Yellow Lambswool

I was working in my study when my daughter came in with the mail. With a smile, she dropped the small pile on the desk and turned. In a flash she was gone and I was alone again. I took a break from what I was doing to go through the newly arrived bills, letters and cards.

It was mid-December and there were Christmas cards in the pile of mail. You could tell them apart by their size, larger than the usual envelopes and closer to being square. I thought about my daughter for a moment. She was barely a teenager, just starting to develop. In a few years, she'd be looking a lot like her mother. If she did take after her mother, the other girls would be jealous, and the boys... . Well, I was a teenager once. I know what I was thinking about at that age. I'll have to keep a close watch on her. She had been wearing a yellow wool sweater. Yellow wool always brings back memories for me.

I separated out the cards from the regular mail. There was one Christmas card I recognized right away. I was expecting it. It always came at about this time in December. I always looked forward to getting it. Not because of who it was from, or because it was written in French. I anticipated its arrival because she was also getting one just like it today.

It was gloomy. Overcast. Outside it was damp and cold. I liked sunny weather better. I leaned back in my chair and looked out the large windows. When it was sunny, the light streaming in illuminated the mahogany paneling and revealed the highlights in the wood. Golds, browns, reds. Today, the gray light made the wood look just brown.

I picked up the card. The postmark was France, as I knew it would be. The size of their cards is a little different from ours so it always stands out in the stack. I held the envelope in my hand and thought about her receiving her card. The old lady still sends each of us a Christmas card. The same card with a personal message scrawled inside. It's been, how long? Has it really been over twenty years?

The skies looked like rain, or maybe snow later. Weatherbug reported the temperature was still dropping. By nightfall, it might just be barely cold enough for snow – snow that would turn to slush in the morning. Either way, it would be messy. I preferred it warm - warm and sunny. It was sunny in my mind at that moment. Whenever I thought of France, it was always sunny. It was that summer in the early 1980's all over again.

I had just finished my second year of college. I was at the age where my parents had determined years before that each of their children should experience Europe. It would build character, independence, an appreciation for the American standard of living. At least, that's what they told me. I, of course, didn't want to go. I wanted to hang out with my friends over the summer. In the end, I (like my brother and sister before me) gave in to my parents' wishes. I'd pass through London and Paris before spending a few weeks in Italy, then more in Switzerland. I'd attend lectures and even get college credit for the trip. Finally, as a bonus, I'd spend the final week with Sylvia.

Sylvia wasn't that old back then, maybe in her very early sixties. In her heart, she was still young. Oh, yes, young at heart. I had met her when I was much younger and she had come to stay with my family. Part of some kind of cultural exchange, I think. As each of us got older, each child took a trip to Europe and ended it with a stay at her house in western France. It was in the Loire valley, château country. I had heard all about it from my parents after their trip, then from my brother and finally from my sister. Then it was my turn to go.

A summer traveling Europe didn't sound all that bad. It was better than getting a summer job, even though I had to go to class. I went and made the best of it. I enjoyed it, actually. When the classes were over, I wanted to return home with the others I had studied with. They were going home to their family and friends, home to the land of Wendy's and McDonalds. I was taking a train to France.

I arrived in the village on a sunny summer day. It had rained a lot earlier that summer, but the rains had finally ended and the skies had cleared. It had been uncharacteristically cool that year. I was grateful for the improvement in the weather. Sylvia's daughter, Annette, met me at the train station and took me to their house. Annette was about forty and lived next door with her husband and young daughter. Sylvia still lived in the farmhouse where she and her now deceased husband had raised Annette. It was a charming house, with a garden in the front, a cave under the house for storage (we'd call it a basement, but it was hewn out of the soft rock under the house and they called it "la cave"), and a backyard full of trees.

So I arrived and Sylvia greeted me at the door with a big hug. She showed me to a kind of upstairs apartment in the back of the house. There was a small efficiency type kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. Well, part of a bathroom. It had a lavatory and bidet, but the toilet and shower were downstairs in the main part of the house. The apartment was accessed from inside, but was otherwise completely separated from the rest of the house. A separate staircase near the front door led to the other bedrooms in the front part of the upstairs.

