Bastille Day Ch. 11

"Kind of wish I had had a daughter like Anna or your Daphne."

"Hmm? Anna told you. I simplified things before, guess you heard."

"Um-hmm, sounded a little better. But I shouldn't ask."

"Oh, why not. It was, is."

"What are you two talking about?" came from the back seat.

He turned down the fan for the air conditioning and raised his voice to reply:

"About fathers and daughters."

"Oh, that's nice," Anna called.

He nodded vigorously for them to see, chuckling. Marge responded: "Brothers, too." He nodded again. While I was wondering if he wanted to change the subject, he spoke again, loud enough for them also to hear:

"I guess you all know that it wasn't quite like I told before. You don't have to ask; nice to have someone to tell - someone whom I know will enjoy and understand the right way."

We all nodded, he moving his head to look at Marge and Anna in the rearview mirror. He turned the fan down a little more, so he didn't have to talk so loud:

"I told you about our bantering about her growing figure, nothing inappropriate, just perhaps more than a father should remark to his daughter, but she liked it."

"Like I would have," Anna agreed.

"Probably, maybe doing a little to encourage my remarks. When she was eighteen, last year at the lyceum, by then I assumed that she had slept with a boyfriend - or two - like I had heard from other parents. Oh, her mother had told me that she had the pill. Did our bantering get better - worse - after she did? Well, she was eighteen and could do what she wanted. Hm-hmm? Have to remember that I said that. And then my wife was in the clinic the first time.

"Did we banter more because we alone? Can't remember. Anyway, one night before going to bed, I was in my bathroom with nothing on, brushing my teeth, the door to my bedroom open. Hmm? I think I had closed the door to the hall. Suddenly she was beside me, speaking before I noticed; I had my head down over the basin, rinsing my mouth. 'Want to sleep with me? I do.'

"Surprise! Shock! My daughter's voice asking me that, and she's standing right next to me, seen that I am naked. At least, she has something on, I see, glancing back past the edge of the basin. At least, for a few moments, I can continue rinsing my mouth, collecting my thoughts, not very well, as you can all imagine. 'Merde!' 'Shit!' you Americans would say. My thoughts only got far enough to wonder if this is what all our bantering had been about, really had been about - father and daughter incest? No question, that was what she is suggesting, and I'm standing there naked, and she knew it before she came in the bathroom.

"At least, she was blushing, when I finally raised my head. I probably was too. She had on her oldest shorty nightgown. I remember, because I had said something about it the first time she wore, but back then, it was longer, she wasn't as tall, and now it was all washed out, just a trace of teddy bears or whatever, and worn thin enough that I could see the darker color of her nipples, very erect nipples. And I knew she could see more of me a lot better, although I had only turned my head to her. You know what I mean. 'Merde!' At least, she wasn't looking at it, when I looked at her, just looking at me with a red face, nodding slightly, waiting for me to reply, reply to her so direct question.

"Maybe I tried to say whatever I should have, but there was no hiding what my cock was suggesting, and I recognized that she wasn't wearing the loose panty bottom that went with the top. When she just replied - to whatever arguments I was making – repeating: 'I want to,' and repeating that again. Did she glance down and add: 'you really want to'? If she didn't, I did - want to, of course. Whatever I said, standing there with my cock sticking out, she started to gather up her top. Didn't have snug panties on either, my last hope. I had seen a few of them. Just her sweet little patch of hair. Yes, I was already thinking that it was 'sweet.' And then she was letting me see her breasts. Mmmm! I couldn't help but look at them, until her face reappeared.

"Did I just give in? No, I wanted to. What did I say before: she was eighteen and could what she wanted. She did, I did. Oh, I was surprised with her experience, but that was good - of course. I mean, that I didn't have to ask her to do anything, that it was all her initiative; that I hadn't seduced her."

"Oh, that's nice, that was good," Marge remarked. Anna and I nodded, and he did, replying:

"It was, of course. Of course, we kept on until her mother came home. I thought that would be the end of it, but then, a couple of nights later, she came in my room. After that, I knew that we would continue. I hadn't slept with my wife in a couple of years, what she also knew. Then she went to the Sorbonne. Before, I suggested that she had moved out, but she was still living at home. Of course, she had her own social life, apparently including sleeping with someone, but we still did, then usually in her room down the hall. My wife took sleeping pills.

"One evening, when she had said that they were 'just going to a movie,' I slept it my bed, but she joined me, complaining that she had explained that they were 'just' going to a movie. After that, I understood that 'just' meant that I should sleep in her room and wait for her. Occasionally, when she hadn't said 'just,' she would come home and in my room, complaining that they had 'just' had dinner or whatever, father having to stand in for some student who hadn't wanted to do what she had expected."

"Good father," Anna remarked.

"Hmm? In that sense. Oh, we didn't have any problem with it by then, long before then."

"But now she's married?" Marge asked.

"Yes, with two boys now. Of course, that stopped for a while; they were engaged for a year before they married. Then they would visit us about once a month, dutifully, not much fun. After a few visits, when he said that he really had work to do over the weekend, I told him that he didn't have to feel obligated to come, so she came alone after that. The first time we didn't, but then the next time and thereafter, once she was having her period, but that didn't happen again.

"When the boys were still toddlers, that wasn't a problem, but then for a couple of years. Of course, it wasn't much fun for them to visit their depressed grandmother, so so when they were bigger, they stayed home with dad. Now she visits to see that I'm keeping house, maybe to see if there is lipstick or something suggesting a woman friend. Not yet, and maybe because we enjoy seeing each other so much. Hmm! Seeing so much of each other."

