My French Holiday

“Oh, Richard, Luc.” I said softly, “you are both so kind.” I paused and for some unexplainable reason added, “but so young.”

“Why the hell did I say that?” I thought as they both moved closer to me.

“Yes we are young,” one of them was saying, “but we know life Amanda.”

The other added in a low voice, “ and being French we also know about love and beauty as well.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I was becoming a little flustered. Were they coming onto me? What were they implying? I wondered as I lay there partly very relaxed and partly, I realised, a little tense from all this attention. Their words flowed over me, they seemed to almost hypnotise me. The combination of what they said, their so sexy French accents and the closeness of their bare torsoes was affecting me. I realised I was becoming a little worked up, curious and intrigued by them.

The relationship we’d developed over the past few days had been close and very friendly but not once had I thought it would become anything other than friendship. I was almost old enough to be their mother for Christ’s sake! I was not looking for any involvement with men. I hadn’t for the past six months. Not since that short affair with the guy I met when playing golf in Spain. Not since I’d felt myself becoming emotionally dependant on him, wanting to see him more often than his location, some 250 miles away, permitted. So I gave up dating. Avoided any entanglement. I’d found that I couldn’t fully enjoy sex without some form of emotional involvement and after the hurt of Kevin I couldn’t and didn’t want to make any commitment that way. So I’d got myself into the classic Catch 22. The only way for me was to forego sex. So six months ago I’d stopped dating, stopped seeing men and had become celibate.

I hadn’t, though, stopped thinking about it. Hardly a day, well never a whole day, more like an hour really, went by without me having some form of sexual thought. The frustration was extreme and at times I yearned so much to feel a man touch me, hold me, kiss and cuddle me and yes fuck me. But I’d fought those raging temptations during the past six months and I’d held out.

It was therefore rather ironic I thought to be laying in a pine forest in France with two young men as I contemplated just what they were implying and intending with their lyrical phrases and their intimate gestures.

“Let’s swim,” Luc suggested.

“I can’t,” I immediately replied, “I don’t have my swimming stuff with me.”

Richard looked right at me as, smiling, he said, “neither do we.”

Luc added, “Amanda this France we do not worry about such things, nudity to us is no problem, it’s natural.”

I knew that I couldn’t just strip off there and go swimming with the two of them naked. I just couldn’t do that. Call it shyness, British reserve, me being a prude or whatever, I just knew I couldn’t. The fact that they had created a rather intimate atmosphere by talking about my body and complimenting me so much may also have been an influence on me as I replied.

“Tell you what, let’s go to my house and use the pool, we can get your stuff on the way.”

They agreed, somewhat reluctantly I thought. We strolled back through the forest and I felt Luc put his arm around my waist as we climbed over some large tree roots. Once over them he didn’t remove it and I felt Richard’s join it. It felt natural. Nothing too overt just three friends strolling arm in arm. I put my arms around their waists and we walked all the way to the car like that. It was a tender, caring and quite loving moment I thought as I got into the BMW.

Soon we were buzzing down the narrow roads towards their flat. They went in and collected their shorts and not long after I was in my bedroom getting ready for the pool. I pondered for some time on what bikini to wear for I wanted to show my body at its best but without looking too come on to them. So the two thong bottomed jobs were out. I selected a fairly straightforward yellow bikini that was as cover up as any I had although the bottom was cut quite acutely at the crotch meaning that I’d had to pay close attention to my bikini line before coming away. Just the same I checked closely in the mirror to make sure there were no stray hairs. As I looked at myself I was horrified to see that my bloody nipples had started misbehaving and that they were standing up like two acorns. “Hmmm I’m not cold,” I mused being deep down very aware why they were reacting like that.

I almost gasped with pleasure as I saw the two of them laying on the beds round the pool. They really were gorgeous I thought. Both were heavily tanned and were wearing speedos. On other men they may have looked a little old fashioned and slightly ridiculous, but the French have a way of carrying off such incongruous garments don’t they? Well certainly Luc and Richard did. The modest amount material was stretched taught around them, the legs being cut acutely, the waist bands so low that both were sprouting generous helpings of pubic hairs from the front and were showing the start of the crack between the cheeks of their bottoms at the back.

