Risk Management

"C'est parfait." I replied. (Sorry. From here on I will not bore you with my strangulated French or Celeste's replies in her own language or mine. I'll just report, in English, our conversations as best I can. So to catch up, she said, 'is it ok?' And I said, 'it's perfect'.)

Leaving me to settle in, she went off to the kitchen to make coffee. She must also have popped out to the local patisserie as there was a small plate of delicate pastries on the table when I joined her ten minutes later. She poured me an excellent coffee, milk, no sugar, and we chatted about the weather and Agde. By now we were on first name terms and I'd been invited to use the more familiar 'tu' rather than the formal 'vous' in conversation with her. She asked me where in England I was from and then whether I was in France on business or vacation.

I decided to bite the bullet and be honest. "My wife wanted to date other men." I told her, in French. (At least I hoped that was what I'd said.)

Celeste seemed shocked. Did 'les femmes Anglaises' do such things?

"So," I continued. "I decided that she should have her wish. But not as my wife."

She nodded. That apparently seemed quite reasonable to her.

I carried on. "With my wife and my work both making me ill," I glanced at Celeste to see if she was following my account. "I decided to travel to recover my mental well being."

Again, she nodded. It seems that, even if my grammar was less than perfect, she had understood my situation. I asked the obvious question. "M. Arnaud?"

It took a while but eventually I understood that Celeste's husband had been returning from an unsuccessful fishing voyage and, having sunk a bottle of red wine to console himself, slipped and hit his head on a rather substantial piece of trawling gear on the deck. He died before his crewmates found him. That was four years ago. The rest of the crew had bought out his share in the boat and Celeste had used the money to invest in the guesthouse.

I remembered that Simone had mentioned some small jobs that needed doing. Celeste was dismissive. "You have travelled far. You must eat and rest and tomorrow I will show you the things that need attention." She waved her hand at me. "Go, walk, see the town; your meal will be ready at seven."

I was rather elated. I'd thought Simone had negotiated a great price for bed and breakfast. If an evening meal was included too then she'd truly gone above and beyond.

Agde is lovely; one of the oldest towns in the whole of France, it has a charm that hasn't been entirely ruined by tourism though the beaches and the marina are actually superb. As a destination for French holidaymakers, excellent food at reasonable prices is a given. I was looking forward to spending some time there.

I made my way back to the cottage in time to shower and change before dinner. I wouldn't insult Celeste by turning up to a home cooked meal without making the effort to look (and smell) presentable. The meal was simple but delicious; fillets of fresh fish in a chive beurre noisette with green garden vegetables sautéed in olive oil and garlic, all accompanied by potatoes in herb butter. There was a crisp white wine from the local winery to wash it down.

After the meal I helped Celeste to clear the table and we retreated to the garden to finish the bottle of wine in the twilight. She seemed pensive. "How long will you stay in Agde?" She asked after a while.

"I'm not sure." Was my honest reply. "My daughter is studying in Barcelona and I would like to see her before she returns home."

She shrugged. "Take the train. You could be there by noon, spend the night and return the next afternoon."

I was surprised. I hadn't given public transport much thought. I checked on line. Christ! A four hour journey here cost half of a one hour journey at home. Even with an overnight stay this wouldn't cost much over €100. I emailed Sue that evening asking if her study schedule could fit in a weekend visit from her dear old Dad some time in the next few weeks. Not having access to English language TV, when the sun went down I excused myself and went to bed. I lay there luxuriating. I was safe, comfortable and well fed. My hostess was a charming, and attractive woman, and I realised that I was actually happy. I slept like a baby.

The following morning, Celeste showed me around the guest house pointing out all of the jobs that needed doing while I jotted them down in a notebook. She looked guiltily at me. "There is much work here. Are some of these jobs things that you can do?"

I almost laughed. "Most of these are simple things. Some would be easier if I had my workshop and tools. But this would be perhaps two weeks work. Maybe three if I take some time off now and again to tour the area and relax."

