The French Connection

My husband's curiosity about my early sex life was getting the better of him. Marriage is enough of a challenge and maintaining a satisfying sex life is particularly difficult. Like most men, Ben wanted to hear about my Sapphic adventures. But, I only told him little snippets and kept the rest under wraps.

Ben's favorite was about my first time with a girl and he would listen with rapt attention. I never told him the entire story but I always started by telling him where I grew up and... My parents lived in an exclusive community in southern Florida. While they weren't Donald Trump wealthy, they lived very comfortably. I attended private school and college. I routinely got excellent grades and was pretty much a straight arrow thru high school.

While I was well aware of the "extra curricular" activities in high school, I never indulged in drugs or smoking pot. My boyfriend took my virginity in senior year and, thanks to "the pill", I screwed him whenever I could. I liked it that much.

Things in the Sapphic sense got underway in college.

My roommate in freshman year was a party animal and frequently came in drunk or stoned. Several times when Fran was in that state she tried to get into bed with me. But, she wasn't very attractive, at least to me, and I would push her onto the floor. Fran had an abrasive personality and few friends. Thankfully, she failed every subject and dropped out before the end of freshman year.

I was bi curious but I wanted my first experience to be with someone I thought was attractive and appealing. Late in freshman year, my friend Shauna invited me to a party at her sorority. Although I felt out of place, Shauna was always hovering around me and chattering away. She kept handing me cups of the special "punch" and I was pleasantly drunk when the party wound down. Shauna suggested I stay with her until I felt more sober.

Shauna was a pretty and willowy blonde, similar to Gwyneth Paltrow. While not as flat as a board, she was close. As I lay on top of her bed, she sat next to me and stroked my hair with her fingers. It felt nice so I let her keep going. She leaned in and kissed me and I kissed her back. We started kissing in earnest and her hands roamed my body.

Unfortunately, the alcohol didn't agree with my stomach and I barfed all over Shauna's bedspread. She practically threw me out of her room. My first bi experience was a bust and I never considered it a "first" experience.

Not much happened until my sophomore year. My new roommate was a foreign exchange student from France. From the start I thought there would be a communication problem and after my experience with Fran, I wanted someone "normal". I was arranging some books on my desk when I heard someone in the doorway.

"Hello" a voice said in a charming accent.

I turned around and looked at a vision, a vision of beauty. With mouth agape, I just stared at the vision.

"Are you Ceendy?" the vision asked me. I came out of my stupor long enough to reply.

"Yes, yes, I'm Cindy."

"I am Claire, from France" the vision had a name and a country of origin.

I loved how Claire said France, it was more like Fronce. Any concerns I had about a communication problem vanished.

I helped Claire get her stuff moved in and let her have the choice of beds. She graciously refused the window but I insisted. As she unpacked we talked and I found that I adored her accent. Claire was very pretty, and slim in a European way. I think a better word is sleek. She had sparkling green eyes and long brown hair that cascaded down her back.

After Claire had organized her belongings, she told me she was "ongry". She wanted to try something American. With Claire in tow, I took her into town to a burger joint. A lot of male heads and a few female ones turned to look when she walked in. Claire was inexperienced with greasy American food of this caliber but she enjoyed every bite.

It was late when we got back to our room. Claire thought nothing of undressing in front of me and to her it was as natural as having wine for dinner. I looked at her body and realized she was one of the sexiest women I ever laid eyes on. My self image was going to suffer mightily with her around, but I didn't care.

As we settled into the college routine, we spent a lot of time together. I had two classes with Claire and she always asked for language interpretations relating to various words or phrases. I had French in high school and as much as I wanted to speak French, Claire wanted to practice English. When she spoke English with her French accent, it had a musical quality. However, she was eternally patient when I butchered the French language.

As the semester wore on, we really got to know each other. I learned Claire was from the outskirts of Paris. Her mother was deceased and her father was an engineer for the S.N.C.F. That's railroad in English. She had done some modeling but really wanted to be a school teacher. God knows she had the right personality for teaching.

