The Bittersweet Memoirs Ch. 01

Like most people, I suppose, my life has been one long journey lined by love, failure, and heartache. I warn you now, these stories, whilst full of love, sex and excitement, will rarely end in a "happily ever after".

This will be my attempt to immortalise my memories, before they fade. As a result, I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my retelling, as my recollection is already rusty.

Like all stories, this must have a beginning. So let us begin with the story of Laura, my first serious girlfriend.

Laura first made her appearance in my life in my last year of highschool, in the form of my elder sisters foreign exchange student, an exotic imported delicacy from faraway France.

Laura was two years older than me, the same age as my sister, and thirsted for an escape from her small, provincial town, where she lived with her mother and sisters in an old Chateau, where the stairs were bowed from the passage of feet and time, and the floors creaked in ancient, dusty voices as you walked.

Laura was about as typically southern French as anyone could be: Her skin was a smooth, glowing olive, her hair like spun dark chocolate, framing her face in elegant shadows. Her eyes, likewise, were wells of melted cacao, sagely but sad. 20 years old, Laura had never had much luck with the boys from her hometown, which held a meagre population of 223. She had hoped for more success in university, but found herself equally disappointed, and so she came into my life an unspoiled, innocent flower. She spoke excellent English, like most well educated French people do, and so decided to go on exchange, and experience some more of the world.

She was of average height, but superbly formed. Her sun-tanned skin flowed like honey over a narrow waist, contrasted by her generous, round yet slender curves, and a finely formed pair of decidedly averagely sized breasts. Her skin had the sort of clarity and silken smoothness that required no makeup, for she wore none, yet naturally appeared flawless. From the moment I saw her, on her arrival from the airport, I knew it'd be a struggle to ignore her. Unfortunately, at the time of her arrival I found myself already in a relationship, albeit one which had not progressed beyond frantic kissing and poorly coordinated groping.

I was 18, and like all 18 year old boys, I was incorrigible. I knew I had the potential to get myself, and her, into a lot of trouble if I didn't keep my distance, however this was initially far easier than you might think. Being in my final year of highschool, I was swamped by school work and otherwise occupied by sporting commitments, which found me leaving home at 5 in the morning, attending school from 9-3, then training till 6pm, and returning home utterly exhausted, and promptly collapsing into a near comatose state. My lifestyle was not conducive to chasing girls, nor for that matter, maintaining a relationship.

As a result, my aforementioned miserably, uneventful relationship found itself crumbling at the most inopportune moment, about a month after her arrival, just as she had begun to grow comfortable with her new surroundings, where she would be spending the next year of her life. Newly single, and still 18, my hormones found themselves unable to ignore the gorgeous invader of my territory, though I saw her very little whilst school was still in session. It wasn't until I had completed my final exams that I had any time to return to the land of the living, and actually get to know Laura, who by this point had found herself very disappointed with her host family. She had no particular issue with my parents, but my sister had grown horrid to her, constantly arguing and berating her.

With all my newly found time, I began to interact more with the timid, shy spectre inhabiting my home, who flitted from room to room avoiding my sister. I often found myself sitting in a room alone with her, talking, learning about her home, learning a bit of French, and generally enjoying her presence. Her accent was deliciously sweet, and to this day I cannot hear a French accent without feeling its effects. Eventually, we grew more comfortable around each other, and I found myself admiring her more and more, and whereas I'd only passingly noted that she was attractive before, now it was all I could see. I would close my eyes and still she would be there, smiling and giggling shyly, her eyes sparkling as she took furtive glances at me from behind loose strands of hair.

After a few weeks of the holidays had passed, my parents decided it would make for a good bonding exercise between my sister, myself and Laura if we were to go on a vacation. And so they attempted to break the news to us. I was keen, having no ill-will towards either beaches, or Laura. My sister however despised both of these things, as only a young girl can, and steeled her will and firmly refused to go. And so my parents plan had failed form the outset, although in the end they press ganged her into the car, and away we all went on a vacation.

Despite the repeated admonitions and frantic protests of my coach, warning of my losses in performance so close to nationals, I decided that I had earnt myself a place in my own families vacation, having juggled school and sport long enough. I was long overdue for some relaxation, time to unwind and destress on the white sand beaches of coastal Australia.