She took my hand and led me to a stone building at the rear of the property. It turned out to be her late husband's workshop. It was better equipped than the one I had left behind in England. Yes, I was sick and tired of continuously working on Tracey's never ending list of home improvements, but Celeste's requests were trivial by comparison and, as a bonus, they didn't have to be done in my spare time every single evening and weekend.

Back in the cottage, Celeste made coffee while I set out a work schedule. Some electrical outlets and light switches needed replacing; a morning's work. Two taps and an electric shower weren't working properly; another half day. Three bedrooms needed repainting; a day to prepare, a day to first coat and a day to finish the walls and a day to paint the woodwork.

The wooden shutters that had originally worried me became much less of a concern with the timber and woodworking gear in the workshop. I smiled at Celeste and took her through the list. "Two weeks," I told her. "And you and I will have done all of these things."

She looked at me, bewildered and then, realising that she had not misunderstood me, she pulled me to my feet, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me with a passion that I'd not experienced for well over a decade. I responded, of course. I said earlier that Celeste was a handsome woman, and she was. How to describe her? She was tall for a woman, perhaps a couple of inches shorter than my 5'11", brown hair generally in a ponytail and a taut body that she inhabited with a confidence that some women, and most French women just do.

So she kissed me out of gratitude and I kissed her right back with enthusiasm and she felt my cock responding and, lets just say my life got both simpler and more complicated in that moment. Simpler because all we wanted to do right then was have sex; more complicated because, of course, I was still married.

But let's be honest here; I was in France because the woman I was currently divorcing had tried to humiliate and manipulate me by playing mind games while I was facing redundancy at work, and yet this attractive, vivacious Frenchwoman was giving me more sexual pleasure just kissing me for promising to do some simple DIY than my wife had given me in years for rebuilding a whole fucking disaster of a house around us. Truly, I wasn't tempted; no, I was determined. If Celeste was willing, I was going to take her to any bed she chose and fuck her until one or both of us begged for surrender.

She chose her bed, it took two hours and it was me who surrendered first. We lay for a while soaking in the afterglow of an entente very cordiale.

"Thank you," she said, in her beautifully accented English.

I looked at her in astonishment. "You are thanking me?" I lifted myself up on one elbow to look down into her gorgeous brown eyes. "I have not had an experience like that for years!" (I know my words sound stilted, but remember that my French vocabulary is probably on a par with a typical six year old French kid.)

She reached up and put her arm possessively around my neck. "Then your wife is a foolish woman not to benefit from your..," she sought for a word. "In French it would be 'prouesse'."

I leaned down to kiss her. "My prowess is a reflection of my lover. Tracey was passive, uninterested, so my love making was probably without passion. But you, Celeste; my God! Every touch, every kiss makes you respond. Is there nothing you will not do?"

This time she kissed me, and smiled. "I will do anything you ask. I will even do things that you dare not ask in case you shock me." She kissed me again and ran her hand down my chest. "I know that you would never hurt me, you are too kind. Will you be my lover until you must leave? We still have much to discover about each other."

I cupped her breast in my hand and bent to kiss the nipple beginning to stiffen at its peak. "It would be my pleasure," I answered with absolute honesty.

She laughed and pulled my lips to hers for a final brief kiss. "Enough, you wicked man. We have things to do, meals to prepare, sheets to change." She looked pointedly at me and I tried, and failed, to look guilty. She sent me to shower in my own room probably thinking, quite correctly, that the sight of her wet and naked would set me off again even though the prospect of me getting hard any time soon seemed remote to say the least.

We met up in the kitchen over coffee and discussed our timetable. Then I sat and drew up a purchase list for the jobs. Before we left for the store though, I checked the workshop to be sure that some items weren't already in stock, as it were. I found and opened some paint tins with sufficient for two of the rooms. So off to the builders' merchant we went.

An hour and €200 later we were back at the cottage preparing a light lunch; interleaved layers of tomato and local cheese drizzled with olive oil and garnished with freshly cut herbs. A glass of wine and crusty bread completed it perfectly. As we ate I stared at the woman I had come to know so intimately only a few hours ago. She returned my stare unselfconsciously. She hefted her B Cup breasts and said, "Tonight you may play with them once more but now I have work to do."