I was getting settled in, unpacking my suitcases and looking through mail from home that had preceded my arrival, when I heard someone walk in through the kitchen. I had left the door open. She was... (I always take a deep breath when I think about the first time we met) a year younger than me, slender but not skinny. She had a nice figure, impressive but not overly large breasts and shoulder-length curly hair. I guess the color was more dirty blonde than brunette.

I expected she was another relative of Sylvia so I politely introduced myself, in French of course. Her response made my jaw drop open. A smile gradually crossed her face as she spoke, in perfect English. I'd had Europeans tell me that American is probably the easiest accent to fake because it's fairly plain. Well, her English sounded perfect. She was definitely American.

"You don't have to speak French to me. I'm from the States, too."

Then she giggled at my surprise. The sound of her laughter was delightful, a nice accompaniment to her appearance. I must have been staring because she held out her hand and added, "I'm Sarah."

I blinked and took her hand, shaking it. Actually, I was reveling in the softness of her skin. I was attracted to her, to say the least. To say the most, I was probably making a fool of myself.

She extricated her hand from mine and plopped down in the chair opposite me. Now that I really looked, she was decidedly American. She was wearing a t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Lee jeans, not Levis. I loved the way she could look so comfortable there, regarding me warmly.

"I guess Sylvia didn't mention me. I'm staying for a few weeks, part of a school exchange. Our French teacher brought over a group of us to learn about French culture. How long are you here for?"

"Just a week," I answered.

"That's a long way to come for just a week. C'est loin, France."

"Yes, it's far, but I didn't come all this way for just a week. This is the end of my trip. I've been here for a month, studying in Italy and Switzerland."

"That sounds so cool. I'm stuck here in this little town for the whole time. You really got to see Europe. I'm so jealous."

"Actually, I'm glad to have a chance to relax. I've been on the go for the last month, moving from city to city. I'm looking forward to getting some sleep and not having to pack again for a whole week."

"I guess. I wish I could go anywhere else. We've done everything there is to do here. Most of us meet at the record shop in town after lunch and hang out with some of the French teenagers. It gets boring after awhile. Do you want to go with me this afternoon?"

I'd go anywhere with her. "Sure, that sounds great."

"Not really, but it will be nice for everyone to meet someone new. I was so excited when Sylvia told me another American was coming to stay."

We chatted while I finished getting settled. She was from a different part of the country, but she was an honest-to-goodness American teenager. A very cute one, too. I managed to compose myself a little better and not make any more of a fool of myself. I couldn't help myself. I really liked looking at her. Before long, I was trying to imagine what she would look like naked.

Sarah and I were getting along so well that I was disappointed when Annette came up to tell us it was time for lunch. Sarah jumped up and I followed her down the stairs. I didn't mind being last; I got to surreptitiously watch her cute butt as she walked down the stairs.

Lunch was most enjoyable. I had been in Europe for a month so I was used to the different foods. I had already spent a little time in Paris so nothing surprised me. Sarah sat next to me. Annette joined us, sitting next to Sylvia, and the three of them told me about the town. I learned about the group of French students and some of the history of the area. Annette offered to take me on a tour the next morning.

After lunch, Sarah told Sylvia that we were going to hang out with the other students. She took me by the arm and off we went. I brought my camera and shot pictures as we walked. I tried to get Sarah into the edge of the pictures as often as possible.

Our destination was a record store. There were three tables topped with umbrellas in front of the store. A group of obviously American students was sitting there already, drinking Cokes. They greeted Sarah warmly, but looked with interest at me.

"He's staying with me at Sylvia's," Sarah explained. I liked the way she worded it.

We exchanged pleasantries as the speakers at the front of the record store played music. To my surprise, most of the songs were from the U. S. Before long, the conversation died. One of the guys explained that it was really boring in the town. There wasn't much to do. I couldn't believe how they could be bored spending a summer in Europe. Someone politely explained that, while I had seen a large part of Europe, they had been stuck in the "tiny one horse town" all summer. I could kind of see their point. It was a shame they had come all that way and not been able to travel more.

