It was 2 pm on a beautiful fall day—the first Friday in October. I was walking across the plaza to the coffee shop for my usual afternoon latte. Having graduated the previous May with a Bachelor’s in Library Science, I was now working at The Book Nook, a new and used bookstore owned by Charles (never say Charlie) Smoak.
I saw my future as being the curator of one of the more well-known private collections, but to get there I needed at least a Masters, if not a Ph.D. Due to my lack of money, I’d settled for the job at Charlie’s (I only called him that once) while I took courses as I could afford them.
Besides my career situation, I’d faced up to the fact that, even with my undeniably sexy attributes, I was a confused, nerdy girl. Having lost my virginity during a frat house party in my freshman year to Freddy something (it was very unremarkable, disappointing even), I went on to flings with other guys. It’d left me in a mental, sexual wasteland. The female friends that I’d accumulated talked with glee about their sexual adventures with this or that guy. I always smiled, agreeing how wonderful it was, all while thinking about how attracted I was to them, my fem friends that is.
I’d never acted on those feelings. Mostly because I didn’t know how, and was afraid of rejection. So I just continued to live in my sexual never-never-land as I somewhat blissfully masturbated my way to daily satisfaction and had the occasional, not really interesting or satisfying, date with just another guy.
As I made my daily visit to the coffee shop, I noticed Marie, the owner of Canvas Dreams, an art gallery on the plaza. She always sat by herself, enjoying her daily espresso. I’d never spoken with her, even though I’d often wanted to. She seemed like everything I wasn’t. Her hair was always perfectly coiffed, her makeup immaculate, her clothes beautifully coordinated and, to my simple eyes, seemingly designer-produced. I guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties.
I straightened my posture to accent my attractive physique, determined that today would be the day I talked with Marie. Meanwhile, the machine hissed and steamed my latte to its usual perfection. Picking it from the counter where the Barista had left it, a big “K” scrawled on its side, I walked to her table.
“May I?” I asked with my hand on a chair. It was a small table, designed only for two.
“S'il vous plaît, chéri,” she answered, flicking her hand.
Smiling and thankful for the French courses I’d taken, I pulled out the chair saying, “Merci, I’m Kerri. I work at the Book Nook.”
“I’ve noticed you before. I’m Marie, owner of the gallery.” She waved her hand it its general direction.
I already felt a bit foolish. I’d worked at the Nook for four months and didn’t even know she was French. Just her accent and very brief interchange made my heart speed up.
“So Chéri, I’m sorry we haven’t talked before. You seem quite private, as am I, so we’ve avoided meeting, conversing, n'est pas? Sorry, yes?”
“I guess that’s true,” I answered. “I’ve wanted to, but always felt... well, the truth is I’m shy and you seem so worldly and sophisticated. I didn’t think we’d have anything in common, but really hope we do.”
“Maybe more than you think, but that is yet to be known. It is as much me as you. I’m not timid, as you say, but I respect the privacy of others—plus I’m older. You’re young and attractive, I’m sure you either have a boyfriend or they are chasing you, n'est pas?”
I laughed to myself, thinking how I already wanted to feel her touch. “No. No boyfriend or pending ones. I’m somewhat adrift in that regard. Romance, sex... they have yet to find me in a meaningful way. If that makes sense?”
“Ah! Dis-le n'est pas, Chéri. A woman your age has needs, desires that must be fulfilled. Not all that long ago, I like to think anyway, I was your age. Those desires still abound. You must be quite frustré, frustrated, yes?”
I laughed and slightly waved my hand. “Oh, I take care of my frustré as you say. They do exist, but I make do,” I said with a chuckle. Then glancing at my watch I realized that time had passed quickly. I needed to get back to the store. “I’m sorry Marie, but I need to get back. I’ve really enjoyed our chat. Sorry we didn’t meet long ago. Maybe we can continue in the future, n'est pas, as you say?”
“It’s been a pleasure! Certainement, we must. So, it’s Friday. Any plans tonight?”
I’m sure I looked disappointed. “Not really. I have a book I’m enjoying and I have Randy, my dog.”
“Chéri, you must come to the store after work. I’ll put out some charcuterie. We’ll drink some wine, and talk more.”
“You live at the store?”
“Non. I have a house outside the city, but I have a small area on the store’s second floor where I stay when I don’t feel like driving home. I also store paintings there, as well as in the basement. It is more than equal to our needs.”
“Thank you! My mouth is already watering. We close at six, so just after that?”
“Perfect. We close at five so everything will be ready when you arrive. I’m so happy you chose to sit today. It’s been a pleasure, Chéri. I’m looking forward to knowing more about you,” she said with a thoughtful look.
There was a new spring in my step as I walked back to the store. Wishing I had time to shower and change into something more appealing than my work-appropriate jeans and blouse, I raised an arm and had a sniff, at least I only smelled of old books. Charlie had a small but profitable section of old, rare books that I often had to arrange and rotate stock.
Time clicked by slowly. I don’t know what I expected, at least not for sure. The short meeting with Marie had captivated me, made me want to know her better. The real question was what exactly did “know” and “better” mean. I guessed she was twenty-plus years my senior. Could have been my mother—I laughed at that thought.