I took the hint and disappeared to the workshop to collect some tools. Two hours later I sought Celeste out to demand coffee and a kiss for my labours. She obliged with the kiss without even asking what I'd been up to. When coffee appeared we carried our cups to the guest rooms. I demonstrated the brand new electric shower in one bathroom and fully functioning taps in the others. She was delighted but instructed me to stop working and let her show me around her town.

We wandered for about an hour, chatting idly about living in such a lovely place. We even stopped in to see Simone and Veronique at the bistro. They took one look at us together and burst into happy, excited and completely, to me anyway, incomprehensible conversation that left Celeste seeming to be smugly embarrassed, if there is such a thing.

"They know?" I asked. "How?"

"They are my friends. They see how I look at you, how you look at me, and they know."

We sat in the kitchen with a glass of wine each as Veronique prepped for evening service and the women chatted about our plans. Celeste told them of her suggestion that I travel to Barcelona by train to see my daughter. They both thought that was an excellent idea as I'd appreciate the scenery more and avoid the city's traffic. They deemed it even worse than driving in Paris. I may have paled at that statement.

I think that I frowned as I pulled out my phone to check for a response. Nothing. I had assumed that Sue would have replied by now, but my inbox was empty. Celeste looked enquiringly at me, but I shrugged. It wasn't urgent.

We strolled back and I helped to prepare our evening meal; chicken thighs and fresh garden vegetables poached in white wine and herbs served on a bed of rice. We had a glass of the same wine to accompany the meal but I was careful not to eat or drink too much. I was on a promise that evening and nothing was going to spoil it.

We took our coffees out into the garden again and sat on the bench and chatted about our families. She had two grown up children; a son working in America for a couple of years and a married daughter working in local government in Montpellier, about an hour along the coast.

She asked about my daughter Sue, short for Suzanne. I told her how she was daddy's girl until she hit puberty and then how Tracy took over to teach her about style and make-up and boys. I told her how I wished I had my special girl back, even though I still loved the independent woman she was becoming.

Celeste smiled sadly. "I know."

She snuggled up to me and we just sat; not in total silence but neither feeling the need to fill the space with meaningless noise. Just being there, with her, was enough for now.

That night, Celeste was as good as her word and I renewed my friendship with her breasts. Not huge, but firm, shapely and proportionate and best of all, responsive. Merely touching her deep brown nipples had them erect in seconds, when I took one in my mouth though, well, it was like opening a gate into a new realm of sexuality. Even though it was my intent to make love to her that evening after the bout of hot monkey sex earlier, once I'd started on her tits she was like a wild cat. There was nothing that I could imagine that we didn't do that night and, yes that included exactly what you're thinking.

Again it was me who capitulated but she apologised as we cuddled up together. "My love, I'm sorry but it has been so long, I could not help myself. Do you think badly of me now?"

"For what? Doing things most men dream of?"

She kissed me, giggling at the fake expression of alarm on my face.

I was fine really, we had both used a mouthwash during a bathroom break after, well... that last thing we did. "No, but perhaps I was too... bold?"

It was my turn to kiss her. "You were you. You took nothing from me that I was not happy to give."

She saw a frown on my face. "What?" She asked, apparently concerned.

I kissed her again. "I worry because you said that you would do things I dare not ask. I can't think what that might even be. Now I am afraid that I might miss out. Am I really that naïve?"

"Don't worry,' she whispered as she nestled comfortably in my arms. "I won't let you miss anything." She was asleep in minutes. I took a little longer while my mind tried to process where this woman's limits might be and, more importantly, what delights she was still prepared to share.

And so we continued, me using one guest room purely for my luggage and for appearance's sake, though no-one knew or particularly cared about our sleeping arrangements, and Celeste sharing her bed and her body every night. But, as rigorous as our sex life was, we woke early and refreshed and cracked on with our refurbishments. She insisted that we stopped for lunch, and sex, each day but still the work progressed.

It was four days after I'd messaged Sue before she replied.

"I'd love to see you Dad. Can you make the Friday after next? Perhaps we could eat out. When will you arrive?