I suppose you could call what we were doing "killing time". At least, that's what they were doing. I was watching Sarah. She was clearly the most attractive girl in the group. As it got later, the group broke up and everyone headed back to the homes where they were staying to prepare for dinner. Two others walked with us part of the way back to Sylvia's house.

"À tout à l'heure!" they said as we turned a corner and they went further down the street. I liked how they mixed English and French so easily. I liked how Sarah did it best of all.

When we got to Sylvia's house, she was busy cooking. She looked up from the stove and grinned as she spoke to Sarah, teasing her for being late.

"Dans la cave ce soir, avec les petites bêtes," she taunted. She was threatening Sarah with having to sleep in the cave tonight with the little animals. She made clawing motions with her hands as she said the last part.

"Non!" countered Sarah, also grinning. "Vous! Vous dans la cave."

They obviously teased each other like this often. I was jealous at how well Sarah fit in. I hoped I would be able to fit in like that after a few days.

After dinner, Sarah and I went up to my room. She sat cross-legged on my bed and I took the chair she had used earlier.

"Do you have a girlfriend back home?" she asked me. I wasn't sure if she was making conversation or if she was really interested.

"No, no one special. How about you? Any special boys awaiting your return?"

She laughed. "Nope, me either." So far, so good.

She looked like she didn't want to leave. It was early to go to bed and there probably wasn't anything else to do. I was glad she was staying with me. I was enjoying getting to know her better. We talked about little things well into the night. Unimportant things really, just an excuse to be together. I sure didn't mind. She was a delight to look at.

Around ten o'clock, I finally yawned, tired from my long day. I didn't want Sarah to leave, but I was really tired. She politely excused herself and headed to her bedroom, after explaining that I should close the windows, or at least the shutters before going to bed. Also, she told me about Sylvia's black cat, who was friendly. Then, Sarah was gone and I was all alone. I got ready for bed, Sarah on my mind the entire time.

I closed the shutters, leaving the windows open, and got into the bed. Lying in the double bed in the dark, sleep didn't come right away. I was tired, but Sarah was on my mind. That morning, I had never met her. Now, I couldn't get her out of my mind. The more I thought about her, the harder my dick got. I started fantasizing about her, about what she looked like under her clothes. I wondered if she was a virgin and what she might be like in bed. Eventually, I masturbated.

I came, imagining my dick was inside her. When I was finished, I realized my predicament. There was no toilet in my apartment. I had found a box of Kleenex to clean up with, but now I had to go downstairs to dispose of the evidence. I really didn't want anyone to find something like that in the garbage can. I pulled up my shorts and, concealing the soaked tissues in my hand, went downstairs in the dark. The entire time I was hoping I wouldn't run into anyone. I especially hoped I wouldn't run into Sarah. Luckily, everyone else was in bed. I flushed the wadded up Kleenex and went back upstairs, falling asleep almost right away.

When I woke up, I could tell it was bright outside even through the shutters. I got out of bed and opened the shutters. Mignon, the cat, was sitting on a branch outside the window. He jumped onto the windowsill and meowed pleasantly. He had apparently been waiting patiently for me to wake up and let him in. I was shocked to see how late it was. I must have been really tired. I hurriedly got dressed and went downstairs – to look for Sarah.

Sarah and Sylvia were in the kitchen. Mignon announced our arrival.

"You missed breakfast," Sarah said.

"Sorry. I must have been a lot more tired than I thought. It won't happen again."

"That's alright," Sylvia said. "Sit down and eat."

She brought me orange juice and croissants, along with fresh butter and preserves.

"I'm sorry the breads aren't warm anymore."

"It's my fault. I'll get up on time tomorrow. I promise."

