My French Holiday

I didn’t know quite how to answer such a blunt, open and personal question so I sipped my wine silently.

“Well? Richard asked smiling, “do you Amanda?”

“Sometimes I do yes,” I said trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Who do you imagine in bed with you?” Luc asked resting his fingers lightly on my wrist.

“Oh you wouldn’t know him,” I muttered lightly.

“Oh I feel disappointed,” he smiled looking right into my eyes.

The enormity to me of what he was saying made me feel a little funny but as he laughed making light of it I thought that possibly he was joking or that I’d got the wrong end of the stick.

In bed later that evening the conversation came back to me and I suddenly felt so lonely and frustrated. It had been several months since I’d lain in a man’s arms and many more since I’dbeen in the arms of a man that I felt a lot for. Months of sexual deprivation, of longing and wanting but not wishing to put myself through the agonies of an affair. Months of missing the feel and touch of a man, his roughness and his hardness. Months of frustration and months of using the substitute for that which I recognised I was starting to use now.

As my hands found my breasts and as my fingers pinched my nipples so the feelings welled up so very quickly. As I caressed and cupped my full, sensitive 35 d cup breasts so my body was filled withla longing that I knew I would have to satisfy. As I did that. As my fingers found my wetness and gyrated that wonderful piece of gristle so I did visualise someone in that bed with me. I did imagine I was not alone and that it was a man giving me the shuddering feelings. But it was not a man I knew, well not sexually. And it was not a clear vision. The edges were blurred, it was a combination. Flashes of different men. Two different men. Yes I was in bed with an amalgam of Luc and Richard.

I felt a little foolish as I showered after having a remarkaby strong orgasm. Not silly at having done that for, after all, it’s natural isn’t it? Well at least it’s natural when your body is as starved of sexual gratification as mine is. No, foolish at visualising being in bed and making love with such a young man, one, biologically at least, who could be my son. But it hadn’t been one man had it? No it had been both of them, well not actually both at the same time, that was ridiculous. No it had been each of them at different times. The vision had been of Luc holding me for a while only for his features to fade out to be replaced by Richard’s face on my breasts. At one time it was his back who my arms were around and then Luc’s hips around which I wrapped my legs. Richard holding me as my orgasm soared out of control and Luc comforting me as it subsided.

As I went to the restaurant the next evening I felt slightly embarrassed at the thoughts I’d had of my two friends. Two young men just pleased to have the chance to use their English and happy to show off their restaurant to me. Two good looking guys that could have the pick of any of the stunningly attractive young, slim French girls I’d seen around this and the adjoining villages. That I, a thirty eight year old divorced woman with a daughter nearer to their ages than I was, could even entertain such rude and outrageous thoughts appaled and slightly frightened me.

“Was I becoming so frustrated,” I wondered, “that my mind could imagine such things? Would the inevitable increase in the feelings of denied sex make me think about even more and more outrageousacts?”

They’d told me that there was going to be a little party in the restaurant that evening. A local’s birthday so it would be more formal than usual. The French, even in the country can be quite dressy I’d noted on such occasions.

“You look fantastic Mandy,” Luc said quietly as he showed me to my usual table near to the window. Holding my seat out for me and flicking the napkin undone I felt his eyes roam over my body bringing back the visions I’d had in bed about him the night before.

The white silky dress I was wearing was tight across my breasts and high at the front but plunged down at the back almost to my bra strap. It was slightly above my knee and had slits up each side to round about mid thigh. I wasn’t wearing stockings or tights of course and my tanned legs were set off nicely by the white of the dress. I’d even painted my toe nails that poked out from the strappy, mid-height heeled shoes. I felt that I did look good but Luc’s compliment was still reassuring and welcome.

“Oh Amanda,” I heard Richard say equally softly as he brought the bread and olive oil, “ how pretty and wonderful, what a gorgeous dress, you look magnificent.”

As they both stared at me I felt myself blush a little. I was also acutely aware that my nipples were hardening and I saw them staer at them before discretely looking away. There was no doubt, though, that they had seen them and that just made me blush even more.

