Marigolds, Ajax and Paris

Impulsively she descended the steps to ground level as the wind blew the door shut behind her. Ron appeared behind her, awakened by the noise. "People will see you!" He thrust a towel at her, but she ignored him for a moment. Then she had an idea, wrapping the towel around her head like the ladies in the changing rooms. She walked naked and brazenly back down to the pool feeling the hot sun on her skin. Perhaps she had missed a trick in the changing rooms, being nude was fun. She imagined that people could see her from the distant hillside, threw aside the towel and dived in.

The water was cool after the warm shower and the feeling of being without the constraints of textiles on her skin was fantastic. She swam around and avoided touching the tiled sides so that she was weightless and unrestricted. Her breasts were no longer cumbersome but feather-light, buoyant even. She spread her limbs, and also her fingers and toes so that she couldn't feel even the contact between them.

She closed her eyes and floated in silence, with the water blocking her hearing and the bright light of the sun on her eyelids. This was womb-like comfort.

Eventually her peace was spoiled by Ron joining her in the pool.

* * *

Later they lay on the lawn in the shade. She studied Ron's chest; he had wisps of hair just below his nipples but nothing on his belly except below his belly-button. Then a dark line went down to the birds nest that surrounded his penis which hung sideways with gravity as he lay. The end looked like a dried strawberry, red and tender; the result of her repeated demands on him since they had left home.

Impulsively she took it between her lips and waited for the warmth of her mouth to raise him but there was no effect, he was spent. Her exertions through the night and recently in the pool had drained him. He had nothing left to give her but she was still feeling frisky.

She caressed his testicles and sucked harder on him and eventually he opened his eyes and looked at her balefully. However there was still no movement where it counted so she stood and left him there, walking along the path around the perimeter of the site. There was a low fence and she wondered if someone could see her with a telescope. 'Let them', she thought and boldly puffed her tits out. Perhaps a satellite would be going over head and she'd be photographed. - visible from space like the Great Wall of China.

The path she walked on passed shrubs and flower beds which were in full bloom. She paused to study some particularly spectacular plants and noticed a pair of eyes looking back at her.

As if by magic, Jeanne rose from the soil. Her tattoos had camouflaged her effectively against the vegetation and Janice squinted, refocussing her eyes so that she could work out what was woman and what was plant. She was now standing upright holding a trowel; she had been doing some light weeding. Janice noticed a smudge of dirt on her skin and without thinking reached out to brush the soil away, but only succeeded in smearing the mud. She licked her finger and went to try again.

Suddenly she realised what she was doing. She froze in fright and slowly looked up to see the expression on Jeanne's face. There was a smile in her eyes as Jeanne took her hand and placed her palm on her belly.

It was surreal. Janice couldn't really figure how it had happened but there she was in the nude, running her hands over the tattoos, feeling the soft feminine flesh. Her hand rose, without thought and then it was the first time that a breast other than one of her own had ever sat comfortably within her palm.

Jeanne looked at her with a quizzical expression. She gestured at Janice, then at her own skin. She seemed to be asking if Janice wanted a tattoo. Two fingers close together; a tiny one. It sounded interesting, a souvenir of the holiday that she couldn't lose or throw out like a worn out tea-towel.

Nervously she nodded, she would consider it. Jeanne led her to the house where she lived; there was a little room at the side equipped as a studio. There were books with pictures of tattoos, pictures of flowers, animals and cartoon characters.

Janice sat down on the couch and studied the pages. Then she pointed to an image, lay down and lifted a breast up.

Jeanne was messing with the equipment but soon sat next to her with her buzzing machine. The pain was stunning as the needle met her sensitive flesh but once started there was no going back. Over and over again the needle bit into her until she could have screamed. But then her brain became numbed to the sensation and then it didn't seem so bad.

Eventually Jeanne sat up; the process was complete. She had a mirror so that Janice could study the result, it was quirky and cute. Janice liked it. Best of all, unless she lifted her boob up no-one could see it.

She returned to the barn sore but happy. That mood didn't last for long.

