Fabienne and June Ch. 01

[This continues on from the last two chapters of "Elle's Adventure" and it might be helpful for new readers to refer to them. But it can be read on its own].

I had needed that shower after helping June clean the restaurant. Whatever they had paid their previous cleaner, it had been too much. Still, a nice shower would clean me up, and despite the temptation to touch myself after being in such close proximity to June, I had resisted, only to walk out, naked, as she came in.

"Nice!" June smiled. "You are cute, you know that?"

She knew I fancied her, and I knew she reciprocated, but we had been flirting, cracking jokes about getting into one another's knickers - and now there I was, knickerless and indeed, everything else-less, in front of her. Being dark-skinned my blushes do not show, but I could feel the blood had rushed to my face. I want to grab the towel I had come out of the shower to get, but felt rooted to the spot by her appraising gaze.

June seemed in no hurry to give me relief.

"Your tiny breasts are very cute. I like!"

"Thanks!"

"Now grab that towel before you die of cold and embarrassment."

"Oh, I don't know. I quite like you looking at me."

"You are incorrigible," June giggled, as I grabbed the towel.

As it was a warm late spring day, June thought my outfit of black shorts and tee shirt would do for helping waitress, and after we had a morning coffee, she showed me how their system worked. As I'd waitressed before, that was no problem.

"So," she said as we finished our coffees, "how come a teacher has cleaned and waitressed?"

I explained my background and how, coming as I did from one of the more deprived parts of the Paris suburbs, I'd had to work my way through teacher training in my late twenties. She looked impressed.

"Not just a cute arse then!"

"No," I said, "a smart one!"

"You ready for the lunch-time rush?"

I was.

I was surprised when, after a busy hour, I saw two people I knew come in - Elle and her Mum, Anne.

Last time I had seen them, the night before, Anne had just given her daughter a good fucking. Judging by the lateness of the hour and the brunch order, I assumed they'd had fun earlier that morning; by the look of them they had.

"Hi Elle, hi Anne, be with you in a second, grab that table there," I said, giggling to myself at the look on Elle's face. Whatever she had expected that day to bring, it had not been seeing her teacher waitressing.

I explained later that I was helping June, and, as I bustled about, I was conscious of Elle's eyes on me. I saw Amy, Elle's estranged friend join them, and was delighted to see the two of them kissing and making up. I thought to myself that my work was done.

June and I joined them for coffee. I could see June was wary. I could understand. My relationship with Elle and her Mum was a complex one, but boiled down, the fact remained that June did not want to be with anyone who was in a relationship with at least two other women.

As I got the coffees, I could see there was some banter between Elle, Anne, and June. By the look on the latter's face, she was not pleased by it.

I brought some fruitcake I had made earlier to go with the coffee, and we sat outside. I sensed an atmosphere.

Amy looked at Elle and said:

"A penny for them."

Elle smiled.

"It's just that, well," she said, turning to me, "you've helped all of us to get closer to what we wanted, whether we knew it or not. I think we all owe you."

There was a murmur of assent from Anne and Amy.

"No thanks needed," I replied, "it was a pleasure, you're all lovely and you have made me so welcome here."

I meant it, but realised it was hardly likely to help with June.

"But," Elle said, "and there is a but. You, darling Fabienne, you need someone for yourself. Mum will always have me, and I have her and Amy and Penny, but then as you all know, I'm a selfish bitch," I giggled. "But you, Fabienne, you deserve someone."

I felt a tear come to my eye.

"She's got all of you," June said with, I thought, a tinge of sadness and regret.

That made me feel sad. I did not know how to explain to her the intricacies of what had been going on. Then, to my surprise and delight, of all people, Elle found the way to do so.

"No," she told June, "there's a difference that even someone as inexperienced as me can see between hot sex and love. Fabienne has always kept the most private part of herself just that - private. I'd love to be the woman who persuaded her to share that, but I'm eighteen and she's not. There's a gulf there, and even if I wanted to cross it, I think I might be too late."