We all chuckled, and Marge remarked:

"I like that."

"She sure was direct," Anna remarked, adding: "more so than I was. Well, I guess I was pretty forward, like I wrote after we had."

"Wrote me," I clarified: "till then her favorite older man. Oh, your last remark was good; Anna titled her story: He wanted to see more of me.

Sans chuckled and remarked:

"Guess some fathers have a lot in common."

"Sounds like it. I reread it occasionally," I remarked, looking back at her with a grin.

"I do too, still somewhat surprised about what I did." she replied, grinning.

"Sounds good," Sans replied, giving her a quick grin over his shoulder.

"I'll send it to you, but your story was also very good." Anna replied.

"Thank Daphne, well, maybe not - I won't - she doesn't need to know that I told you."

[Anna's story was posted last year with that title by the author.]

We were approaching Avignon, and Sans started to tell what we would see, getting a refresher of his explanation of the history and learning more about Romanesque architecture. Anna knew more about that than Marge and I did, adding to something he said, or asking questions that he answered, so we learned - at least, heard - more.

Recalling the talk about a picnic on the way back - not really a "picnic" - I found myself worrying that their sharing their better knowledge, enjoying it together, might bring them closer at the "picnic." I admonished myself that I shouldn't anticipate; besides, I had licked her pussy the night before, and - oh! - that morning she had sucked my cock like no one else ever had! Would she want to do that with Sans? Not at the picnic, I hoped; I didn't want to watch that.

Not the kind of thoughts to have when one is in a 900 year-old church and hearing about the popes buried there.

We had lunch. I wanted to be a little extravagant, but the others insisted on a simple place, we shared a liter flagon of open wine. Before the bill came, I asked Sans to find out if we could have a bottle of it to take with us. We could, filled in a liter water bottle. Anna gave me a grin. Maybe Marge also smiled, and I didn't notice. Sans suggested a bottle of water, and it was also put on the bill, making me feel a little better about my invitation.

A couple of the museums were closed on Tuesday, so we went to one that wasn't. They accepted my invitation to pay for everyone's admission. Anna snorted with scowl, when she saw that it was open until 6 pm. Sans noticed and with a slight smirk and remarked:

"I don't think we'll really want to see everything, and I don't want to translate every label."

"I know that I don't want to," Marge remarked, not without a chuckle as she glanced at Anna.

"I don't either," I agreed.

With snorts and smiles, all of us having confirmed that we understood that we wanted time for our non-picnic, we entered the museum. The collection was interesting enough to keep us occupied for a while, longer than I had expected. Maybe no one could think of a tactful way to suggest we had seen enough. Anna came to our rescue, her bladder did, or maybe she only feigned that it did.

Looking at a couple of objects, she seemed not able to stand still. As we moved on to another item, she murmured:

"I've got to go."

I think she blushed a little. Because she was embarrassed that she again had to admit it; or because she had been planning her excuse? It didn't matter. Sans nodded and replied:

"And I'm getting thirsty from all my talking."

I didn't like his immediate support of her oblique suggestion that we had seen enough. Was he recalling that she had said that she wanted to suck his cock like that?! I couldn't blame him, but I wanted her to fuck me like she had him at our previous picnic, and to suck her breasts - like she wanted us to, but he could do that, too.

We all were already turning to leave the exhibitions. We separated to go the "Messieurs" and "Mesdames." I was a little embarrassed from my thoughts, standing next to him at the urinals.

Could he read my thoughts? He glanced over and said:

"Thanks again for lunch - and the wine. ... Which one? Your choice."

I blushed; he had read them. I couldn't just say that I wanted to do it - whatever - with Anna. I almost blurted softly:

"She was with you out there last time."

Why couldn't I have said that I had been with Marge, had to refer to Anna?

He only looked down at his cock and replied:

"And you were with Marge, fine with me."

We didn't look at each other as we washed our hands, maybe both a little embarrassed at our having clarified the situation that way. Of course, Marge and Anna could still express a preference, and we two would agree, but, at least, we two had. As we left the men's room, I snorted, wondering if they had had a similar exchange.

Whether they had or hadn't, when we returned to the car, and Sans opened the front passenger door, nodding to Marge, she smiled and got in. I opened the door for Anna, also receiving a smile, and I joined her on the backseat.

The drive to the picnic spot was faster this time, since Sans knew where it we were going. In the interest of safe driving, I hoped Marge didn't have her hand on his thigh, like Anna's was on mine. It had first just brushed the side of mine. My leg must have twitched. I know it did, when her fingers crept up on to it, and hers did, when my hand held it. We didn't glance at each other, just hummed softly, and our fingers moved on the inside of each other's thigh. My cock also wanted to creep up, but couldn't, just stiffening in the confines of my shorts. Was her pussy going moist?

When Sans turned off the road, I hoped that he and Marge wouldn't be surprised to see the bulge in my pants. By now, Anna's fingers were pretty close to it, and mine, closer to her pussy. Sans parked. As we got out of the car, I helped my cock move up. I didn't have to worry about what they might think.

While Sans got the blanket from the trunk, Marge started to unbutton her blouse. Before he returned, both blouses were unbuttoned. We all smirked, nodding. Before we were under our tree, there was just a button or hook keeping pants and skirts from dropping.