Love you

Suze"

I wondered why the delay in replying and why we had to wait over a week to meet but what did I know about Spanish study schedules?

I shelved the question and addressed the question of the shelves that Celeste needed in the kitchen. She described what she needed them for; I offered a few suggestions and we worked as a team to cut, finish and fit them. Using aged wood from the stockpile in the workshop: they blended perfectly. Celeste gave me a look that I was beginning to recognise. She loved what we'd achieved and tended to show her gratitude physically; very physically.

Later that evening, as we lay together after another first for me, a soixante neuf with Celeste's finger in my bum as I climaxed, she rolled over and looked seriously at me. This may be our last time for a while." Her brow furrowed in frustration as she searched for words in English and failed. "J'ai les regles,"

I shook my head. "You have rules?" I had no clue what that meant.

She tried again. "Je suis indisposée."

"You are indisposed? You are ill? How do you know... Ohhhh! Will this indisposition last about a week?"

She smiled. Yes, I'd got it. Her period was due shortly.

"Shall I sleep in my own room then?" I asked.

"Not exactly," was her sleepy reply. "We'll talk tomorrow."

I lay for a little while, wondering. Celeste was up to something but the thing was, I trusted her. She said we'd talk, and I believed her. That led me to thinking about Sue's email and some preparations I needed to make for my trip.

Next morning Celeste was the closest to being uncomfortable with me that I'd seen so far. "You know what I told you last night?"

"Yes, your period is due," I answered.

"I told you I would do anything you ask," she continued. "And I will if you wish. But most men will not want a woman then because it is... The sheets..." We shared a pained look that acknowledged that we were both on the same page. "So," she carried on, rather hesitantly. "I have a friend whose husband has left her and she would be happy to share a bed with you. You would still sleep here, with me if you'll have me but." She glanced at me to gauge my reaction. "But my friend needs a man who would be kind to her. We know you will leave soon, but while you are here could you share your love?"

"Seriously? Would you be comfortable with that? There is no need to find me another woman while you are 'indisposed'."

She walked around the table and perched on my lap. "And this is why I ask you. Most men would just say, 'yes' or they would ask, 'is she beautiful?' You ask me how would I feel." She gave me a tender kiss.

Celeste tilted my head to look into my eyes. "We know that you can not stay forever so we are not worried that one will steal you from the other. You have not met her because if you refuse she will know that it is because you will only love one woman at a time and not because you think that she is unattractive."

Sometimes I'm bright enough to say nothing. She nodded in approval as I waited for her to continue. "Céline is five years younger than me. She is pretty and a nice person. She is not wild as I am and I think that you would enjoy making love with her. She is softer and rounder than me. If that disturbs you then I will not invite her to meet you. Will you think of this?"

"Will it make you more or less happy if I make love to your friend?" I asked.

She considered. "It would give me great pleasure if you will share your bed with her in the afternoons and sleep with me at night. We can still play."

And that was it; agreed. So, only six weeks or thereabout since Tracey informed me that she had a date with another man, there I was, in the South Of France, discussing taking on my girlfriend's friend as a back-up lover. Surely I'd wake up eventually, I mean, this has to be a dream: hasn't it?

Celeste invited Céline to lunch that day, so we walked down to the marina that morning where she sought out some of her late husband's friends and bought a bagful of seafood. When Céline arrived, bringing a box of amazing pastries with her as is the custom, the table was set with a glorious seafood platter. As we ate, Céline and I got to know each other. She seemed lovely and spoke excellent English. She was about 5'4" and much curvier than Celeste, some might even call her a little plump, but she seemed to own it, even exploiting her curves with a low cut blouse showing a cleavage with its own gravitational pull. I liked her.

Celeste saw my expression. "So, Céline. Would you like my guest to show you the work he has done here?" Céline indicated that she would. Celeste continued her mischief. "Perhaps then you could do that now while I clear the table. The shower in his bedroom is particularly well fitted. Perhaps you would like to try it." She grinned at us.

I rose and held my hand out to Celine. "Madame, this way please. There is much I'd like to show you." She smiled, took my hand and we left.