What can you do with an inexperienced young man as a lover?

A lot, it seems.

In the amber glow of early evening, I sip chilled white wine behind oversized sunglasses, floating away. Cami is late, and the bar buzzes with workers shedding their weekday personas.

My lips curve into that indelible grin again. I cannot shake it. A secret rests within. I want strangers to know what put it there. I am alive again, vibrant, a sexual creature uncaged. The wine’s crisp edge teases my palate, and my mind drifts to last Saturday.

Antoine, eighteen, eager, and mine to sculpt. His scent, a faint musk of sweat and youth, still lingers in my memory, igniting the fuse of my rebirth.

A man at a nearby table glances at me through his genial eyes. Too old for me at thirty-something.

I have drank from the fountain of youth – literally.

Still, I feel desired.

It is Antoine who rekindled these fires. I am not lovesick but prone to reminiscence, savouring the vivid, nerve-wracking thrill of our stop-start sex - passionate, enthusiastic.

Real.

On that lounge rug, I came on his face, my frustration dissolving in a noisy, frantic rush. He beamed with pride, his inhibitions in tatters. My lips smeared with his, tasting my climactic juices. Open-mouthed, hungry, his erection in my hand. With a gentle squeeze, it was not malleable clay but hot, rigid iron.

Rubbing my sex on his thigh, I kept the embers smouldering. “You will cum when I say so.”

I purse my lips, holding my glass, amused at my audacity.

These strangers can speculate all they want about who gave me this smile. They would never guess. Antoine, greener than spring, though less so now. I was the teacher, him the pupil, with earnest hope illuminated in his eyes.

Squat over him, I commanded, “Watch.”

His sudden gasp, unguarded, sends a ripple of warmth through me. The wine is a perfect accomplice for such wicked thoughts.

Snug inside me, unyielding against my taut, slippery walls, I rode him upright, slow and deliberate, hitting depths only toys had touched recently. Leaning forward, I dropped my hips, rose, and plunged again, scanning his features, vigilant for the tremors of climax. My breasts swayed like a metronome, his gaze riveted as pleasure seeped onto my pouting lips, my narrowed eyes, my dreamy gasps.

His uncertain hands pawed my breasts, tugging my sensitive nipples, and we teetered between ecstasy and release.

Antoine squirmed, alarm blooming on his face.

Lifting from him, I eased him from the brink.

“Beg.” Temptation dripped from the word.

We kissed like teenagers, open-mouthed, tongues deep, simmering his passions. They did not boil over. Braced to his chest, I slithered, impaled on him, clasping his thigh. Charmed by the act, I revealed my experience with lustful determination in my eyes.

He swelled again, and I denied him, relishing his frustrated huff. “Beg.”

I take another sip of wine, and my rueful smile widens.

In a lesson about patience, I schooled Antoine between my legs, and my calves slid over his, pulling his hips deeper. Hands scouring his flexing frame, guiding him to that sweet spot inside.

He nearly undid me. He almost beat me to it.

“Beg.”

We broke. Antoine, my work in progress, his erection curved and ready, balls tight. The moment ebbed, and the tables turned, though he did not know it.

“Stroke it for me - slowly.”

It spiced the inevitable with my legs wide open, two fingers plundering my sex. I taunted Antoine with the spectacle and its sticky sounds. My devilish grin said it all – enjoy this, I know what it does to you.

His blotchy torso and upturned eyebrows pleaded, “I need to cum!”

That desperate tone, my power over him, stokes the fire within even now.

“Beg.”

“I am begging you.” He pleaded, with a sound that echoed through my memories.

I held out, teetering on the precipice, then commanded, “Fuck me.”

He pumped with feral abandon, and between the cleft of his behind, my finger pressed his crunched knot. As an unknown threat, uncertainty flickered in his eyes, and the deviancy in mine held him at bay. Seconds stretched like hours, the pressure mounting until he might burst.

