French Lesson

Literotic asexstories – French Lesson by J G Parkes,J G Parkes
In today’s moral climate when young girls barely into puberty are given sex advice, condoms and pregnancy tests and their parents don’t even have the right to know about it, the sexual mores of the past are quite unbelievable. No, I’m not talking about the long ago past, but only fifty years.

I was an only child and spent my early years in the shadow of war with bombs dropping on a ‘North East Town’ as the news bulletins had it. No names were used for some reason, which always irked the good citizens. Both my parents survived the war so we resumed being a happy family. They were not exactly demonstrative people, even with each other, so I was never aware of any kind of touching and certainly no kissing. It must have happened at some point or I wouldn’t be here today, but I don’t think sex was high on their agenda.

As can be imagined, talking about such matters was also taboo, so I learned absolutely nothing from them about the birds and bees. School lessons weren’t much better. I attended an all boys grammar school – the same one where Andrew Marvell and William Wilberforce had been educated – and saw nothing of girls. Sex education, such as it was, confined itself to little tadpole type things swimming along a tube inside a woman and finally meeting something similar. Lo and behold a baby was born! How one got to the other was never explained.

I left school – and home – completely ignorant about the joys of a man and woman coupling and with no idea how to go about it. Hard to imagine now. 18 years old and never seen a naked woman – or even part naked. I had no idea what they looked like; what wonderful treasures lay beneath their layers of clothes. Such images were, of course, completely banned in all the media and in films when a man and woman were in a bedroom they were never allowed to lie together in bed, even though they were supposed to be a married couple. The man – it was usually the man – always had to keep one foot on the ground.

Now, all this is not to say that I didn’t feel some sort of magical attraction towards women, for there was something about their shape and the way they walked that pulled me towards them. However, I was far too shy and unknowledgeable to actually do anything but admire them from a distance. Everything changed when I went to stay with my aunt in London for a while.

Although it was a pretty large house the bombing raids had left their mark. The adjoining property was completely demolished and a whole side wall of my aunt’s house consisted of nothing but tarpaulin. Consequently the number of rooms in use had been somewhat reduced. There was a lodger, whose rent helped my aunt make ends meet, and no spare room for me, which meant we had to share. It was a large room with two completely separate beds, so there was no need to share. Which, maybe, was just as well.

At that time ‘gay’ meant happy and cheerful, or brightly coloured; however, Ivor was gay in the modern usage of the word. Luckily he made no attempt to impose his predilections on me and, in fact, was most eager to help in my quest for an explanation of the way human life was propagated. After a few succinct words of elucidation I got the picture. And boy! What a picture! I was most eager to have a practical demonstration, but how? I knew no girls, except my younger cousins and they weren’t eligible. What was to be done?

These were the days before the Government decided to clean up the streets. There were certain areas of London where prostitutes were thick on the ground. I was young and not earning much money, but my living expenses were small, thanks to the generosity of my aunt. I could afford to lay something out to buy the services of a ‘lady of the night’. Ignorant about the actual sex act I might have been, but I knew that something happened and somehow I also knew why so many women were strolling up and down the streets in such an aimless way.

I made my decision. This was the way to get my first experience. Two nights later – how could I have contained myself for so long? – I made my way to the centre of London. I was panting to get going. My penis was pretty hard just thinking about my little project. It got even harder when I got in amongst the women offering themselves for sale and my chest was tight with anticipation.

Soho was a hive of activity for the sex industry of the day. The Windmill Theatre had been there since before the war and boasted ‘We Never Closed’, meaning it kept going through all the bombing whilst other theatres closed their doors. Of course, compared to today it was pretty tame stuff. Strip clubs were opening up, but they were real dives, stuck away in basements, where they sold cheap drinks at an exorbitant rate and the girls were hard-looking and lacklustre.

The pavements of Soho were not paved with gold, but they were certainly rich in nubile flesh – well, maybe not so nubile – for sale. I walked up and down one street, eyeing every female, sometimes not quite so certain they were actually on the game. I turned a corner and walked up and down another street. For two hours I circled and prowled, my heart beating fast and a slight tremble in my limbs.

Two hours.

Nothing.

Not one of the women attracted me. Besides, I lacked the courage when it came to the bit. I looked at them and looked away. I must have passed the same ones half a dozen times. A couple even offered useful information.

“Ten bob up the alley or a pound in my room.”

I smiled wanly and marched on as if offended by such brazen hussies. I must admit, dear reader, I gave up. I slinked back home, tail between my legs and money still secure in my pocket. I lived to fight another day.

Actually, it was a week later when I resumed my prowl around those same streets with the same result. I was getting more and more frustrated and embarrassed with the whole business. I wandered aimlessly off the well- beaten track and found my way to Shepherd’s Market, where more women were standing about. I noticed a distinct improvement in their dress and presence. Some of them were even bordering on pretty. Oo, yes. Things were looking up.