* * *

Ron was there, looking at the view of the countryside from the roof window. He looked embarrassed and shifty and Janice wondered if he'd seen her with Jeanne. However when he spoke his words were unexpected.

"We're running a bit short of money. We need to start cutting back, or we won't have enough to get back."

Janice felt hollow. This was a wonderful place and the nudity was liberating beyond all her expectations.

Ron continued, "In fact we've only got enough left for fuel, we'd better pack unless you've got some spare cash."

"What's happened, you never mentioned this before?" Janice was upset, "I'm enjoying it here."

"Well, I'm telling you now. You'd better get packed, we're leaving today, right now."

"Are you doing a moonlight flit? Leaving without paying?"

"We'll have to. There's nothing left."

Janice was desolate. She didn't want to steal from Jeanne, but Ron was already stuffing their clothes into the rucksack.

Soon she was dressed in her bike gear, waiting glumly while Ron tinkered with the Kettle outside. When he called her, she went down the steps and together they pushed the big heavy bike over the crunching gravel to the gate so at to avoid the sound of the engine; that crackle would have been heard clear across the valley.

However when they opened the gate, as if by magic Jeanne stepped from the undergrowth. It really was weird the the way she blended in with the background. She was wearing her camo pants and carrying a rake, but she wasn't smiling this time. Her eyes flashed in anger and stiffly erect nipples reinforced whatever she was saying. Clearly Janice and Ron were busted.

Like schoolkids escorted by the headmaster, they pushed the Kettle back to its parking space, Ron showed her his empty wallet and tried to explain but really there was nothing to say. Janice caught the word 'police' amongst the babble and sat down on the step, they were going to jail in a foreign land without a friend to talk to. Tears trickled down her cheeks as Jeanne continued her rant, hands on her hips and breasts trembling with her fury.

Janice found her purse and took out her money. It was a meagre amount; she had assumed that Ron would be paying the bills. She handed all the cash to Jeanne who counted it and seemed appeased.

Then she caught hold of Janice's wrist and hauled her back to the room, clearly checking on the condition. They had at least tidied the place up, they weren't pigs after all.

Jeanne paused, either thinking or drawing breath. Then she pushed Ron to a corner, indicating that he should stand still. Turning back to Janice, she tugged at her clothes. Her jacket was unzipped and her T shirt roughly pulled up. Then her bra was removed and her breasts exposed once more, pendulous with neither lace nor water to support them.

That was followed by her jeans and panties and finally she stood naked in the middle of the room. All the time Ron sat silently watching. Then Jeanne pulled her head close and pressed her face against those angry breasts. Next to her cheeks they were soft yet firm with an erect nipple pushing her lips apart.

Confused, she automatically took it into her mouth. It was unexpected, there was no thought process involved, she found herself sucking. It was an instinctive action, a primeval response. Suddenly she was a child, Jeanne the adult. And Ron the spectator.

Jeanne was pushing her away, rejecting her. Her tears flowed faster. But then Jeanne was unbuckling her thick leather belt. Was she going to get a thrashing? It would serve her right, she deserved one.

No, Jeanne wasn't removing the belt, she was pulling down her pants. Now they were both naked and Jeanne was laying down on the bed that was still mussed up. She was talking brusquely, instructing her to do something. What was it? Janice moved close and found herself kneeling between open thighs, a decorated pussy wide open before her. Smooth on the outside, wrinkled on the inside. Labia like the petals of one of the flowers, a protruding clitoris like a stamen, the stalk of a bright orange blossom. A flower amid the foliage.

She complied with the clear demand. It wasn't an invitation; it was a requirement. Tentatively she touched the tip of the stalk with her tongue. There was no protest, just an exhalation of breath. Taking encouragement, she touched it again. The faintest of contacts, as delicate as one petal on another, as focussed as a bee collecting pollen.

Like the bee buzzing closely touching almost imperceptibly, removing the life-force from the plant but giving purpose to its existence. She took the tiny organ deeper between her lips and gently suckled on it like she had on the teat before.

