Aunt Margot & I

Travelling south on the TGV from Paris to Marseilles, I recalled what my mother asked of me. Of which I had reluctantly agreed to…

“You’ll have a blast, what young man would not want to stay in the south of France for the month of August? My mother stated.

“Sure, I get what you’re saying, but I will be staying with your sister — my aunt! Where’s the fun in that?” I argued.

And so it went on. I tried to explain to mother that all I was interested in was staying here in London and hanging out with friends and maybe getting a part time job if needed.

But Mother had different ideas for me… Her sister had recently divorced her elderly husband and had been awarded the estate of which they had lived on for the last 10 years. So, because of this and her being on her own she had asked my mother if I would like a free holiday, all expenses paid including travel, accommodation, spending money and expenses. Only downside for me would be that I had to work for it. Which meant gardening duties, pool maintenance and any other help as and when required.

My mother insisted that it would be good for me, good for Aunt Margot, but most of all, would be a great opportunity to practice my French.

I agreed with her there… my French had been tailing off somewhat. From what used to be at a very good level was now just basic or at best, a ‘get by’ level.

So, with that in mind and the promise of “plenty of pretty French girls in the region” I decided to go for it. Looking at it with positive vibes, I thought of the beautiful village where my aunt stayed and its close proximity to the beach. The freedom I’d get to explore the area and I had to admit, to be able to work on my French.

Arriving at Marseilles, I stepped out into the blistering mid-afternoon heat. It had been a while since I had felt heat like it, even staying in London when it was hot, there was always a breeze to go with the heat.

Dropping my bags, I rolled my sleeves up and looked around for Aunt Margot. Remembering what she looked like the last time I had seen her and from the photos I had on me of her, she would be tall and should have shoulder length light brown hair… and probably looking quite glamorous.

The last time I had seen her was about 3 years ago, when she visited mother and I in London. I was 18 at the time but I do remember her being something exotic like. With the foreign accent and the olive skin. She was almost the opposite of my mother in that mother was a lot paler and she had lost her French accent a long time ago. Where they both had similarities I suppose, was there breasts. Both had similar sizes, guessing C cups — I wasn’t a great judge to be honest. But I do recall back then that my aunt liked to walk around with skimpy outfits on which left little to the imagination and for some reason I had felt embarrassed with this. One morning, when it had been just the two of us, I can remember her wearing just a black silky vest top and matching knickers. The one thing that stayed in my memory was her cleavage and the way she almost exposed herself to me when bending forward. I knew then she had seen me staring and I knew she could see how red I had become. But she just smiled at me, ruffled my hair and carried on talking. It was later that I realised Aunt Margot was just more outgoing than my mother, or any woman I knew back then and she didn’t care what other people thought of her, or the way she dressed.

It was then that I seen her coming towards me.. after just shelving that memory, she was coming towards me again, only for real this time.

It was at that precise moment I fell in love for the very first time…

She looked me up and down, as I did her and probably staring too long at her legs.

“Hey you.. When you are ready mon petit!” she said, smiling sarcastically as she held her arms out to greet me using her pet name for me from 5 years ago.

“Aunt Margot… you look… wow” I really did not know what to say. I felt like a dithering idiot of a teenager.

I guess I wasn’t really sure what to expect of my aunt physically. I suppose I had it in my mind that she would not look anything like she did the last time I’d seen her. Ok, I had a Polaroid photo that mother had given to me, but even that was taken a couple of years ago. I just thought she would be a bit heavier, hair would be grey and basically looking less glamorous than I could remember.

How wrong could one be…

She looked incredible.

Her hair was swept back and held up with large sunglasses. She wore a loose fitting, white linen shirt, open to the cleavage and revealing a red bikini top. Below that, she had on a short, light blue denim skirt. Then it was her legs… gosh those legs! I could’ve stared at those all day long… from her thighs to her petite feet, which were adorned by sandals, the skin looked smooth and tanned and somewhat shiny. I guessed that was from the recently applied sun screen.

“Allez allez allez” was Aunt Margot’s way of ushering me into her Peugeot 205 convertible before she received a ticket for illegal parking!