I spotted a likely applicant for my favours. I approached. She smiled. Not at all bad. I could go for this one.

“How…” I croaked. Where had my voice suddenly gone? “How much?” I managed to ask.

“Five pounds, love.”

Good God! I backed off with a sickly grin. Five…did she say…FIVE POUNDS? She turned out to be less than pretty with a coarse voice. Five…I felt ill. I had enough money in my pocket – more than enough – but all the same…five whole pounds.

I staggered away, barely knowing where my feet were taking me. I was somewhere else, slightly lost. I looked at the street sign. Curzon Street. Nice houses in Curzon Street I inwardly remarked. Some nice looking girls too. Much more attractive than Soho – and Shepherd’s Market. But what about the price? If lesser mortals were five pounds – I still couldn’t believe it – how much are these angels going to charge? Well, perhaps angels was a slight exaggeration. But they weren’t at all bad. I could easily pick out half a dozen as I walked along. These girls were obviously a few notches up from the…

Then I saw her.

She can’t have been any older than myself. Medium height, dark-haired, slim and elegant. Was it possible? Perhaps I was mistaken and she wasn’t a prostitute, but some young lady waiting for her escort. I decided not to be too bold, but to hold back and observe. There were other men walking along. One of them stopped by my girl. There was a brief conversation, a shake of the head and he moved on, crossing the road to speak to another girl. I became convinced that my first deduction was right. This was the one for me.

By now I was starting to feel extremely hot – in all senses of the word. My heart was beating ten to the dozen and I had the trembles again. This was it. Screwing up my courage to breaking point I went towards her.

And that’s where we cut to me emerging into the street again after a most….

What do you mean – NO?

Surely you don’t expect me to reveal in intimate detail the events of the next – how ever long? Do you? Take it from me I lost my virginity and that should do.

Oh. You feel let-down. Your hopes and expectations were raised only to be dashed. Well….all right. If you insist.

Where did I leave you? Feeling hot…screwing courage…towards her. Ah, yes.

She smiled. Angelic.

She spoke. “Good evening, monsieur.” Delightful.

“Hell…hello.” I stammered.

“You wish to do business – yes?”

I gulped. “Yes.”

“I give you a very good time.”

“How…how much?”

“Ten pounds, monsieur. In my little apartment.”

“Ten..?” I coughed to cover my shock.

“I give you much pleasure.”

I felt like saying I should hope so for that money, but I was too far gone with admiration for her. Everything about her. She was gorgeous and nothing like a prostitute should be; at least, not one standing in the street. Oh, and perhaps you noticed the French accent. Quite genuine, I assure you, but I have absolutely no idea why a French girl would be selling her body on the streets of London.

After a quick mental calculation of my finances – some sacrifices would have to be made for a few weeks – I nodded, not trusting my voice.

She smiled and took my arm, gently guiding me along the street. We didn’t go far before turning into the entrance of an imposing house. Up a flight of stairs, through a door and we were standing in an elegant flat, tastefully furnished and decorated in warm colours. Most inviting.

A maid appeared. I kid you not. A fully fledged, little black dress and white- apron maid who took my coat. It was all most impressive.

“Perhaps we should get the small matter of the money settled first,” my girl suggested, almost shyly.

“Yes, of course.” I scrabbled in my pocket. “Ten pounds you said.”

“And one for the maid.”

My God. There was no mention of a maid’s services in the original quote. I was suddenly less than impressed with her. What was she going to do for a whole pound? Anyway, it was too late now. I was hooked. I counted out eleven pounds and handed it over with a sickly smile. The maid took it.

“Bon.” My girl smiled that wonderful smile and I knew I would have gladly paid twice as much.

We went through another door and into a room dominated by a large, extremely comfortable looking and inviting bed. I could feel my heart thumping against my chest. She came close and lightly kissed my cheek.

“I am Julianne,” she murmured.

“Oh…er…Graham.”

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, cherie.” She ran her fingers down from my neck to my crotch, where she gently squeezed my willing and wanting penis. “You are eager, I think.”

I had no voice to agree or otherwise. She began to unbutton my fly. The action was accompanied by murmurs such as, “I cannot wait to get you between my legs and feel your cock inside me.”

Neither could I, though the sudden crudity of the word took me aback. It seemed almost profane coming from the lips of such a lovely creature. I hardened more than I thought possible at her touch. My co…penis…was in the hands of a woman instead of my own. Oh, yes, perhaps I should admit at this point to jerking myself off on more than one occasion. Innumerable occasions, actually. But this was decidedly different and infinitely better.

“I think you are needing to slip out of your clothes.”

“Yes.”

It would be telling less than the truth to say my clothes came off in a couple of smooth actions because they were not designed for a quick and easy exit. For a start I was wearing braces (I believe our American cousins refer to them as suspenders) and not a belt. They had to be pulled off my shoulders and in my nervousness and haste my arms became completely entangled. I doubt whether I could duplicate the mess I was in if I tried.