The raised thighs blocked her view of Ron but she knew that he was watching as she knelt down like a playful dog with her bum in the air. She caught a delicate scent, one that she recognised. It was similar to the fragrance that always remained on her fingers after she had been touching herself. It was the perfume of pure woman.

No sweaty testicles, no dark hairy fissure between buttocks, no cock against the back of her mouth to make her gag. This was bewitching, and intriguing. Sensitive and inviting rather than brutal invasion.

Janice explored the crevasses with her tongue, her nose nudging against the skin and inhaling that alluring bouquet. She moved away to admire the illustrations, the depictions of floral beauty but a hand behind her head forced her back.

She applied the techniques that she knew would excite herself, palpitating her tongue and exhaling; warm gentle breath. Then probing and swirling down into the ass-cleft, as hairless as the pussy. Was it shaved or was it waxed? Then she was rewarded with the woman's puckered opening, presented for her attention. She obliged willingly.

The woman spoke abruptly and Janice looked around. Ron was standing close, looking down at her with the front of his jeans bulged out. At last he had found his mojo, but with the sharp words he stepped back into the corner to watch again.

It was the first time that smooth thighs without any rough hair pressed against her cheeks. The first time that she knew exactly what to do to provide pleasure without presuming anything or having to be directed. It was all so natural. The manner in which Jeanne lay on the white sheet, one foot resting on a pillow, stretching her legs asunder with the sunlight from the window dappling the artwork.

Janice returned to that pearl of womanhood, flicking her tongue across the labia moistening them, until shudders travelled through the core of that painted body. Her own mouth pressed against a sweetly-scented pussy. She lapped up the nectar that was secreted for her, the ambrosia of the female.

Oh, my word she had forgotten about that. Erased it from her memory. But that recollection was here again, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

* * *

Did it all really happen? Was it her mind playing tricks? It seemed so long ago. It was long ago, let's be honest. After Jeanne had made her have sex with her, Janice had apologised profusely again. And Ron had left.

The shit had actually abandoned her in a foreign country, without a word - or funds. He had started up his bike and ridden off leaving her behind to fend for herself.

Janice had tried to wipe it from her memory, but it was coming back. The long walk to the nearest town, tramping along the dusty road with the sun beating on her back through the biker jacket. She had found the railway station but without ticket or the means to buy one, had slept that night in a bus shelter. Cold, hungry and without a friend.

In the morning things were no better. In desperation she tried begging from passers-by but without any result. By evening things were looking serious and she could feel herself weakening. Then she was approached by a woman with bright red lipstick who could speak English. Soon she was eating bread and soup. Not tasting it; wolfing it down. There was a meat and potato stew, red wine and coffee, all swallowed without consideration for culinary efforts.

The woman was called Enid, and it turned out that she ran a house of ill-repute. Right then Janice was grateful that she existed at all, everything else was tomorrow's problem. Right now there was food and shelter on offer.

And eventually tomorrow arrived, and Janice found herself having to repay the debt. Enid told her to take a shower then took her to a bedroom, still wrapped in a massive white fluffy towel. There, Enid's husband was waiting and she was instructed to give him a hand-job, but she wasn't apparently very good at that most basic of female skills. So Enid showed her how to use lubricant and demonstrated the techniques practised by whores down the centuries. She was instructed how to rest her fingertip into the groove on the underside of his organ so that it returned to the same spot at the end of each stroke, the amount of grip to apply, to look deeply into his eyes while giving pleasure but most of all to listen to his requests and find what worked for him. Soon the man was groaning with satisfaction.

Enid then stopped her and told her to take his erection into her mouth. Just as before, she knew nothing. None of her boyfriends had ever complained, but now she was told how to hold him, how to place her lips over her teeth and how hard to suck.

She was a quick learner, and wasn't too perturbed when told to snap on a pair of rubber gloves and insert a finger into the man's bottom. Enid instructed her exactly where to massage and the man ejaculated immediately with a nod of approval.

For a month, Janice worked at the house, servicing a steady stream of the men who called there. She was supplied with appropriate clothes and even some cash which she saved of course. Many of the other girls there wasted their earnings on drugs, which she couldn't understand. Turning tricks to earn money for drugs, taking the drugs to blank out the thought of turning tricks.