Their bodies were magnificent. Lean with well formed but not bulky muscles they had the firmness of youth and the sculpted appeal of maturity. Each oozed sex appeal as they lay on the beds their long, lean legs stretched out before them, their bare chests on view, their flat stomachs looking like the six packs you see on male models. As I approached them I couldn’t stop my eyes from going to their speedos. I’m not the sort of woman that has a great interest in the size of a man’s penis and seeing men clad just in tight shorts does not generally make me wonder what’s inside them. But try as I might I couldn’t stop my gaze from being drawn as if by magnets to the two bulging lumps inside their tight miniscule swimsuits.

It wasn’t so much the sheer size of the two bulges that attracted my gaze, even though those ridiculously brief and tight speedos did reveal that, it was the blatant way that the thin material clung to them. That left nothing at all to the imagination. It framed each penis illustrating clearly its shape and length. It seemed to cuddle so closely to each pair of balls accentuating their fullness and emphasising their roundness. I could see the bulbous tips of each cock through the material and my eyes saw where each sunk into the confines of the two scrotums.

I covered the last few metres to them on shaky legs and with a pounding heart.

“What’s happening to me?” I asked myself. I’d never felt like this. Never before had the sight of a man so aroused me or done such things to me as was happening now. I felt as though I just wanted to sink to my knees and bury my face in one of those bulges. Rip the gossamer thin material away and make the cock rear up to its fullness so that I could takeit into me. Into my hand, between my breasts, in my mouth or anywhere.

“Oh Amanda,” Luc said as I sat myself down trying desperately to regain my composure, “you look magnifique.”

“Yes Mandy you look so wonderful, so womanly, so marvellous,” Richard chimed in.

Those words and the adoring and, yes, lustful looks on their faces did little to help my, by now fairly distressed state. I smiled and said, “thanks,” but could say no more for fear of my voice giving my emotions and thoughts away.

The patio area around the pool is small and there was not much room on there for the three loungers. They were pushed closely together, almost touching. So as I sat on the spare one between them my legs were almost touching their’s. I had to pass by them so closely. Our bodies almost touched, I could almost feel their heat. It was agonisingly frustrating for me to clamber over their beds to get to mine. It was disturbing for me to remove the black, net wrap I’d fitted around me. And it was excruciatingly embarrassing to me to feel the arousal I did as they gazed at my nearly nude body.

My body isn’t bad. I know that. I am full figured and yes there are blemishes. My boobs sag a little from their size and weight and my tummy sticks out a bit due to me not being dedicated enough withtmy post natal exercises. My bum has its fair share of flesh and for sure there’s an excess of that on there and on my thighs. But I’m thirty eight for Christ’s sake and I’ve had a child. Overall it’s not out of proportion I knew. Yes my tits are on the large size but not overly so and thus the general package has always attracted the stares of men. Both during my marriage, when I strayed a few time after getting what I called my red mists when I learned of Kevin’s philanderings, and since it when I’ve been naked with men I’ve had no complaints. So, I guess I’m relatively happy with what I’ve got and confident when displaying it.

Normally that is. But on this small patio with Luc and Richard so close to me in their ridiculously brief swimsuits this wasn’t normally and I felt far from being relaxed or comfortable. My heart was pounding. My pulses were racing and I was starting to breathe rather heavily. I knew that as both of them looked at me they’d see the very clear evidence of my arousal for my nipples were, as they did so often, betraying me.

“I think I’ll have a swim,” I muttered desperately wanting to do something that might calm me down I

We all swam. We messed around and we laughed and giggled like kids as we played around in the cool waters of the pool. We got out and sat on the patio each sipping a beer as we chatted. Once more, though, as seemed to happen each time we talked now the conversation slowly became personal and intimate.

“I said you had the body of a young woman Amanda,” one of them said as I lay back my eyes closed soaking up the early evening sun., “but it’s more than that. It’s perfection.”

“You have the body of a real woman.”