Whilst I already lived a mere 20 minutes from a beach, my family had a longstanding tradition of taking a yearly trip to a particularly exceptional set of islands, where the water flowed clear and blue, azure highways for iridescent fish, elegantly leaping dolphins, shadowy stingrays and scantily clad swimmers. The sand was always fine, warm, and blindingly white, and the air clean and refreshing, even in the summer heat. I was looking forward to returning to our favourite spot, not having realised that for the first time, I'd be locked in a car with Laura beside me for 5 hours. Sprawled out sleeping across the backseat and resting her feet on me, there would be no avoiding her, and with the sweltering heat of the Australian sun beating on the car, there would be no escaping the clinging of her skin against mine as her sweating limbs glued themselves to mine in the tight backseat of our car, which she was determined to use as a bed to the best of her ability.

My mother, unable to secure time away from work, stayed home (to her great disappointment), whilst my sister, pressganged into joining us, sat in the front seat, as far away from Laura as she could manage, headphones in and dead to the world. My dad drove, not trusting me or my sister on a longer journey across country roads, which were often unsealed grave and packed dirt. Laura was wearing a polka dot dress, in a dark navy with small white dots, in a light, flowy fabric for the journey, a very suitable choice in the summer heat. I was wearing light shorts, and a standard tee, and found myself overheating more due to the feeling of her smooth, sculpted calves sitting on my lap, more than the oppressive heat of the sun beating against the windows of the car.

Laura had thoughtfully brought headphones along with her, which she shared with me (as we shared similar musical tastes), attached to her fancy new iPod Touch, the latest and greatest innovation in multimedia. However, as anyone who has attempted to share headphones knows, it necessitates a certain closeness, in order to reach both people ears. This lead to Laura rearranging herself so she was leaning against me, in the middle seat, her head on my shoulder. She had evidently grown comfortable with me, and I was in no mind to complain, regardless of the fact that the skin on my arm was binding itself to hers, and was growing unbearable hot quite quickly.

We spent the first hour of the trip enjoying the music, using the "notes" function on her phone to communicate, to avoid talking near my sister, who had a tendency to snarl and bark whenever she could hear our voices over her music. It felt secretive, and personal, moreso than our previous interactions, and aided by our physical closeness, seemed to bring us together in more ways than one. On that trip, I first began to consider the possibility of life with Laura as more than a friend, or even a "pseudo sister", as the exchange agency had encouraged us to think of her, and began to imagine the incredibly improbably fantasy of dating her.

Our little secret messages turned into a playful sharing of secrets - her asking if I'd ever kissed a girl, me admitting I had. It was then that I learnt that she was utterly unexperienced in love, never having had a chance to explore her natural, human curiosity. The maximum extent of her romantic history extended to one kiss, at age 15. It was after that question that I began to consider the idea that Laura was entertaining the very same improbable fantasy as me - though I did not push the issue. I gently probed her with measured questions about her past, and more bluntly she probed at mine - I would ask something like "why didn't you date the boy you kissed", gauging what she sought out in a man, and she would ask questions like "have you ever felt a girls body", in her clumsy English.

It was with these thoughts, and the subtle contact of her body against mine, that my body began to betray me, blood flooding where it had no right to go. I was 18, what can you expect?

Laura, to her credit, either did not notice, or did not react - either out of politeness or obliviousness, it made no matter to me. I was just glad to avoid the potential awkwardness which it could have caused. I had no wish for her to detach herself from my side, no wish for her to notice the outline of my hardening cock underneath the thin fabric of my shorts. And just as I was willing her to stay there forever, she informed me she was sleepy, and returned to her previous position, head on one side of the car, resting on a soft bag full of clothes, and her feet placed on my lap. This did not help with my predicament, not one little bit.