The party of ten, three other couples and one other old man by himself filled the restaurant and it was noisier and much busier than it had been any other night. Although this meant that the two of them had their hands full they still paid me lots of attention lingering at my table either alone or together on many occasions. As usual we chatted easily but this time there seemed to be more intensity about their words that seemed to more and more come round to rather intimate matters. More compliments on my dress and figure, questions about what I got up to in London, remarks that were flattering if a little near to the mark at times. I put it down to the way of the French who can be amazingly blunt and too the point, especially about topics that most other races would consider too delicate to discuss.

They had music playing tonight, something that hadn’t happened before. And yes, it w as the typically French, Stefano Grappelli, Django Rheinhardt and Edith Piaf stuff. As the other diners finished their meals and after Luc and Richard had cleared away and brought out loads of wine and beer the tables were pushed back a little and the people from the party began to dance. I thought of leaving and letting them get on with that but they wouldn’t hear of it and quickly I found myself dancing with one of the party. It was fun, I enjoyed it and I danced and chatted to the party of people as best as my broken French and their little English would permit.

With the kitchen now cleaned up Luc and Richard joined in and I danced with both them. Rather energetic jiving with one and shimmying on the spot to quite fast music with the other. Around ten the main party started leaving and then there was just the three of us left. Richard poured us each some Calvados and put on an Edith Piaf’s greatest hits CD. Luc took my hand and pulled me up into the centre of the room as her haunting voice filled the place. In his arms he pulled me close, far more closely than decorum usually suggests. So close I could feel his body against mine from our heads that were touching across our chests and stomachs and down the front of our thighs. Although the slow music indicated hardly any movement was required it was a provocative and very sensual dance. It made me feel a little light-headed, made my heart beat a little faster and it gave me a feeling of slight excitement. As I felt his fingers trailing across the bare skin of my back and as the most famous Piaf number, Je ne Rien Regrets, oozed around the room so my head started to swim.

“Do you have regrets Amanda,” he whispered right into my ear.

“How do you mean Luc?” I asked.

“About your marriage, about your divorce about not having a man?”

“Of course,” I replied a little hesitantly, “we all have regrets don’t we?”

“Yes but I was asking about your regrets wasn’t I? Are you happy with your life, being alone and all that?” he persisted again taking our conversation down very personal lines.

“I have some,” I said softly feeling in part a little concerned at the intimacy of the questioning but also comforted that we’d become so close that we could discuss such things. His hands were moving on me. Not quickly or overtly suggestive but slowly around my back and waist.

“And what are they if I may ask?” he breathed as one hand slid a little further down to rest just where the cheek of my bottom balloons out from beneath my waist. He softly rubbed me there. The feeling through the thin dress as my body was pressed against his was disturbing.

“Oh it’s all so complicated Luc, too long a story to go into now,” I replied avoiding answering him but enjoying his emrace.

“I think it’s my turn now,” I heard Richard say as he came and stood beside us.

I danced with each of them twice. Both whispered questions and compliments to me and each of them lightly caressed my body. It was heady stuff indeed.

They gave me a lift home seeming to completely ignore the drink driving laws.

“What are you doing tomorrow Mandy?” Richard asked as I got out of the car.

“I haven’t anything planned,” I replied

They said that tomorrow, Sunday, when the restaurant was closed, as it was on Wednesdays as well, oddly but then it was France, would I like to spend the day with them visiting a market in a town some twenty kilometres away? I was pleased to agree.

We had a lovely day. I drove for they only had a beaten up old Peugeot. We had a walk round the market with me buying a few bits and pieces for the flat and some clothes for Sarah, had lunch at a restaurant overlooking a beautiful lake and then wandered round the lake in the dense pine forest. As we walked we held hands, me in the middle.

We sat on the bank and chatted letting the warm sun beat down on us and we paddled in the cool waters. They both took their tops off and I pulled my loose flowing voile skirt up to let the sun get to my legs. We laughed and joked and told each other about our lives. As we lay side by side on the pine needles, I explained about my divorce with both of them saying how mad Kevin must have been to have strayed away from me. I told them how things change during a long term relationship that neither of them could have experienced. But still they insisted that he was crazy to, as Luc put it,

“Abandon the comforts I had.”