Another time, I would ensnare him fully. My limbs enveloping him, ankles crossed to prevent his escape, trapping my prey. No escape, no choice, cumming on him as he shoots it deep.

Thick inside me, maddened into mechanical shoves, my hands pressed against him. He looked so helpless right up to the moment it took him.

Punctuated by his hot breath and grunts, my deft wrist spilt it over my mons, abdomen, and breasts. So warm and delicious, I scooped it up, enjoyed its tart flavour, and licked my fingers clean. My nimble touch on my clit, slick with his seed, sent me shuddering into orgasm. Locking onto his eyes with its awe, I was a slut in all her glory.

That was the first time. I stood on shaking legs and slumped to the sofa. Revived by ice-cold mineral water, I kept my thrall rapt. Confidence is an aphrodisiac, and Antoine succumbed to it, one sultry kiss at a time. Erect again, magnetic to my caress, it was time for more.

I rose, sauntered to the dining table, and braced against it. My spine curled, legs apart, and my swollen sex bared.

Peering back, I pouted. “I have a confession to make.”

“You do?”

“Yes, come here, and fuck it out of me.”

No begging this time, just his eager loins slapping my behind, ploughing me with a rampant cock. I bayed, spitting broken syllables. The vital words rattled out of me, one urgent thrust at a time.

He learned I was bisexual. My recollections of sex with women demanded his private thoughts, too. It brought him to a demented conclusion. His cum trickled down the canyon of my spine to the cleft of my behind.

For this, we retired to the shower, a tiny space and a squeeze for two.

I pressed down on his shoulder, “Eat me again.”

Antoine knelt down and looked up, eyes brimmed with obedience, lapping as a kitten enjoys milk. Pinned by my thigh, steered by my heel pressed into his back, I braced against the narrow walls. He made my legs shake in a loud, echoing orgasm.

He was learning fast.

By late afternoon, the sun cast longer shadows over our bodies, and Antoine lay beside me. Silent with a thousand-yard stare, sheened in sweat, calmer than five minutes ago. Our third time was pure intuition. I am tired and grateful for the hours of yoga every week. It ended as it began, in my mouth, revelling in how it twitches and his balls contract.

His weary moans were music to my ears.

Class dismissed.

“I would never have guessed, looking at you.” He sounded so relaxed, his words unforced.

I laughed, bright and free.

Welcome to life, Antoine.

The condensation on my glass forms a droplet that runs for freedom. I am alive, vibrant, a sexual creature again.

Neither have I wasted these four days. I care for my beau and sent him an image to inspire any teenage fantasy. A picture of myself to keep, in patent black high heels, wearing a black basque with no panties. Suspenders adorned my taut flanks, my legs slightly apart in fully fashioned stockings. I was demure yet demanding.

He understands our dynamic now.

My instructions were clear, print it out, and I wanted to see a lot of cum over it.

Antoine obeyed with pearly fat drops and long streaks.

I care for my beau. The health of his prostate is important to me.

“Good boy. Saturday afternoon, 2pm, my apartment. I want lots of cum again. Save plenty for me. Bring wine. x”

I will show this picture to Cami; it is her turn to be speechless.

-=-

There are no new potatoes in the perfect Salade Niçoise, and there must be anchovies. I pick at it, crunching away. Around us, the stresses of office life dissolve into ripples of laughter.

Cami peers up, “Someone is happy.”

Our eyes meet. The power of our combined intuitions is more than the sum of their parts.

“So?” She is fishing. “Ines?”

I pick up my napkin and dab the corners of my mouth. “I thought men were not a topic of conversation?”

I get a side glance, “What is this? Oh, yes - your dirty story for mine. Like we were eighteen again.”

We dissolve into giggles.

Cami fidgets when I describe how I confessed, bent over a table and rutted by a wild animal.

“Experience or energetic?” I am deadpan with a raised, inquisitive eyebrow.

“A pulse,” she quips.