Just watching Claire was a treat for me. She had a sensual way about her. Her body language, the way she applied her make up, how she drank coffee or ate dinner, how she spoke and the mannerisms she used were all a part of it. She had a gracefulness that was utterly charming, yet foreign to me.

Claire's complexion was flawless. Her cosmetics bag was filled to overflowing but she never looked like she was wearing any. Her face had a very natural look. She generously shared her cosmetics and secrets with me. Sometimes, she would apply the cosmetics herself and the touch from her hand sent shivers down my spine.

With courage, Claire tried all things that are considered American. American or western culture is pervasive in Europe so there were no big surprises. Her favorite was watching movies without dubbing or sub titles. The use of colloquial language was challenging for her and I did my best to interpret the meaning.

"What does word fook mean?" she asked inquisitively.

At first I had no idea what Claire was asking me. But when I caught on, I laughed out loud. Claire looked perplexed. I remembered my high school French teacher telling the class that merde or shit was commonly used as slang in French. When I conveyed that analogy, she understood right away.

It was the small everyday or idiosyncratic differences between the cultures that fascinated Claire. My daily showers intrigued her and with naïve sincerity she asked me if I felt dirty every morning. By mid semester I did notice she was shaving her underarms and legs.

In her gracious way, Claire told me she missed drinking wine with dinner and having a bidet in the bathroom.

Without condemnation, she remarked that Americans ate their meals too quickly and with too much quantity. How in France meals were considered an important part of daily life and were meant to be leisurely and enjoyable.

With Claire it was as though France had sent us her very best.

Most of the men on campus seemed to be intimidated by her serene self assurance. . She dated a few guys but not for long.

Just before Thanksgiving break, I came down with the flu. We spent the Thanksgiving holiday in the dorm and Claire was like a mother hen. She made soup on the hot plate and bought bread and muffins at the corner grocery. When I was feeling my worst, she would sit next to me and gently towel my face with a wet cloth. I loved the caring attention she showed me.

As the holidays approached, I insisted that Claire come home with me. I knew she didn't have much money and my father paid for her airfare. My father refused me little in life but for this I was eternally grateful. I asked that he treat this as an early Christmas present to me.

When Claire saw my home in Florida, she was shocked that only three people lived in such a huge house. My bedroom was more like a suite with multiple closets and an oversized bathroom.

With Christmas only a few days away, Claire was adamant about buying gifts for me and my family. We drove to Miami and she was enthralled by the shops and stores. Although I never left her side, she accumulated several shopping bags without my knowledge.

Christmas Eve my mother had a catered celebration and many of my relatives were present. They loved Claire, especially my male cousins. Charmed by her beauty and accent, they all wanted to date her.

But, when Claire saw the selection of wines for the evening, she was in heaven. She went right for the Bordeaux and relished many glasses. Even though she had more to drink than I did, she was helping me up the stairs at the end of the night.

With the alcohol in my blood stream, I was horny as hell. I hadn't frigged myself or fucked anyone since last summer. I tried to ask Claire what the women in France did under the circumstances but in my present state I couldn't find the right words.

Finally in frustration, I used a hand motion to illustrate what I meant. When Claire understood what I meant, she blushed. I had never seen her blush and she even did that in an endearing way.

Claire tried to explain but the language barrier was beyond what one might find in a French/English dictionary.

When the words had failed us, Claire put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating and I melted into her arms.

"Ma Cheri" she said with an affectionate look.

Taking me by the hand, Claire led me into the bathroom, pulled open the shower door and turned on the water. I was mesmerized as she sexily took off her clothes and stood naked before me

"Voila" she said in a breathy and sexy voice.

As I was taking my clothes off, Claire stopped me and wagged her finger at me in a "no" gesture. In the next instant, she was unbuttoning my blouse and pulling my slacks down my legs. She stripped me in the most erotic fashion imaginable.

Claire led me into the shower and with a skill that amazed me, ran her soapy hands all over my body. I tried to do the same to her but my hands were shaking.