I laughed saying, “what do you mean comforts?” Was I fishing for compliments I wondered as Richard replied?

“Well your beauty and your body. You are a beautiful woman Amanda.”

I felt a little uncomfortable at such blatant compliments with such obvious undertones but knowing they were said sincerely and with the Gallic charm of their race I simply smiled at them and said,

“Now, now, not too much flattery you’ll make me feel big headed.

“But it’s true,” Luc went on raising himself on one elbow and looking down at me. “You are wonderfully good looking Amanda, you don’t look your age and you have, er, a magnificent figure.”

I didn’t know what to say being so unused to such forthright views. Richard continued.

“It’s true you have the body of a younger woman and the face of an angel.”

That made me laugh for it was going a little far but the words also had other effects on me. After all what woman wouldn’t be flattered by having two young, French men extol her virtues? It made me feel warm towards them and, I have to admit, a little aroused.

“Oh, Richard, Luc.” I said softly, “you are both so kind.” I paused and for some unexplainable reason added, “but so young.”

“Why the hell did I say that?” I thought as they both moved closer to me.

“Yes we are young,” one of them was saying, “but we know life Amanda.”

The other added in a low voice, “ and being French we also know about love and beauty as well.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I was becoming a little flustered. Were they coming onto me? What were they implying? I wondered as I lay there partly very relaxed and partly, I realised, a little tense from all this attention. Their words flowed over me, they seemed to almost hypnotise me. The combination of what they said, their so sexy French accents and the closeness of their bare torsoes was affecting me. I realised I was becoming a little worked up, curious and intrigued by them.

The relationship we’d developed over the past few days had been close and very friendly but not once had I thought it would become anything other than friendship. I was almost old enough to be their mother for Christ’s sake! I was not looking for any involvement with men. I hadn’t for the past six months. Not since that short affair with the guy I met when playing golf in Spain. Not since I’d felt myself becoming emotionally dependant on him, wanting to see him more often than his location, some 250 miles away, permitted. So I gave up dating. Avoided any entanglement. I’d found that I couldn’t fully enjoy sex without some form of emotional involvement and after the hurt of Kevin I couldn’t and didn’t want to make any commitment that way. So I’d got myself into the classic Catch 22. The only way for me was to forego sex. So six months ago I’d stopped dating, stopped seeing men and had become celibate.

I hadn’t, though, stopped thinking about it. Hardly a day, well never a whole day, more like an hour really, went by without me having some form of sexual thought. The frustration was extreme and at times I yearned so much to feel a man touch me, hold me, kiss and cuddle me and yes fuck me. But I’d fought those raging temptations during the past six months and I’d held out.

It was therefore rather ironic I thought to be laying in a pine forest in France with two young men as I contemplated just what they were implying and intending with their lyrical phrases and their intimate gestures.

“Let’s swim,” Luc suggested.

“I can’t,” I immediately replied, “I don’t have my swimming stuff with me.”

Richard looked right at me as, smiling, he said, “neither do we.”

Luc added, “Amanda this France we do not worry about such things, nudity to us is no problem, it’s natural.”

I knew that I couldn’t just strip off there and go swimming with the two of them naked. I just couldn’t do that. Call it shyness, British reserve, me being a prude or whatever, I just knew I couldn’t. The fact that they had created a rather intimate atmosphere by talking about my body and complimenting me so much may also have been an influence on me as I replied.

“Tell you what, let’s go to my house and use the pool, we can get your stuff on the way.”

They agreed, somewhat reluctantly I thought. We strolled back through the forest and I felt Luc put his arm around my waist as we climbed over some large tree roots. Once over them he didn’t remove it and I felt Richard’s join it. It felt natural. Nothing too overt just three friends strolling arm in arm. I put my arms around their waists and we walked all the way to the car like that. It was a tender, caring and quite loving moment I thought as I got into the BMW.