Sylvia just smiled. To my delight, Sarah sat at the table with me while I ate. She had a cute habit of whistling the opening bar of La Marseillaise when she was thinking. I was starting to realize how much better she had prepared herself for this trip than I had. I was wishing I was more like her. I was wishing I could get to know her better – a lot better.

"I think Annette still wants to show you around town this morning. Can I tag along?"

Does Mignon have a tail? I thought. "Sure, that would be great," I told her. This day was looking better all the time.

True to Sarah's word, Annette showed up as I finished my late breakfast.

"I have much to show you. We need to go."

I tried to apologize while we walked but she assured me that was not necessary. Everybody seemed to be very understanding about my oversleeping. It seemed that my family was well known by the townspeople. Everywhere we went, people greeted me by name. Calling them friendly would be an understatement. I was treated like a celebrity. My arrival had apparently been news in the small town. I suppose they wanted to make me feel welcome by showering me with kindness. I was basking in Sarah's presence.

We saw the church, the old city gates built by the Romans, the tower, some of the older caves, part of the crumbling city wall, all historical monuments to the ancient past. After a month of studying in Europe, I was churched out. I was polite, though, and made my best effort to enjoy the tour. It was easy. Sarah was with us.

I had known her for about a day but I was already very attracted to her. I wondered how she felt about me. She was spending a lot of time with me. Was it because I was a new plaything, someone different, or was it because she liked me?

The three of us had lunch in town. When we were finished, Sarah suggested she and I go exploring on our own instead of going back home with Annette or to the daily meeting at the record shop. We headed down to the river.

The Loire River must have been grand at one time, or at least at another time during the year. For now, it was narrow, winding back and forth inside what appeared to be a big flood plain. The side of the depression nearest the town was lined in carefully fitted stones. Set in the stones were massive metal rings that appeared to be for mooring ships. When we got to the edge, Sarah started down the stone slope. I took her hand, ostensibly to offer her balance, but really because it was a chance to hold her hand. She smiled at me when I grasped her hand, and she held on tightly. Maybe it was to thank me for being polite enough to ensure her safety. Maybe she liked holding my hand. For whatever reason, I was happy to be touching her.

The slope wasn't too difficult to descend. It was about as long and steep as the levees you can see along the southern Mississippi River. When we got to the bottom of the river, she didn't release my hand. Instead, she pulled me along. We ran along what, at one time, had been the river bottom. She was leading us to a hill, kind of an island, covered with trees and along the current path of the river. We had to climb the island and go through the trees to find a clearing along the edge of the river. When we got there, Sarah, still holding my hand, turned to face me.

"I found this place last week, with some friends. We come here sometimes to be alone and talk, or just think. It's very quiet and private."

Implications of what she had just said were running through my mind. I made a show of looking around, appreciating the beauty of the spot. In reality, I was appreciating the beauty in front of me.

"This is nice, Sarah. Thanks for showing it to me."

"Want to sit here awhile? We could just talk, or something."

"Sure." Or something sounded really nice.

We sat on the grass, facing each other, cross-legged. She looked at me and smiled shyly. I smiled back, naughty thoughts running through my head. She finally gave a nervous little laugh and started to put her arms loosely around my neck. She hesitated about halfway through and looked down, then finished. I remember thinking at that moment, So I guess she likes me. I reached for her waist, completing the embrace. She tilted her face to one side and started closing her eyes. I couldn't believe my luck. I kissed her. It was tentative for I wasn't sure how she felt about me. We had only met yesterday, after all. I can still remember the first touch of her lips against mine. I could hear the gentle sound of the water flowing past the grass a few feet away. There was a light breeze that rustled the tree tops and a bird was singing somewhere in the distance. I could hear Sarah take a breath through her nose. Then, she made a sound like a moan, really soft, that made my heart pound. And with that, the kiss was over. She pulled her lips from mine and we opened our eyes. The water was still flowing, the bird was still singing, but I had just kissed her. I could feel that something between us had changed.

"That was nice," was all she said. I nodded. Ordinarily, at moments like that, music plays in the background. For us, the bird, the river and the wind were a symphony. We were alone in the world, with each other.