Our laughter flows like the wine down our necks.

“So, your turn.”

Cami leans in, “I have never seen one weep so much,” she whispers. “It twitched with his heartbeat. I sat on it and rode him slowly. No chance of an orgasm. I just wanted to give him a taste of the porn he watches, only for real. Writhing, sliding over it... faster, and faster.”

“Did he?”

She sighs, “About three minutes later, all over his stomach and chest. But ready again in a few more.”

“You can almost forgive them.”

“Almost,” Cami grins. “He is catching on these last weeks. I swear he has eight hands and two tongues. I am under him, and pow! I climax loud enough for the neighbours to hear. I am squeezing on him, strung out, and he is struggling...”

This is very arousing. “Did he?”

“I wanted him to. No... I was worse.”

“Worse?”

“Kneeling, all big doe eyes, my tongue out, and stroking him. He shot it all over my face. A pornstar ending.”

I am shocked. “You filthy minx.”

Cami sits back, finishes her drink and beams, “I have not done that for a very long time.”

“It might be a long time until Etienne does that again, too.”

“What, this Sunday?”

“Cami...”

This is our connivance.

“Etienne did as he was told, and fuck, he cums big. I am doing that again.”

I shake my head and grin.

“I will not blink this time,” she mutters.

“That... will end in tears.”

This was our pact last weekend. We find young men, the quiet ones, the boys next door. The ones that women of their age pass by. The kind of men we should have dated then because we know better now. To be young is to be insecure about their bodies and our personalities. They are held to standards that are unrealistic, impossible... depressing.

Yet, we will never be more beautiful in that first burst of adulthood. Our insecurities stop us from answering the questions that burn inside, and we lack the courage to challenge our doubts. We get older and discover we were foolish to think that way. We know some people like us for who we are. Yet, those desires, the chance to experience them, and our intense beauty have passed us by.

It is absurd. So, for these two young men, we will break that cycle.

“Cami?” She looks up from the remnants of her dinner. “Speaking of porn.”

God, I adore her. It is those gimlet eyes and the mischief in them. “Ines, did you ask him?”

I tidy my cutlery. “It was a one-sided bargain. I told Antoine I am bisexual, and he told me his tastes. And Etienne?”

“I told him everything, and yes.”

We lean in closer, I want to kiss her.

“Lesbians, Cami. Lesbian porn.”

She nods, “The same, predictable... but perfect.”

“I mean, they think they can turn a lesbian straight, but still...”

Cami giggles. “I admire their optimism.”

“You need to see this.” Holding my phone, I slide it between us.

She peers down. “Ines, you dirty bitch.”

I frown, “Too much?”

She pauses, looks at me, and her head tilts.

“There is hope for you yet, and you have given me a great idea.”

She zeroes in on my lips, and this place is in public. Our lips graze together, not for long, but the message is clear.

-=-

It is a short walk through the quiet side streets of the second arrondissement, and my heels strike the mural floor of Gallerie Vivienne. I am a little giddy, and we have a deadline to meet. The things that alcohol inspires. Cami’s apartment is not far.

She drops her phone back into her bag. Sliding her hand into mine it is a quirky, romantic gesture.

Cami looks over and smiles, “So... Etienne first, then Antoine, then who knows?”

I swing our arms, “Oh, those poor, poor boys.”

She laughs.

Her apartment door closes with a gentle click. Art Deco lamps clash with modernist art and Italian glass. Kitsch style fuses with the bohemian and everything in between.

Cami strides away, already loosening the bow of her halter-neck dress. Her gait sways, discarding it as a puddle on the floor. Her simple cotton panties are a statement of practicality. I miss the chance to admire her unfettered breasts. She disappears into her bedroom, and I must follow. By the time I arrive, she wraps her black satin robe around her naked body and looks at me expectantly.

“Come on, clothes off, and put this on.”

It is virginal white, and I hold it up. “Cami, this is sheer.”

“It is?”