She learned her trade well, practising the use of her breathing and internal muscles to grip a man's cock. How to get a man off by using her tits to masturbate him and let him do it over her chest. Enid told her to be grateful for the size of her breasts, many of the other smaller girls found it uncomfortable to squeeze them around a dick. Soon she found that men were coming back and asking for her by name.

She gained a reputation for the virgins who visited, lads usually accompanied by their fathers seeking instruction in the ways of the female. Janice looked after them while the father spent time with one of the other girls. As she took things slowly the fathers were always waiting for their young charge without having to explain where they had been themselves.

When she had saved enough for her ticket home, she walked to the station and caught the train to the ferry-port and home. She was grateful for the help that she had received, but felt that she had repaid her saviours. She had escaped her predicament through her wits and her willingness to do whatever was necessary including accepting the assistance of a stranger,. It was an attitude to life that would serve her well.

* * *

Janice sat on the armchair, conveniently upholstered in vinyl to ease the cleaning whenever a resident soiled themselves. All the furniture was made like that, even in the little canteen. One of the nursing staff passed by the doorway and mentioned that the resident of room three had passed, so the room needed a clean-out once the nursing staff had finished with the body.

There it was, all over. No-one to sit and stare, nobody with damp eyes waiting and wailing for the final curtain. Just a nice, peaceful death. Just how she would want to go. To coin a phrase, 'go gently into that dark night'.

Had the old gent any regrets about his life? She didn't get that impression. According to his writings he'd enjoyed his choices and had a good time. What about herself though, what would she do differently again? The only regrets worth anything were of the things you didn't do - the chances that you didn't take.

Her experience in France with Ron was something that could have been repeated many times but hadn't. Foreign holidays in a warm climate without a great deal of clothing, seeing new people and their cultures could have happened but just never materialised. Perhaps she should have insisted.

Not with Ron because he was an ass after all. But there were others and an entire holiday without any clothing at all was a very intriguing proposition. Walking around without hindrance, no need even for a towel after a swim -- just let the sun do its stuff. Yes, that was an option. There had been times when she had been working in the French brothel when she had wandered around comfortably naked in front of others who were clothed, but that was always inside the house with the blinds shut. Now she might go somewhere with a beach where at least swimsuit tops weren't required.

She had heard plenty about continental beaches, where ladies were topless and walked around not worrying about who could see what they had. She couldn't envisage herself walking through the front door of a nudist camp, couldn't even imagine herself getting into a taxi and telling the driver to "Take me to Sunland'. Or whatever such places were called. But a public beach? That was different.

There was still time to get the baps out for the boys. They deserved a bit of sunlight even at her age. There was no need to undo a button and let the old-timers peer into the abyss of those G cups, she could let the world gawp as much as they wanted. Over the years those Bouncers had expanded somewhat, descending towards her waist which was now also pleasantly plump. Her areolae had swollen to the size of saucers but at least her body was still balanced by her bum, unlike some ladies who lost their shape. Big on top, flat arse below. Like Spike the cartoon dog. 'Gee whizz', she had overheard someone once muttered behind her back when they thought she was deaf. G indeed.

She could take a holiday by herself, pack lightly. She knew that most Mediterranean coasts were 'topless', she had a bit of money saved up from her job -- cleaning the toilets used by other people who didn't even know her name. She deserved a break. A bit of research, a visit to a travel agent. There must be some clubs for like-minded single people. She could take in Paris, see the Moulin Rouge. Why not?

She flicked through the pile of the papers and a drawing of a lady fell out, looking very stylish, very French. Long shapely legs, hair rolling across her shoulders and sparkling eyes were captured with the instinct of a naturally talented artist. It was unsigned, a simple sheet of paper amongst the letters.

She remained for a while reading and remembering. As she thought of the lady with the floral tattoos, her hand went absent-mindedly to her left breast. Nestling underneath was her own embellishment, a tiny depiction of a bat hanging as if in a cave. Snug and secret. Not many people knew of it, her little souvenir of her holiday with Jeanne, Ron and his Kettle.