At 45 years old, she was my mother’s older sister but definitely looked younger. I assumed it had something to do with the Mediterranean lifestyle that she lived.

We talked a lot as she sped down the autoroute, of course going above the 130 speed limit occasionally, talking about my university course, aspirations and so on.. explaining to me about work life balance and how important it was to enjoy life as well as to work hard at something you enjoy doing.

“Hard workers always benefit mon petit!” she said, as she winked at me with a cheeky smile.

That was when she brought up the subject of me working for her whilst living with her. It was basically helping her in the garden, doing manual work such as heavy lifting and pruning of trees, cutting grass and so on. Nothing too arduous in my view. Also, keeping the pool clean… this was her top priority… she stated this at least twice. Hates having any debris in the pool before getting in. Pet hate apparently!

All this talking was good for me, all the information she gave me I wanted to know so I knew what was required of me. But it also gave me the opportunity to look at her whilst she drove and chatted away. I looked at her perfect profile, the beautiful light brown eyes I could see, focused on the road or occasionally turning towards me, the slight nose and the gorgeous mouth that had the lips of a famous actress.. the name I couldn’t recall at the time. Looking down, trying to be discreet and respectful, I could see the shirt that she wore, flapping around in the wind, open to the bikini top she wore. The impressive looking cleavage with the olive skin contrasting magnificently with the scarlet red of her bikini.

But the best of all for me was further down… those amazing legs. The tanned thighs and calves that, although looking muscular, they looked so feminine at the same time. Sleek, smooth and so desirable that I wanted there and then to run my hands up and down them, just to feel the smoothness…

“Allez coquin! …are you finished looking now?” She laughed as I turned red.

Must try harder not to stare so much I thought, thinking to myself.

We reached our destination, a pretty little village above and overlooking the bay of La Ciotat. I got out the car and looked around… beautiful was my first thought, then peaceful and solitude came to mind. How could I have even considered not coming here… it was perfect… The house was on 3 levels, looking over an olive tree lined swimming pool which was adjacent to the drive, or car park I thought, as it could easily hold 10 cars at least.

It took about 30 minutes for my aunt to show me around the vast property. Everything from my bedroom, to where she keeps the cleaning products! My bedroom, thankfully, was on the ground level.. I didn’t want to sleep upstairs in such a big house.. and it was just across the hallway from her own I noted, so that I guess I wouldn’t feel completely alone at night.

It was going on 6pm so, as the French like to do, we sat ourselves down in front of the open patio doors looking out onto the pool and had aperitif. Some kind of red alcohol.. which I later found out was kir — wine mixed with a liqueur. Two of these and I could have dozed off.. If I was anywhere else, I probably would have.

But I was in the company of a beautiful French woman, my aunt, I had to remind myself a few times. We discussed a wide range of topics, from my relationship with mother, what food I liked and if I had a girlfriend back home. The latter, it turns out was because I had been stealing glances at her legs again, which of course she had noted!

I started to blush when she asked this and even more so when she asked if I was still a virgin. Trying to keep my cool, I explained I was but did have some experience with girlfriends over the years, just nothing serious.

She gave out a loud booming laugh and explained “Plenty of women in this area would love to have a young handsome Englishman as their boyfriend mon petit!”

“…now come, let us eat chéri and you can tell me all about that mother of yours and whether she has been behaving herself… hopefully not of course!” she said with a wink and a smile.

After a fantastic salad of smoked magret de canard and a bottle of red… I was ready to hit the sack. Aunt Margot noticed my yawning and led me by the hand to my bedroom.

“Here you are cheri… your room. And over there, is my room. Just to let you know so you do not get lost in the middle of the night and wander into the wrong one.

“… you have a shower room just through here and in the morning you can empty your suitcase and fill that wardrobe over there.” Pointing to a large antique wardrobe in the corner.

Thanking my aunt for her welcome and her generosity and wishing her a good nights sleep.. she surprised me by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. At first, I thought she was about to kiss me on the lips. She had caught me off guard as I blushed… Smiling she touched my cheek and said something about lipstick on it.