“Its so feminine and wonderful.”

“It’s perfection.”

I heard the compliments. I heard the phrases and words as once more they inflamed me. They just seemed to keep coming, washing over me and burning into my mind. I couldn’t resist them. What woman could I wondered? But still I had no idea why they were saying them or where they were leading. It was strange to have two men acting in tandem almost becoming one. It was unique in my experiences and my mind and body reacted. I was excited by them. There was a warmth raging through me as they just said more and more such alluring and arousing things to me.

My mind was in a whirl of conflicting thoughts and views. Were they trying to seduce me, or was it just their French way? If it was seduction then for what? Were they competing with each other? Would one give way to the other? Was I supposed to choose? Or was it just two young men being kind to an older woman? I didn’t know and couldn’t tell from what they were saying and how they were acting just what the fuck was going on.

Now dry and with the sun gone it became a little chilly. I suggested we barbecue something. I had plenty of meat in the freezer, we’d bought bread at the market and the wine cabinet was well stocked.

I showed them to the guest bathroom and went into my room to shower. Standing naked the still damp bikini on the floor I shuddered as I thought of the two of them next door. Just a few feet from me, I realised, were the two of them in all their bare beauty. They would have removed their speedos, I found myself thinking. They would be naked. Their cocks, the outlines of which I’d seen so clearly, would be on show. They were such a short distance from me, I shuddered as my mind simply couldn’t tear itself from the mental picture of their gorgeous, young, firm bare bodies.

I was being stupid. I realised that. It was just the ramblings of a very, frustrated woman I acknowledged. They were young, free and very desirable, why would they be interested in me. But their words I reminded myself. The things they’d said, Such personal, frank and intimate things. Surely there was something in that? But they are French I reconciled, and they are so like that. So open about sex and nudity, so easy at complimenting women and so, well just sexy I suppose. They probably mean nothing more than just being friendly and a little flirty I thought as I dressed. In any case how could two friends “share out the spoils” as it were, I caught myself thinking as I slipped into the white thong and net, see through, thin bra that did absolutely nothing to hide the frighteningly hard pink acorns that my nipples had become? The idea that two young men could even contemplate trying to seduce me together was unthinkable. Wasn’t it? Surely it was. As equally unthinkable I thought as it was that I could even give the slightest thought to agreeing.

I’d never been one to enjoy sharing my sexual partners or one to gain great pleasure from imagining what a threesome with two men would be like. The mere idea, though possibly having some intellectually erotic appeal, overall struck me as being impracticable and unrealistic. After all sex is such an intimate thing. Its intended to be between two people and surely a third party in any relationship becomes an intruder at some time in the proceedings and reduces the intimacy between the other two.

“Why the fuck am I even thinking about such things?” I said almost out loud as I pulled the casual tee shirt dress over my head. I realised that they were two mates, two friends and that men also didn’t like to share. Also men are not that accustomed to being intimately close to other males so the idea of the two of them wanting me together was plainly ridiculous.

Ridiculous it may well have been but when I walked into the living room and saw them sitting there in their shorts and tee shirts I still felt a wallop of some form of arousal, interest, desire or something.

They barbecued the steaks and I poured the drinks as we chatted about a whole raft of topics that, fortunately, were not particularly intimate or about me. I was, however, still feeling a little light-headed at being so close to the two beautiful young men both of whom had said such nice things about me. Both of whom had asked me such personal things, both of whom had danced with me in such a sensuous way and both of whom gazed so adoringly at me. The two young men that had lounged on the patio as my eyes saw the vivid outline and almost every detail of the genitalia.

We finished dinner just as it got dark and I wondered what would happen now. As I washed up the plates alone in the kitchen my imagination again began to embark on trips into areas I wished it hadn’t. So when I walked into the lounge I was tingling with expectancy. I guess I thought that after such a lovely day when the three of us had been so close there had to be a perfect ending. As I sat down I wondered, but had no idea, just what that perfect ending might be.