After we dried off, Claire lay prone on top of me in my bed. She looked at me tenderly and kissed my face, neck and ears with a delicacy that had me panting. I yearned to kiss her mouth and sensing my need, planted one there.

That night I discovered why they call it "French kissing". Claire kissed me with a passion and fervor mere words can't sufficiently describe. Calling it foreplay would be an injustice as it was comparable to a singular sex act. I gently humped her thigh while she was kissing me and had an orgasm, a first for me.

Claire kissed down my neck to my breasts and as she suckled my nipples, her fingers stroked my gooey slit. There was nothing calculated or mechanical in her movements. In her sensual manner, she lovingly brought me to my second orgasm of the night.

Claire raised herself up on her arms. I squeezed and stroked her peach size breasts and marveled at the texture of her skin. While I gingerly sucked and licked her protruding nipples, she humped my leg. Although, my skills were crude compared to hers, I felt the wetness from her crotch on my thigh.

Knowing that I made Claire wet inflamed my lust and I wanted to eat my first pussy in the worst way. I kissed down her stomach as far as I could go and she got the hint.

Claire flipped onto her back and opened her sexy legs. I found her full bush irresistible and mouthed the hair on her mound. She was making little noises as I slowly tongued her soaked slit. My fear of strong odor was misguided and I ate her lustily and for a long time. I was insatiable.

Claire gazed at me eating her delicious pussy and gasped words in French that were beyond my comprehension. She had several explosive orgasms and yelled something in French with each one. As her body quaked with the remains of her last orgasm, my crotch convulsed similarly from the experience.

We fell asleep in each others arms and it was nearly noon when we woke on Christmas Day.

We held each other and she kissed me very sweetly. A rush of feelings welled up inside of me.

"I love you Claire." I blurted out and looked away shyly.

Claire gently pulled my face back into line with hers and kissed me with deep affection. Then she looked into my eyes and said,

"And, I love you" in her adorable accent.

The mood was ruined when the intercom went off. It was my mother asking when we were coming downstairs. I spent the day in restless anticipation of having Claire all to myself that night.

It seemed like the longest day of my life as we visited with relatives until late evening. With wine glasses in hand we retreated to my bedroom and lay side by side on the bed.

Claire kissed me with tenderness and took my clothes off at the same time. With shaky fingers I managed to take hers off and drank in the sight of her naked form.

When I tried to go down on her, she gently pushed me onto my back and pointed to herself.

"My turn" She said in her cute accent.

Claire was my first and she spoiled me for life. Her delicate licks and two well placed fingers in my gushing hole had me panting like a dog in heat. During my first orgasm, I saw stars and nearly feinted. I tried to sit up and hug her but collapsed back onto the bed.

Claire's beautiful eyes were full of mirth but when I told her it was my first time, her expression changed to one of pure delight. She held me close and told me that it made her feel "special" that she was my first.

We spent our days sightseeing, going to the beach, shopping and watching movies. Since Claire had no swim suit with her, I took her to the shops I frequented. With her sleek body in a bikini, she caused quite a stir at the beach. However, she was unfazed by all the uproar.

Claire was a talented cook and prepared several delicious French dinners complete with the appropriate wines from my fathers cellar. Sometimes my father watched movies with us and we had lively discussions about the characters and plot. He especially liked Claire's opinions since hers were the most unbiased.

But, nights were my favorite time with Claire. She was an extremely gifted lover and patiently showed me her skills. I tried to emulate them for years and while I surprised my future conquests, I never acquired the élan that Claire embodied.

Perhaps Claire's most important gift to me was the value she placed on cuddling and holding each other with affection. I was shorter and more petite but my body seemed to mold itself to hers effortlessly. We spent many nights in bed, stark naked with our arms wrapped around each other as we talked or slept. I cherished that gift the most.

When the mood was right, we had sex and it was glorious. I never tired of pleasing Claire and she was just as generous.

But, as with most precious time, it went by far too quickly.

