to me, open mouths
together, tongues probing and swirling. Still locked together,
she somehow waltzes me into what turns out to be the living room.
Illuminated just by the light spilling from the hallway, with and
our bodies pressed against one another, I can feel the heat
emanating from her. She has made me hot in my desire for her, now
she is now making me hot physically.
We practically fall onto the sofa, our arms clasped around each
other. Almost at once we are feeling each other's breasts. I
adore having my breasts felt and squeezed and I love doing it to
another girl. Here I am with a stunning young woman who has
superb firm breasts. Heck, they were just as I remembered them.
Quite large, just the size I liked, and so firm! Still she is
only eighteen. I can feel her nipples hardening under my touch
and I know mine are doing the same.
I scrabble under her tee shirt and my hand comes in contact with
her bare flesh just above her jeans. Pushing my hands upwards I
soon reach the lower edge of her bra. I cup a breast and my
fingers touch its soft upper slope. I can feel the hardened
nipple pressing against my palm through the thin material, but I
want to touch the real thing. My fingertips slip under the lace
at the top; it is a little awkward but it only takes a moment to
reach the nipple. I am in ecstasy. Although we are so hot, her
breasts feel cool to my fingertips, and that nipple! I only spend
a few moments rolling it and tugging at it before I decide that
the bra is too restrictive and I want more space and freedom of
movement. Reluctantly I pull my hand away and, reaching round
her back, unhook it. As I do so, she lets out a sigh and I know
that she wants rid of the bra as much as I want the access that I
lust for.
My hand immediately returns to the breast it had been enjoying
before, but this time the released bra, gives me all the space I
need. All the time her hand has been resting on my own breast,
barely moving. Looking at her, I can just make out that her eyes
are closed. I scrape her nipple with my fingernail in just the
way I like it done to me. Her sighs are turning into soft,
blissful moans and it is obvious she has already moved onto the
exalted plane of high arousal. I am pretty well there myself, but
at the moment I am the one giving and she is the one receiving.
There is slow movement from her hand on my breast, and I feel
myself slipping into that same dreamy state where nothing else
matters but what is being done to you. At last I feel her undoing
the buttons on my blouse and shiver at the thought of her feeling
my naked breasts. Now, as I continue working on both her
nipples she is starting to do the same to me. Her hands reach
round my back and release my bra. Her hands are on my breasts,
squeezing my nipples. She seems to do it exactly as I like to do
it to myself. Now it is my time to drift away and luxuriate in
the sensations flowing from my breasts.
I want more and I want to give more to her. I fumble with the
belt of her jeans, but my hands are clumsy. I am having trouble
undoing her belt. I feel her fingers touching mine and slipping
the buckle for me. I shudder as her hand returns to my nipples.
I have more luck with the button at the top of her flies. To my
delight the zip is easy and her tummy peels opened before me. The
waistband of white silk panties stretches across the lower part of
her tummy, above which pure white skin is revealed. The shadows
in the hollow around her pelvis are clearly visible. At the
lowest point of the open zip, I think I can detect unevenness
under the thin material - it is just where her pubes are. The
little dark oval of her navel, in the centre of her tummy,
completes the image with a perfectly formed button in its middle.
It is as beautiful as the rest of her.
Enchanting though this vision is, I cannot allow my stare to
linger on even such a delightful apparition, and urgently I reach
for the lower hem of her tee shirt and yank it upwards, aided by
Cloe who immediately raises her arms above her head to make its
removal easy.
Her movements in the half-light cause the milky whiteness of her
breasts to shimmer, and my gaze becomes mesmerised by their
beauty.
Throwing her tee shirt aside, I thrust my lips on one breast and
grasp the other with my hand. I can feel my mouth generating huge
amounts of saliva as my swirling tongue circles her bullet-hard
nipple, my fingertips doing the same with the other.
Intoxicated as I am by what I am doing, and driven on by Cloe's
softly moaning sighs, I know I have to get to the very core of her
sex itself. Reluctantly I let go of her breast and slide my hand
down her midriff, over her soft tummy until I feel the waistband
of her panties. For some reason, at this point I hesitate, not
from any reluctance, but to try and decide if I should go over, or
inside, her briefs. I decide that it would be a better and make
it a bigger turn-on to start on the outside. As my fingers slide
over the smooth silk, I feel the rough texture of her pubic hair
beneath. My fingers narrow as they reach her crotch and slip
between the tops of her thighs. I can feel the dampness of her
arousal on my fingertips. I play with the elasticated sides,
squeezing just beneath. Now I can really feel her wetness and I
content myself by running my fingers up and down her lubricated
outer lips. Her moaning becomes louder and she continues by
giving little thrusts with her hips at my fingers.
I can feel an urgency building and I begin to enjoy the
pleasurable anticipation of the climax I know I am going to give
her in a few moments. I know the only thing she wants at that
moment is my fingers and tongue inside her. I begin to glow with
the certain knowledge that my foreplay had made her totally mine.
As if reading my thoughts, she calls out, "For god's sake, fuck
me, I want you to fuck me now, please, I can't wait any longer."
I cannot hold back any longer either, and taking hold of her
jeans, she lifts her hips to allow me to pull them down. Her
briefs are now bunched low on her hips and I can see a whisper of
hair just above them.
I am seated on the edge of the sofa and turned towards her. She
is stretched back with her legs apart and now naked except for her
panties. I ease them down slowly. This I knew was going to be a
feast for my eyes. My anticipated gluttony is not disappointed.
As the sparse hair of her pubis emerges, and then in the soft
illumination, I see her slit clearly defined and then the pink,
swollen lips. I throw myself at her mouth, kissing and nibbling
her face, ears, gently biting her neck and shoulder, and scraping
my nails down her back.