I looked at June, who looked back at me. My eyes were watery. June looked at Fabienne.

"How so?" June was not easily dissuaded.

"Because she's met someone."

"Have you? I thought..." she said, looking at me. That was my cue!

"I have," I said, pausing for effect. "You!"

The penny dropped. June grinned and looked at me and then Elle.

"She'll say anything to get into your knickers."

"Not mine, June, yours!" Elle shot back.

She looked at me. I looked back.

"Go on," Elle said, "we all like a romantic ending!"

I felt myself tremble.

June leaned in and kissed me. I thought my heart had stopped; time certainly did.

I heard the others chorus:

"Awwwww."

Breaking off the kiss, June and I both looked at Elle.

"Get a room you two," she giggled, holding hands with her Mum and Amy.

"Not a bad idea," June quipped back.

And like that, the bridge was crossed.

We chatted for a bit longer, June and I holding hands.

It did my heart good to see Elle, Anne, and Amy all together again. They had been so kind to me, and I had done what I could to help them achieve what they had wanted. But it did my heart even better to have June squeeze my hand.

Elle had been right. There was a private part of me to which, thus far, I had allowed no-one access.

Part of that was self-defence.

The genetic syndrome from which I suffered singled me out from others. Yes, we are all individuals, but some more so than others. In my native France it was bad enough to be mixed race Algerian French, but to be so petite that you regularly got mistaken for a teenager, and to be as I was, was to be more "individual" than was comfortable.

Neither my mother, nor my idiot brother, Didier, had any truck with the idea that I was gay. Mum thought it was just because men did not pay me much attention, and Didier had kindly offered to find a man who would fuck me to, as he put it, "help normalise you."

By sheer effort, I'd made my way into teaching, paying for it by taking jobs as a cleaner and academic administrator. On the score of relationships, I'd had a long-term affair with one of my clients, Mme Duclos, who was into the domme/sub lifestyle. That had created easy pigeonholes into which I had been able to fit, thus saving me from too much in the way of personal investment in her. That had suited us both.

In England to be an "Assistante" at a local school, I had bumped into Elle, who had mistaken me for another student. We'd begun a passionate affair into which others had been drawn: her mother, Anne; her best friend, Amy, and my landlady, Penny. After some trials and tribulations, they had all come together. All of that made me feel good, and I knew that once I was back in Paris, we'd stay in touch. Then, out of the blue, came June.

Wolfie's, where she worked, was just round the corner from my lodgings, and I had been eating there. We had begun by flirting, and then the potential realities of a relationship had kicked in, making us both hesitate. Elle's intervention had, I realised, been a gift. The question remaining was what could be made of it?

We bade farewell to Elle and company. I was committed to helping June in the restaurant where she was down on waiting staff.

"You really want to spend your Saturday night doing this rather than having fun with your girlfriends?"

I gave her what I hoped was a scathing look.

"Did you not hear what Elle said?"

Her face softened.

"I heard what you said. Did you mean it?"

"No," I said, adopting the teasing tone she was fond of, "I just said it because it sounded utterly soppy, and I wanted everyone to know I wear my heart on my sleeve!"

June winked:

"Teasing, right?"

"Right, teasing!"

"Kiss me!"

As she was taller, that meant getting on my tip toes. My arms round her neck, I kissed her.

"Hey, you two, get a room!"

It was Wolfie, the chef, who was smiling broadly. That Australian accent was unmistakable.

"You got one?" June smiled, giving as good as she got.

I noticed she was defensive. She had been hurt. I recognised the signs. I was determined not to add to that.

"Fabienne," Wolfie said, "for Saturday nights, any chance of something a little more, well, waiteressy?"

"Sure," I replied, "I'll go get my Hooters uniform, but I need to get some hooters first!"

That made both of them giggle.

"June, let me go back home, I have a black skirt and blouse which might be more suitable."