We were back at college and busier than ever. Claire was called upon to chair the French Club and organize French cooking classes. Along with her studies it took up time, a lot of time. I joined her cooking class just to be near her and she made me her assistant.

Even with Claire's busy schedule, we spent many nights cuddling together in the same bed and although the sex was less frequent, it was no less satisfying.

With end of the spring semester and Claire's return to France, just a couple of weeks away, she asked if I would come visit her in France over the summer. Without even thinking, I said YES!

But, there was one small problem. I had to get my parents to agree and they were very skeptical about letting a single female, especially their daughter, travel alone to Europe. It took a lot of pleading and cajoling but I succeeded.

During those last two weeks, the reality that my time with Claire was nearly over had me crying in the shower and I tried to spend every waking and sleeping moment with her.

On our last night together at college, Claire surprised me with a private celebration. She had used her last bit of money to cook us dinner with wine. We spread a blanket over the floor and with our plates full and glasses filled, pretended to dine al fresco.

When the last of the wine was consumed, we kissed like lovers and spent most of the night trying to satisfy our unquenchable lust. It was truly memorable.

Then we wept from the realization that this was our last time together as lovers. There was no going back, our relationship had no tomorrows.

I went with Claire to the airport and, with tears streaming down our cheeks, walked to her departure gate. When her flight was called, we embraced with raw emotion.

"I love you Claire" I said practically sobbing.

"I love you Ceendy" She responded in kind.

Without caring who was watching, Claire tenderly kissed me and we hugged with unyielding desire. As she walked down the jet way, she waved goodbye.

Although I was aware that I would see her in July, I knew it was over.

Claire's presence in my life was irreplaceable. I adored her and just being near her was sheer joy for me. Without her I felt lost and as my heart broke in two, I was consumed with sorrow and sobbed like a child.

.

On a hot day in July, Claire picked me up at the airport in Paris. We embraced and kissed politely on both cheeks.

During the drive to her apartment, we reminisced about college and Claire performed some funny impressions of her professors.

We took long walks thru the city that were happy and full of chatter. I joined Claire on her shopping excursions when she bought food for the afternoon meal. We went sightseeing and to the café's, where we talked and laughed in a carefree way.

While we sat at a café in the afternoon sun, I stared at her beautiful face trying to memorize every detail. I wanted it indelibly imprinted on my memory for future reference.

Her nearness filled the void in my heart.

But, it wasn't the same.

At night we cuddled in the same bed but nothing happened until the last night of my stay. Overwhelmed by the realization that this was our last night together, we made love as passionately and enthusiastically as before.

When Claire drove me back to the airport, we were unusually quiet. As we waited for my flight to be announced, she took my hand and placed it over her heart. With her eyes full of tears, she told me that she would always cherish our time together. I looked at her beautiful face and in a voice choked with tears, told her the same.

We embraced long and hard.

When my flight was boarding, I looked at Claire for the last time and whispered,

"I love you"

"Je t'aime" she responded with tears flowing down her cheeks.

With my heart breaking for the second time, I walked down the jet way and out of her life.

We wrote each to other at least once a year. She became a school teacher, married and had two children.

Then the letters stopped and it was 5 or 6 years before I received her next letter.

In her letter Claire apologized for not writing and gave a short synopsis of her life. She ended her letter with an open invitation to visit her home in France. I read her letter several times, especially the end.

But, every time I sat at the computer and tried to compose a letter I froze. I knew that if I responded, I would accept her invitation. I wanted to keep my memories of Claire unsullied and untouched by the ravages of time.

When I remembered Claire, I wanted her to appear in my memory as she did when she stood like a radiant vision in the doorway of our dorm room the first time I met her at college or the look of love on her face as I held her and kissed her passionately. That's the Claire I wanted to remember.

What we had shared was now a precious memory in a time capsule that could be opened and enjoyed without the degradation of the ensuing years.

I never wrote to Claire but I think she understood. The bond we had forged would remain with me till the end of my days.