My hand goes straight between her legs. The time for teasing has
past; if anything I have been teasing myself by dilly-dallying.
My fingers go straight for her tunnel. As they get there I
freeze. I am suddenly aghast. There is quite clearly a loop of
thin cord caught on her wet lips.
I am in a complete state of shock. I completely stop moving; I
have locked up. Surely, I think, it's not the wrong time of
the... she couldn't have a tampon...
She must sense something is wrong, feels it perhaps. My whole
body has tensed up. Suddenly she lets out a little laugh, and
reaches between her legs. My thoughts are tumbling around helter-
skelter, what was she going to do, she couldn't be going to remove
a tampon, not there in the middle of the living room. But she
does. Well, she removes something but it is obvious at once that
it isn't a tampon.
Pulling on the loop she extracts first one then two attached
lilac-coloured balls from her vagina. It dawns on me that they
are duo balls. I had never actually seen any before. She
immediately lifts them to her mouth and pops one inside. I don't
think I had ever seen anything so lewd before. She sucks it like
a lollypop. Then, removing it from her mouth, and with her eyes
twinkling, she murmurs, 'Share the other one with me?' Being as
intoxicated as I am with her, there is never any doubt that I
won't. She replaces the first one in her mouth and I bring my
face up to hers and she places the other ball between my lips. We
are bonded together by the short cord. I taste her intimate
wetness, her slick juices. To me they're nectar. The balls are
latex, but somehow unbalanced. Of course, I think, they have an
off-centre weight inside so they move about in the vagina. They
are a silent and invisible vibrator, invented, it is said, by the
Chinese.
The little hussy, I think, she's been wearing them at least all
the evening, just to get herself turned on. I suck on it until
all her juices are swallowed and then remove it from my mouth. I
return my hand to her cunt. It is dripping with juices and I have
no difficulty in putting a finger inside. It is as though she was
made of pure melted butter. I join the first with a second and
then a third. I begin pumping slowly, very slowly. It allows my
thumb to roam, except I know exactly where it is heading - to her
clitoris. It's not that easy circling a clit with a thumb and
finger fucking at the same time - well, I don't find it easy. I
don't want to be rough with that sensitive love nub, so I ensure I
make only the minimum contact with it as I increase my thrusting.
The sounds coming from her are becoming more frenetic. "Harder,"
she screamed, "harder, fuck my cunt harder!" I go at it for all
my worth until my fingers ache. Then her whole body arches up
amazingly, and a long choking cry announces that she is having a
massive orgasm. Still in the arched position, her hips give
little thrusts against my fingers, gradually subsiding until she
collapses back on the sofa.
Eventually she opens her eyes and smiles at me. "Thank you - that
was wonderful," she whispers hoarsely. She places her nearest
arm around me, tugs at my nipple with the other and then pushes my
head down onto her lap, and as I bury my face in her thighs, wafts
of her arousal meet my nostrils. I slip to the floor between her
parted legs; as my cheeks brush the inside of thighs, I wallow in
their cool smoothness. As my face nears her most intimate part,
the smell of her excitement increases, as does the heat coming
from it. Her bottom is perched on the very edge of the sofa,
giving me perfect access. My nose touches her slit. I spit my
tongue out and she jumps. I nuzzle into her crotch and use my
fingers to part the petals of her lips, my nose brushing her clit
and my tongue forcing its way repeatedly into her cunt.
As my tongue tires, I turn my attention to her distinctly
protruding love button. My tongue tip gyrates round it, gradually
increasing the pressure until I can feel her thrusting back at my
face. I close my lips around it and gently suck. I know it will
be too much for her, I know my timing is perfect. All at once she
is thrashing around, buffeting my mouth as I try to stay in
contact, holding tight to her buttocks.
It seems an age before she returns to reality, and then she pulls
me up level with her. She smothers my face with kisses until all
her juices are gone
She reciprocates the lovemaking and makes me come seemingly dozens
of times, in truth probably about five times. No one has ever
been able to make me come so easily or so often.
In the early hours of the morning we fall naked into her bed and
made love again before crashing into blissful sleep.
In the morning I have to make a dash for home so I can get changed
and showered for work. I see Cloe again that evening, and the
following day I take a day off sick, as it is to be her last day
before going off to uni.
We make wonderful love at every chance we get, in a field, in the
car, and do all the other things lovers do, going for drives in
the country, going out to dinner, holding hands at every
conceivable opportunity. We get to know each other and adore what
we discover. We are both in love. We hate being out of one
another's sight. We make the most of the couple of days we have,
and swear undying love to each other.
* * *
Then she left for university. There was no email available to her
then so we had to rely on old-fashioned letter writing and the
occasional phone call. She was living in halls of residence and
had to share a communal phone or use her mobile, neither of which
proved very satisfactory for the long intimate conversations we
both yearned for.
Gradually the daily phone calls and letters became rather less
regular, and as Christmas approached she announced that she would
be going away with her parents for the most of the holidays.
We did manage to meet up for an afternoon but I think we both
realised that somehow some of the magic had gone.
I would like to be able to tell you that it all turned out well in
the end, but like so often in life it had no happy ending. She
announced that she would not be coming home during the Easter
break and I sensed that she might have found someone new and no
doubt nearer her own age age, which after all is what would be
best for her.
Naturally I am sad to have lost her, but I recall with great joy
those days and the night we spent together. We may not have
spent much time with one another, but those few hours we did have,
ware enough to fill me with wonderful memories, and will fuel my
fantasies for a long time to come.
FIN
Copyright 2000 Pee J
peej102@hotmail.com
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