"Well, I like you as you are," she giggled, "but he may have a point."

She looked at him.

"Yes, he has a point - must have been thinking about hooters," she giggled, causing poor Wolfie to retire in consternation.

"He's a good guy," she reassured me, "he's the least 'handy' chef I've known, at least among the straight ones. Speaking of which, the shorter that skirt, the more likely you are to have a sore ass by the end of the evening."

"I remember," I said, "I'll survive!"

I scooted off back to the house. Penny was on the phone - to Elle by the sound of it. She smiled.

"I'll be out tonight," I said with a smile.

Back in my bedroom, I swiftly slipped my shorts and top off. I pondered for a moment and then changed into sexier knickers, noting as I took mine off that there was a stickiness as I peeled them down. Well, June had said I was not getting into her knickers, but I had said nothing about her not getting into mine!

"You were quick!" June said when I got back. "Change into your best knickers for later?"

I blushed; how did she know?

"Only joking!" She laughed. Had she realised that I had?

It was a tough shift, and I was glad that I'd offered to help. Even with three of us on, we were hard-pressed.

Inevitably, in a University city, there were many students, and as Wolfie's was both reasonably priced and recommended in various guides, it seemed to be a favourite haunt.

I liked the student couples; the young men out to impress their date, usually meant, as June confirmed, a good tip. But there was a group of men who seemed to be members of some sports club or other, and, noisy at first, the more they drank, the louder they got. The other diners kept shooting them filthy looks, but as they seemed oblivious to them, to no effect.

"They are going to be trouble," June warned me, "do you want me to take over? It seems unfair you should be burdened with them."

"I may need help, but for now, let's see!"

"You're a brave woman. Call me if you need it!"

As any waitress has to be, I was used to men being "handy." There is some magnet in the female ass which draws the hand of some men. Most men don't, and even those who do pat your bum, usually pretend it was "accidental;" but there is something about groups of young men - even ones who, to judge by their accent, were highly privileged.

I managed pretty well until the dessert course, although, I reflected ruefully, if June did get my knickers off, she would see the results of some of their handiwork. Still, maybe she could put some soothing cream on the bruises?

Was I slow? I didn't think so, but one of the men did.

"Hey, girl, dying of thirst here, who does a man have to screw around here to get a drink?"

"Sorry," I said, swallowing hard and keeping my temper, "what can I get you?"

"A handjob," said one of the other men. I ignored him.

He ordered another bottle of Champagne.

"I'll have that Dom Pérignon 2012," he said, in what he clearly thought was a French accent.

"Oui monsieur tout de suite monsieur," I replied.

"Oo la la, the little nigger speaks French!"

I was dumbstruck.

As any half-caste woman will tell you, you are never going to be dark enough for some people, and always going to be too dark for others, but I had not been called "nègre" for some time, and to hear it from the lips of one of these over-privileged oafs was too much.

"Je parle français car je suis une française," I replied, "et en France aucun homme instruit n'appellerait une femme nègre! Or, if you prefer, I speak French because I am French, and in my country no educated men would call a woman nigger."

"Wind your neck in, bitch!"

There were two things I could have done. I did the sensible one and turned and left, which left him talking to himself and his friends - probably his intended audience, and certainly the one they all deserved.

June came over to me.

"I saw that, you okay? Shall I call the police?"

I gave her a hug. I was a little shaky, but was not going to show it. On the spectrum of the life of the waitress, it was towards the total shit end, but life went on, and getting involved with idiots was like mud-wrestling with a pig - they dragged you down to their level and beat you with experience, I told June, who laughed.

I waited a while before taking the champagne, by which time, clearly, wiser counsel had prevailed. One of the other men indicated he'd like a word.

"Sorry love, Gavin's an idiot when sober. Here, it won't make it better, but might make it more bearable - and bless him, he handed me a £50 note as a "tip" he said. He was right, it didn't wipe it away, but did restore my faith in human nature. As I said to June: "not all men are bastards!" To which she responded: "so it is rumoured!"