That innocent tone does not work with me anymore.

My nipples are dark brown, and they are hard. In the bar, she toyed with my exhibitionist tendencies; now is my chance. Cami watches as I undress; my bra is gone, and I ease down my panties. Naked, I am ogled, and my state of arousal sizzles.

“See, your underwear leaves marks. You need to wear that robe.”

Affronted, I frown, “Are you saying I am putting on weight?”

I turn to look in the mirror. My body is unmarked, and I huff with scorn, primping my hair. Cami applies fresh lipstick. I rummage through my bag, painting my lips, too. Her scent arrives before she appears in the mirror. Her hands are always warm and slide around my waist. Scooping my hair to one side, I expose my neck for the tender kiss I receive. I am marked in vermillion.

“No, you are perfect. Leave that there.”

“Cami!”

“You are mine now. Time to play our game.”

With a shiver down my spine, I adjust the neckline to plunge. My nipples are barely obscured, pressing into the fabric. It does not hide my figure at all. Antoine pants when he is aroused. I brood with my eyes - they burn.

In the lounge, bare-footed, I am handed a glass of wine. Cami holds her phone to her ear.

“Coucou, Etienne. How is my naughty young man?”

She giggles, “No, I could not say that in public...”

Now, she cackles. I am unsure who is the most nervous.

“Yes, my friend is here.”

“Yes, friend.”

“Ines.”

“Why do I call her a friend? She is.”

“Err, yes... that friend. Here she comes.”

Cami wields the phone as a camera, “Say Hello, Ines.”

The spotlight is on me, and everything else is pushed aside, “Hello, Etienne.”

I shock, appal, and arouse myself all at once; it is haughty and sultry. I should be taciturn, but there is courage found in white wine. My eyes are fixed on the stranger, and I prowl with an exaggerated gait. In a barely tied robe, the opaque material is torture. Gossamer thin, I am exposed, and it stokes the heat within. Closer, I can see him. Handsome with a boyish charm, lean features, and flawless biscuit-toned skin.

“See? You did not believe me, did you, Etienne?” Cami falls onto the plush, slightly beaten-up settee.

I sit with a little more decorum. If I drop on the settee, this robe will open.

The phone is propped on the coffee table, and Cami leans over. “Can you see us?”

“Yes. Hello again, Ines.”

“Etienne.” I am lust incarnate. “How are you?”

“Oh, good, good...”

Cami reaches for my chin, guiding my lips to hers. Our heads tilt, and she sweeps my hair to one side, exposing the impression of her lips on my neck. The camera is soon forgotten when our lips meet because I want to be burned. We linger with pressure and counterpressure as her fingers caress my face. I must retort and hold her clothed breast.

I turn to the camera, “I am more than good now.”

We wait for him to reply, grinning. I doubt he can with the loss of blood to his brain.

“Wow... you guys are really...”

We let his words hang there for a moment.

“Etienne,” I lean forward, and the robe hangs open. “If a man is not here, and if you did not know we were bisexual, would that make us lesbians?”

He blinks and falters. Existentialism is lost on him. I sip my wine and lean back, savouring his incredulity.

“So, you like my friend?” Cami’s coy tone is honey for the bees.

“She is hot.”

Spoken as quick as a shot, Cami giggles.

“You have made a new friend, Ines.”

“Mmm, I have.” I toast him. “Is that friend as in friend, or friend as in lover? I have heard good things about you.”

Etienne croaks.

Cami’s warm hand slides under my robe. Her thumb runs circles around my aching nipple. She leers at me and then straight into the camera.

I flash my eyes. “Say lover, Etienne.”

“Lover.”

“Good boy.”

The brush of her thumb forces a whimper. I am liquid, bursting with anticipation. There are no words in this nervous hinterland. On display, my arousal evident, Etienne smiles awkwardly. The ice must break, and warm waters must flow. Cami stands, always the provocateur, and drops her robe, giggling.