I was not naive in my thoughts about other women, I’d just refused to accept, or, heaven forbid, act on them. I’d tried to chalk it up to my fervent desire to visit her store, plus her being French and my Francophile inclinations, thinking that it would connect me closer to my goal of traveling there. Somewhere inside I knew that was a false narrative, but I just couldn’t admit, at least fully admit, that I was physically, and probably mentally, attracted to her.
With only minutes to go until 6 pm, I did the only two things I could to prepare: putting on lipstick and taking my hair out of its ponytail, and brushing it into its long, somewhat curly, chestnut brown natural self. The grandfather clock chimed six times. “Good night Charles. See you tomorrow,” I shouted as I went out the door.
One or two minutes later I knocked discreetly on Canvas Dreams’ locked door. Marie quickly appeared and let me in. What a vision she was, barefoot and wearing a silk, multi-colored kimono, her hair now hanging freely like mine.
“Oh Chéri, I somehow knew your hair was lustrous and full. You look positively radiant.” Her ample breasts swayed ever so slightly as she stepped closer and ran a hand through my locks. “Come in, come in. Now I do have this custom that’s reserved for only my close friends. Somehow I feel we’re already good friends, n'est pas?”
Now even more energized, I replied, “Oh yes, I most certainly agree. I felt something special was happening as I first sat at your table.”
“Bon, bon. So, I have this kimono for you to put on.” During my excitement, I hadn’t noticed it. She handed it to me and went on, “So, come upstairs and you can change. Please leave your shoes here.”
She turned quickly and headed for the stairs as I took off my shoes and caught up to her. The second floor was much like many studio apartments I’d seen. She pointed to a curtain hanging in one corner, “Behind the curtain is the toilet area. It will give you privacy to change. Everything must come off. You must feel the silk on your skin—it’s nineteenth-century Japanese, most transformative.“
Now I was enthralled. It seemed like I’d been transported to a different world. I stripped quickly, noticing as I did an obvious wet spot in my panties. I ran a finger between my legs to confirm, sighing softly and smiling as it slid across my clit—thought confirmed.
Donning the kimono focused my thoughts. I did feel different. It probably sounds strange, but I did feel transformed. Was this how Geisha girls felt? I wondered if this had possibly belonged to one so many years ago. I moved the curtain and stepped out.
“Ah Chéri, you are a vision.” She opened her arms as she said, “Come give Marie a hug and we’ll enjoy the wine and charcuterie.”
As I walked the few steps, the silk slid over my hard nipples. My anticipation and those few minutes with her had me more sexually excited than I’d ever been, at least in recent memory. Gliding into her arms, she held me tight, her appreciable breasts pressing into mine. I wasn’t the only one with hard nips. I wondered if she felt mine and what her thoughts were. She ran her hands up my back, spreading her fingers as they coursed through my hair. An orgasm felt just a hair’s breadth away.
Then she pulled back and took my hand. “Come Chéri and taste the wine. It’s a Sancerre from the Loire Valley. Tell me if you like it.”
Oh god, my head was spinning. Her, my thoughts, the silk, being so close, now the wine, what was happening to me? We sat close together on very comfortable cushions. The table was only a few inches high. The wonderful wine was quickly followed by a smear of brie on a sliced baguette. Then a thin wedge of pâté on another baguette slice.
She filled my glass and was about to serve me more cheese when I put my hand on her back. “Marie, this is beyond wonderful, but please, let’s pause. I’m overwhelmed...”
Turning to me, she said, “What is it Chéri? You’re so beautiful. It’s been so long. I only want to make you happy, to ensure you enjoy your evening here.”
The wine had affected me enough to free my emotions. Running my fingers through her hair, I said, “Just tell me how this is going to end. You’ve created very passionate feelings in me that I need to express... to fulfill. I—”
Before I could finish, she pulled me to her. We kissed. Our tongues twisted and probed as our hands ran over each other, finding each other’s nipples. We moaned. The electric, passionate feelings inflamed me further. In due course we separated, but our faces remained inches from each other as our fingers continued to roam.
Before I could speak she said, “Chéri, I’m older than you. I’ve learned to be careful, not to push, to be sure of things. Now that I’m certain, I assure you, all those feelings will be fulfilled—hopefully many times over. I think we should make use of my bed, n'est pas?”
Both relief and excitement flooded through me. “Oh yes Marie. This is wonderful! I should warn you, this will be my first time with another woman. I’m not experienced, but I so want to be.”
She stood and offered me her hand, pulling me up as if I were a child. “Actually Chéri, I suspected that. I’m so delighted you chose me. Over this way.”
I hadn’t seen a bed anywhere when I walked to and from the toilet area. Then I realized, as she reached up and began to pull a cord, it was a Murphy bed. It floated down from the wall, all made up, ready for use.
She let her kimono drop to the floor while motioning me to the bed. I dropped mine and was quickly on my back, hungry with anticipation and desire.
“Let me take the lead Chéri and we’ll go from there.”
“Oh yes. Please do. I want to experience everything you care to show me. I’m yours for the evening.”