Soon we were buzzing down the narrow roads towards their flat. They went in and collected their shorts and not long after I was in my bedroom getting ready for the pool. I pondered for some time on what bikini to wear for I wanted to show my body at its best but without looking too come on to them. So the two thong bottomed jobs were out. I selected a fairly straightforward yellow bikini that was as cover up as any I had although the bottom was cut quite acutely at the crotch meaning that I’d had to pay close attention to my bikini line before coming away. Just the same I checked closely in the mirror to make sure there were no stray hairs. As I looked at myself I was horrified to see that my bloody nipples had started misbehaving and that they were standing up like two acorns. “Hmmm I’m not cold,” I mused being deep down very aware why they were reacting like that.

I almost gasped with pleasure as I saw the two of them laying on the beds round the pool. They really were gorgeous I thought. Both were heavily tanned and were wearing speedos. On other men they may have looked a little old fashioned and slightly ridiculous, but the French have a way of carrying off such incongruous garments don’t they? Well certainly Luc and Richard did. The modest amount material was stretched taught around them, the legs being cut acutely, the waist bands so low that both were sprouting generous helpings of pubic hairs from the front and were showing the start of the crack between the cheeks of their bottoms at the back.

Their bodies were magnificent. Lean with well formed but not bulky muscles they had the firmness of youth and the sculpted appeal of maturity. Each oozed sex appeal as they lay on the beds their long, lean legs stretched out before them, their bare chests on view, their flat stomachs looking like the six packs you see on male models. As I approached them I couldn’t stop my eyes from going to their speedos. I’m not the sort of woman that has a great interest in the size of a man’s penis and seeing men clad just in tight shorts does not generally make me wonder what’s inside them. But try as I might I couldn’t stop my gaze from being drawn as if by magnets to the two bulging lumps inside their tight miniscule swimsuits.

It wasn’t so much the sheer size of the two bulges that attracted my gaze, even though those ridiculously brief and tight speedos did reveal that, it was the blatant way that the thin material clung to them. That left nothing at all to the imagination. It framed each penis illustrating clearly its shape and length. It seemed to cuddle so closely to each pair of balls accentuating their fullness and emphasising their roundness. I could see the bulbous tips of each cock through the material and my eyes saw where each sunk into the confines of the two scrotums.

I covered the last few metres to them on shaky legs and with a pounding heart.

“What’s happening to me?” I asked myself. I’d never felt like this. Never before had the sight of a man so aroused me or done such things to me as was happening now. I felt as though I just wanted to sink to my knees and bury my face in one of those bulges. Rip the gossamer thin material away and make the cock rear up to its fullness so that I could takeit into me. Into my hand, between my breasts, in my mouth or anywhere.

“Oh Amanda,” Luc said as I sat myself down trying desperately to regain my composure, “you look magnifique.”

“Yes Mandy you look so wonderful, so womanly, so marvellous,” Richard chimed in.

Those words and the adoring and, yes, lustful looks on their faces did little to help my, by now fairly distressed state. I smiled and said, “thanks,” but could say no more for fear of my voice giving my emotions and thoughts away.

The patio area around the pool is small and there was not much room on there for the three loungers. They were pushed closely together, almost touching. So as I sat on the spare one between them my legs were almost touching their’s. I had to pass by them so closely. Our bodies almost touched, I could almost feel their heat. It was agonisingly frustrating for me to clamber over their beds to get to mine. It was disturbing for me to remove the black, net wrap I’d fitted around me. And it was excruciatingly embarrassing to me to feel the arousal I did as they gazed at my nearly nude body.

My body isn’t bad. I know that. I am full figured and yes there are blemishes. My boobs sag a little from their size and weight and my tummy sticks out a bit due to me not being dedicated enough withtmy post natal exercises. My bum has its fair share of flesh and for sure there’s an excess of that on there and on my thighs. But I’m thirty eight for Christ’s sake and I’ve had a child. Overall it’s not out of proportion I knew. Yes my tits are on the large size but not overly so and thus the general package has always attracted the stares of men. Both during my marriage, when I strayed a few time after getting what I called my red mists when I learned of Kevin’s philanderings, and since it when I’ve been naked with men I’ve had no complaints. So, I guess I’m relatively happy with what I’ve got and confident when displaying it.