Anyway, we managed to sort that out between us and thankfully the trousers dropped to my ankles. That’s when they seemed to act like a boa constrictor on my feet. I sat on the bed, tugging and heaving, getting more and more red in the face.

“Let me help,” said Julianne, with a most enchanting laugh.

She skilfully extricated me from the confounded trousers and threw them on a chair. My shirt buttons offered no resistance to her delicate persuasion and that garment joined my trousers. This was followed by my vest (undershirt) and underpants. I was naked except – incongruously – for my socks. In the scheme of things I suppose they were unimportant.

Almost before I knew what was happening she had taken my penis into her mouth. It had actually wilted a little with all the shenanigans leading up to this moment, but that state of affairs wasn’t to last long. Ripples of unadulterated pleasure flooded through me as her tongue flicked at my glans. She ran her lips up and down the length of my penis, sucked and licked. I was in heaven.

Suddenly she stopped and stood up. I wondered what was wrong, but then watched in wonder and fascination as she smoothly removed her clothes. Yes, she managed to disrobe without any problems. Mind you, I think her outfit was designed to be quickly removed. There were precisely two items; a dress and panties. She wore no bra and kept on her stockings and suspenders (garters). They didn’t look at all incongruous.

Oh, what joy. Oh, what bliss. My first naked woman and she was perfect. Pert breasts with nipples erect, a smooth, silky skin, slim hips and a trim triangle of dark pubic hair. She stood for a moment allowing me to be lost in admiration, then took my hands and raised me onto my feet. Turning towards the bed she released me and lay down, spreading her legs wide, revealing all the delights that waited for me.

She patted the bed. “Lie with me.”

Uncertain exactly what to do I lay beside her. She took my hand and placed it on her breast. She gently squeezed her hand, thus causing mine to do the same. I got the picture. Unaided by her I began to caress her softness. My fingers circled her nipple which was still taut and hard. Meanwhile her hand was busy on me, rubbing up and down my penis. My breathing was ragged and there was a tremble in the pit of my stomach.

With great daring I ran my hand down towards the top of her legs. I felt the bush beneath my fingers and stopped.

“Go further,” Julianne whispered.

I did. I encountered warmth and wetness.

“Put your finger in.”

I did. There was even more warmth and wetness. She shuddered – or was that me?

“This is your first time, I think.”

“Yes.”

“You know what to do now?”

“I…I think so.”

“You are ready.”

“Yes.”

I manoeuvred into a position between her legs.

“A moment.” She reached out, brought a small packet from somewhere and opened it. “Bring your cock to me.” I did as instructed and she slipped on a condom. “Now, mon cherie, you are able to fuck me good.”

Um. The crude terminology coming from such sweetness still jarred. But, never mind, I was more than willing to oblige.

With help from her I entered those magic portals, slowly sliding in and feeling the lips of her vulva clutching at my extended penis. Her hands gripped the top of my arms.

“All the way,” she breathed. “Give me all of yourself.”

I did.

We lay still for a moment with me buried deep into her aware of a pulsating warmth enclosing my penis. I was on a different plane. I’ve no idea where it was, but it was higher than I’d ever been before. I gazed at her lovely breasts then, on an impulse, leaned forward and took her nipple between my lips. I ran my tongue around her areola and she responded with a low moan.

With no need for further directions, instinct and desire sent my penis pumping in and out of her vagina, slowly at first, but gradually increasing in speed at the whim of my desire.

“Oui!” cried Julianne. “Faster…faster.”

Her hands gripped my arms even tighter and I could feel her nails digging into me. An overwhelming sensation of imminent explosion swept over me.

I pumped.

“Oui! Oui!” Julianne shouted. “Keep going. Your cock feels so good filling my pussy. Faster.”

It wasn’t possible.

“Faster.”

I was already pumping like a demented engine. Exhaustion was overtaking me; exhaustion and…

I stiffened and gasped, coming to a complete stop as semen suddenly exploded from my throbbing penis. If only it could have been into her vagina and not into that damned condom. I was completely breathless. We were both perspiring. I held for a few moments letting the last of the semen leave me and then collapsed onto my side next to her.

We both lay still, shudders of breath gradually becoming more steady and even. My muscles relaxed and my instrument of pleasure – well, it had given me pleasure, at any rate – was rapidly becoming a pitiful, shrivelled object, suitable only for derision.

“It was good, your first time – yes?”

“God, yes. Did you…?”

“I enjoyed having your cock inside me.” She gave my cheek a peck. “Thank you.”

I emerged into the street a different man. I was experienced. No longer a virgin I could say I now knew what a woman looked and felt like. This was only the beginning; the start of something wonderful. Julianne, my perfect prostitute, had introduced me to the wonders of fornication set to go out into the world and conquer the female sex.

The events just related are true, only the names are changed to protect the innocent. Oh…and there was, maybe, just a little exaggeration in the description of the bedroom scene. But then, who’s to know that except me – and Julianne?