With that, we again kissed as her fingers found my yoni. She barely touched me. Her fingers ran around my lips, caressing them, brushing my clit, one finger just slightly dipping into me. If I had buttons to push she knew them all and used them masterfully. I moaned and squirmed, pushing myself up, trying for more contact, but she continued to tease me—delightfully so.
“Oh Marie, I’m so close. Yes, yes... right there, like that. Oh, oh, I’m... oh not again. You’re such a tease.”
“And you love it don’t you Chéri?” I moaned in return. “Tell me Chéri. Tell Marie what you want.”
“I want to cum. I want your fingers in me, deep in me! I love this. You’re so... oh god, yes, like that! Please, please.” That’s when her two middle fingers plunged fully into me. Her palm squeezed against my clit, and she curled those two fingers against my “G” spot. “Fuck yes!” I screamed as my body trembled.
I held her tight as she kept fingering me. Each thrust brought her palm down on my oh so sensitive clit. “Oh god no, no more Marie,” I whimpered. “It’s so sensitive.”
“But we must, Chéri. You know you want it, don’t you? Say stop and I will, but I think you truly want more.”
Of course she was right. Tears of joy were running from my eyes. Every nerve in my body coursed fiery thrills. I whispered, “Yes, I want more, need more. Please... please don’t stop now!” Just then my second orgasm ran through me. The trembling resumed. I totally gave in to her.
After several more trips to the top of the roller coaster and the wild ride down, she relented. I relaxed my grip on her and lay there gasping.
“So Chéri, your first time with another woman was bon?”
I nodded, smiled, and murmured, “I think you could safely say that.”
“Bon, bon,” she said as she slowly pulled her fingers from me and gave them a small lick. “So sweet Chéri. Open.”
I was confused. “Open?” I queried.
“Your mouth, Chéri. You must enjoy yourself. It’s not to be wasted.”
She was so earnest. I was so innocent. It had never occurred to me. My mouth popped open and closed around her fingers as my tongue swirled around them.
“Mmm!” I murmured. She was right. I was sweet. I licked up every drop. “Thank you! Now I want to taste you.”
“Soon,” she said. Then smiling, moved off the bed. “I’m going to retrieve our wine and then it’ll be your turn to be the provocateur. Are you as happy and comfortable as you seem?”
“Oh very! Everything feels so natural and certainly pleasurable.” I laughed a little and continued. “I wish we’d met like this months ago.”
“Well, at least we have now Chéri. I am also very pleased.”
When she returned we sat, sipped, and just chatted for a bit. Some about what had just happened. Then about fashion (something I knew next to nothing about) and my desire to visit France.
As we were talking I had thoughts about being the “provocateur.” I was enormously looking forward to it. She was quite alluring, unconsciously oozing a sexual vibe that created a particularly captivating aura. It made me even more desirous to become the one making her whimper and scream in delight.
I instigated our next round by caressing her nipples and pushing her back on the bed. It wasn’t long before we were kissing as my fingers explored her oh so smooth mound and vag. I resolved that my trimmed garden needed to be as smooth as hers.
Finding that Marie wasn’t alone in the skill of light caresses, I teased with slight brushes and provocations of quick tweaks and flicks. My hand was soon coated in her elixir as she began to moan and sigh. More and more she offered an “Oh Chéri” or “So nice, so good. Please more.”
I was indeed the “provocateur.” I was dominating her—she was submitting to my touch. Another new experience in an evening filled with them.
When her moans turned into pleadings, I didn’t follow her example of the quick, deep thrust. Rather, at first, my two fingers shallowly entered and slowly withdrew, then slowly deeper and deeper. Her upward, quick hip thrusts were easily avoidable. When I finally went fully in and crushed her clit with my palm, I was rewarded with, “Chéri!, Oh Chéri, yes, yes, so perfect. Mon dieu Chéri, je jouis, I’m cumming!”
Her legs shuddered as she held me tight. Curling fingers and more penetrations brought forth more expressions of “je jouis” and other French expressions, until she, like me previously, had her final roller coaster ride.
Then, like her before, I slowly withdrew my fingers and had a small taste of her juice before offering my fingers to her. She greedily took them in and consumed every drop.
“Thank you Chéri. Is this really your first time? You were quite expert. I am très satisfait.”
“Oui, oui,” I replied with the little French I knew. “I’m a good student and you’re a great teacher.”
She later apologized for speaking French in her moments of ecstasy. I chuckled and told her how good everything made me feel, adding that I felt like an enduring special bond was being formed.
“Oui oui, mon amour, certainement.”
We laughed as we cuddled in each other's arms. I reveled in my “coming out,” as I like to think of it.
Thankfully, it didn’t end there. She went on to introduce me to oral and other joys that another woman can bring and that I learned to bestow. That was five months ago.
I soon became a regular visitor to her “Chateau” outside the city and intimate friends with her niece, Esme, who was visiting for two months. I already have my plane tickets to Paris for June. I’ll be staying with Esme, and may attend the Sorbonne, as Esme does, to achieve my advanced degree and discover where our relationship may take us.