By the end of night we were both pretty exhausted - as June had predicted, and I was grateful that it would soon be Sunday.

As the place thinned out, June let the other staff leave, and we finished tidying up.

"I'll come in early," I told her, "and finish."

"We need to get a new cleaner, my darling, but it is sweet of you, and if you would."

She looked at me. I looked at her.

The words, unspoken, hovered in front of us.

"I..." she began, just a moment before I began. So I let her.

"Sorry, you wanted to..."

"No, no, you go first."

"No, you, please Fabienne."

I giggled at the impasse.

"Okay, going for broke here, and if you say no, I will still clean in the morning, but if you were going to say what I was thinking, it would have been that yes, I'd love to stay with you tonight!"

I was aware my English had gone slightly to pot, mixing up my conditional and future conditional tenses, but damn it - it was hard to say in any language. In the first place it could make her think I was a slut, which given what she knew about Elle and myself, she might already think. In the second place, she might not want to, in which case - well that would be embarrassing. In the third place..."

I never got there as my ears picked up words which sounded like:

"Thought you were never going to ask. Sure, my place is more private than yours. Do you need to let anyone know?'

June said all of that as though it were perfectly normal. Heck, maybe it was! Then it hit me. She wanted me in her bed!

"What about not getting into your knickers?"

"I might not have them on later and anyway, don't know about you, but I am pretty tired."

"Me too," I sighed, before adding, "but we have Sunday."

June's smile could have lit up a city; it certainly lit up my heart.

"So we do."

She leaned in and kissed me. Again that electric shock, that connection!

Our lips stayed, and, melting into her, I raised myself on tiptoe to stay kissing, which meant putting my arms around her neck. I felt her tongue brush my lips, and then did the same to her lips with mine. For a brief minute our tongues fenced, then she broke away.

"Mine, now!"

Giggling, we got our coats, locked up, and got back to June's house in a time which would not have disgraced an Olympic sprinter... but given the prize!

No sooner had her door shut behind us that I was back in her arms, our coats flung to the floor.

"Upstairs, now!"

Even as June was saying that, she was unzipping her skirt; I did the same.

As we went upstairs, our blouses followed. The sight of June's sexy bum in just her black bikini briefs had my knickers sticking as I pulled them off - a moment before June did the same with hers.

In moments we were on her bed.

The want surging through me was clearly as primal and as urgent in her.

June pulled me on top of her.

I looked into those beautiful blue/grey eyes and kissed her, my tongue finding its way past her open lips to play with hers. My small breasts pressed against her bigger ones, and I felt our nipples rub together as we kissed.

I slid my hand down between the legs which she conveniently parted and cupped her smooth pussy which was hot and sticky.

Breaking our kiss I looked into her eyes.

"Sorry," I said, "I have to..."

So saying, I kissed down her neck, sucking slowly as one hand felt her breast and the other pressed against her pussy. June responded by pressing herself onto my hand and moaning.

In a brief moment, I had her left nipple in my mouth. Her nipple felt thick and good, and I sucked hard.

"Fuck, fuck!"

June was thrusting onto my hand. She was dripping.

I needed it.

Swiftly kissing down her tummy to her mound, I adjusted her legs so they were over my shoulder, before parting her swollen lips and sucking her gooey wetness with my mouth. As my nose touched her clit, she moaned and, shifting her position, raised her legs to grip my head between her warm thighs. The smell, the taste, her, it all, oh my it...

Even as my mouth sucked her cream, I felt her shudder, so I concentrated, using my tongue to flick her clit and two fingers to curl up into her hot, sticky goo. The sound almost made me cum. She tasted so good, slightly tangy, but so creamy; I wanted to get used to this.

June shuddered. As she did, I did.

"I, I can't hold it Fabienne!"

"Don't," I said.

She didn't and then, as she gushed onto my face, I felt myself lose it too. We came together, hard, and deep and my world exploded!