She cavorts with the camera in hand, “I am going to have sex with Ines.”

“You do that a lot?”

“Yes, Etienne.” A sensual nymph skips through a Parisian apartment.

 “I... I want to watch.”

“Mmm... what do you think, Ines?”

Cool wine tempers my feverish body, “Let him watch.”

Cami slides up behind me. I recline between her legs, her body warm against mine. Tilting my neck, the graze of her lips narrows my eyes. She unties my robe, slipping it open, revealing my breasts with a lover’s caress.

Etienne does not waver; he does not blink. Mine burn with need, and I do not care if he sees it.

Her swooping fingers slide around my exposed breast and skirt with my erect nipple. I must pout as the hot blood thumps within. The robe slides from my thighs. Parting them, I expose my naked sex.

“Do you know what we will do tonight, Etienne? A lot of kissing,” Cami smooches my neck, “fingering and licking. What I love most of all is rubbing our pussies together.”

I purr, long like a tigeress. “That really gets us off.”

Etienne swallows, flushed, his eyes wide. “Oh fuck.”

“Ines likes younger men, too,” adds Cami.

“I adore my young male friend. He does everything I tell him.” The descent of her fingertips is torture. “So... are you man enough to take us both?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm, confident. I like that. I want to watch you fuck her.” Cami is cool and aloof, and her fingers spill my juices. “See how horny she is? Soaking wet...”

Slickened fingers spread the heat over my throbbing clit and slip inside my sex. Watched by a stranger, overwhelmed, I must moan.

“Show me, Etienne,” I whimper, “Stroke your cock for me.”

“Do it.” Cami commands.

He stands. His top is gone, and his joggers have a tented bulge. They are down, and he is viciously erect like Antoine’s. It sways on its tendons.

My hungry eyes devour the fresh meat on the screen. “Mmm, Etienne, that looks perfect to ride. Stroke it.”

Etienne leans back, taller than Antoine, with a similar build – lithe and slender. Pleasuring himself, he is fixated on my restless body. Cami’s nimble fingers taunt my clit, kneading my breast. That mischievous thumb on my nipple cranks up the tension. I am a sea of whimpers.

“Fuck Ines while her friend fucks me.” Cami’s dispassionate words drip with filth. “I will get her off as she rides your cock.”

Etienne does not blanch.

I groan, “You will fuck me from behind as I eat her pussy.”

“Oh fuck,” it is barely a whisper from the phone.

“Look at her. She wants you.” Cami’s fingers slide inside me, and I must writhe. “Imagine how hot and tight she is when she cums.”

Listening to his ragged breathing, he is getting close.

“Fuck me hard, Etienne. In my pussy...” My body buckles with tension, “In my ass.”.

“Mmm, you are having mine, too,” adds Cami, amused. “Fuck us in the ass, Etienne. Do us both, make us moan.”

“Oh... oh... oh fuck.”

“Mmm, Etienne... are you going to cum for us?” I am trembling, so close to climax.

He nods rapidly and groans in agreement, consumed by nature.

“Cum,” demands Cami.

His hips buck as if nailing it into me, shooting ropes of cum. He would fill me to the brim. Cami’s fingers on my clit complete the rout. Seething in climax, I shudder, one to savour for the situation it is earned. Aftershocks ripple through me as reality leeches in.

Etienne reclines in his chair, in a mess of our making, all over his torso and stomach.

“See?” Cami is impressed, “He shoots big...”

“... and a shame I cannot lick it up to share it with you,” I mumble, breathless.

Disentangled, Cami closes the conversation. Etienne is docile with a wistful expression.

“Now, go and clean yourself up. Remember, Sunday, 3pm.” Interrupting Cami, I ease my hand into her robe, kissing her neck.

“Do not be a stranger, Etienne,” I chime in. “Give her a good fuck for me. I will keep her warm for you.”

He grins, “Oh, I will.”

One down, one to go, and tonight, Cami will see stars.