There wasn’t one. The atmosphere wasn’t the same. The intensity had gone, the intimacy and the closeness were not there any more. It was almost as if they had reached a peak with me around the pool that they couldn’t or wouldn’t maintain. I wondered if I’d said something or if they’d chatted and had decided to cool things.

Later after they’d gone I felt quite disappointed. Sitting with a glass of wine I tried to work out what might have happened but came up with a complete blank. It just beat me. I’d certainly, at least, expected more of the overt flattery and gentle come ons. In some ways I’d thought the flirting would increase and that one might try something more obvious. At the extremes of my considerations I momentarily did, as I had several times, thought that maybe they did have girls together and that possibly they would try for a threesome with me. But as I got ready for bed my more considered self took prominence and I thought that perhaps they were just tiring of entertaining an old biddy like me.

The next night Luc was in the restaurant by himself. Richard had gone to see someone in Deauville he’d explained. I thought that was odd because they hadn’t mentioned it the day before but being Monday the restaurant was quiet so I thought no more of it as I ate dinner with just three other diners in there. They left at just after eight when Henri came out and said that he was off as well.

“Hooker night,” Luc explained coming and sitting at my table after he’d cleared everything up.

He poured us both generous helpings of Calvados and we started talking easily again. The distance of last night had gone and the intimacy had returned. He asked about boy friends I’d had since the break up and whether therewas any man hovering around and I asked him about his girl friends. We were sitting quite close, our legs almost touching under the table. As the French are, he was quite expressive with his hands and several times he placed his fingers on my wrist as he made points or posed questions.

I thought then that I began to see it. I started in my mind to work out what they were up to. As Luc told me about a girl he’d had in Bournemouth who he thought may well have been the love of his life, “we made such wonderful love,” he said.

“Maybe they’d tossed for me,” I mused? “Luc has the first go and Richard the second,” I thought, feeling a little put out.

As we sat there drinking the Calvados with me telling him about the affair I’d had with David when I was married , who I still think was the love of my life, so I couldn’t help pondering on what it would be like to be made love to by a young man. Not that I’d decided I would make love to him even if he tried. No it was the theory of having a young man I pondered about.

I’d read about it in such magazines as Cosmo and Elle of course, and several friends or acquaintances had told me that they’d had toy boys and how wonderful it was. One golfing friend, a forty five year old woman, had described them as “instant erections” and Katy, a rather forthright divorcee I knew said, “they can go all night, four or five times at least.” They and the magazine articles had focused on their firm youthful bodies without the flab and sagging of men in their forties. That appealed to me. The thought of being against a lithe , taught body that was smooth and firm to my touch did appeal, As, I have to admit, (well theoretically at least I reminded myself for I was celibate wasn’t I?) the idea of being with someone with very quick recovery powers and the stamina to come several times in an evening had a quite stirring appeal.

“Stop it,” I ordered myself. “Stop the ramblings of a woman approaching forty who has no man in her life. It’s the frustration caused by that that’s making you have these outlandish and totally ridiculous thoughts,” I told myself.

But was it I wondered as his fingers again touched the back of my hand? Was it I thought as he went on talking to me in the most intimate terms? And was It I pondered, my heart beating faster, as his dark eyes bored into mine as he said,

“You know Richard and I think a lot of you, don’t you Amanda?”

“As I do of both of you,” I replied quietly sipping my drink to avoid my embarrassment and the excitement I felt. I really was in a turmoil for I thought that this was it. The real come on, from him. And I had no idea how I’d react. Half of me was dying to feel him against me, to have him touch me and kiss me, caress and fondle me and, yes, have him undress me and fuck me. Half wanted that, well fantasised about it. But there was the other half and that was nowhere near as sure.

“Think of how you’ll feel after? The remorse you’ll have when he gets up from your bed and leaves? And the feeling of being used you’ll experience when you look back on it,” my better half warned me.

I needn’t have worried, though, for out of the blue he said, “well I’m bushed Amanda, let me run you home.”

“Bloody unpredictable French,” I thought as I went to bed still aroused and excited but also relieved that I hadn’t had to make a decision something, that when sex and sexual relationships are concerned, I really am not good at.