In order to save myself from my precarious situation, I decided that I may as well join her in resting, as it was early - we had left with the sun - and I was also quite tired, though I blame the heat for that more than the early rise. I put a hand on her hip, and lightly shook her, before gesturing at my head and her waist, indicating I was asking for permission to rest my head on her as I myself slept. It was simultaneously risky, as it could easily be rebuffed and caused tension that would last the rest of the car trip, but also allowed me to turn my hips (and thus my inconsiderate, unyielding boner) away from her delicately sculpted legs, as I turned onto my side, and laid down on her side, she shuffled forward and I placed my head somewhere midway up her body, with one arm behind her body to stabilise my head, the other resting on the seat behind her butt, not touching her.

As soon as her breathing pattern steadied and I was sure she was asleep, my mind continued to betray me, and filled itself with invasive, dangerous thoughts. Revisiting our illicit, secret conversation made in quickly deleted notes, I fell asleep imagining running my hand up her leg, and into her panties (which I had seen where black, with cream frills), feeling her pure, untouched wetness.

When I woke, my left hand was between her two thighs, mere centimetres from her little slice of paradise, locked in place by salty, sweaty glue. Immediately those forbidden thoughts resurfaced, as did our earlier confessional session, and I found myself unable to resist - I extended my thumb, and placed it right near her panties, feeling the heat radiate off of her as she slept sweetly. I gently, lightly, delicately ran my thumb down the skin beside edge of her panties, down along her thigh, and was delightfully rewarded with goosebumps that extended down that leg, enticing me to repeat the process with her other leg, which also erupted into goosebumps. I decided not to press my luck, and stopped teasing her body, but found myself unable to extract my hand, as it was quite stuck in its compromising position.

Stuck at an impasse, unable to remove my hand without waking her and alerting her to its previous position, and equally unable to take advantage of the situation whilst she was sleeping due to my own (admittedly weak) sense of propriety and morality, I replaced my thumb with the rest of my fingers, farther from her hot wetness, and attempted to go back to sleep.

When next I woke, the back of my thumb was pressed firmly against her panties, and felt positively steamy. I left it there, and went back to sleep, figuring that if it could move there by itself legitimately, she could hold no ill will against me for its positioning.

I woke for the last time to her bumping my legs with her feet, attempting to being me back to consciousness. My hands was back on the seat, so I could only assume it'd somehow become unclamped from between her thighs, and freed itself whilst we were still asleep, as she made no indication that she either knew it had been sitting against her panties for the past few hours.

We left the car, unpacked, and checked into our hotel, right on the water, where my father and sister got one room, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, my father entrusted me to stay with Laura in the other room. Ostensibly, the room had two single beds, pressed together, to form a double. Upon inspection, my father suggested we move the beds apart and all would be well, to which we both agreed.

It was only about 1pm, so we left the hotel room, myself and Laura, and went for a walk along the seaside. I don't remember discussing it, we just both mutually decided to take the walk alone, so I knocked on the door to my dad/sisters room and informed them I was going to take Laura and walk around the enclosed waterway that was within hotel grounds, and off we went.

As we reached the path beside the water, Laura took my hand into hers, and I gladly accepted it, only glancing slightly in her direction, thinking she had done it automatically and any reaction would break the spell, returning her to reality. She then began returned to our previous conversation we'd shared via notes on the car ride over, discussing in more details how there were only 5 boys in her class in school, and they were quite outnumbered by girls, and had spent most of their time chasing the more popular, extroverted girls.

I expressed my heartfelt, sincere bewilderment that anyone would be able to focus on other girls whilst she was in the picture, which brought her to a bright pink blush as her face flushed with blood, and she look down at her feet sweetly and shyly as we walked. After a while, she looked back at me, a new expression set in her face, her eyes suddenly large and inviting, almost begging. She lead us over to a bench, and we sat down looking out onto the gentle waves, the breeze blowing her dress and hair, and doing its best to chill us whilst the sun threatened to fry us like eggs.

She turned her body to face me, her knees knocking against mine as we sat there on that bench, and in her delicious French accent, simply said "Would you kiss me"?.

It was not asked like a request, more like an insecure question. I started to see the loneliness that had grown in her during a lifetime in a small town, surrounded by the same people. I felt sorry for this lovely girl who had never had anyone hold her and tell her how perfect she was, and felt a wave of affection flow over me, as I squeezes her hand, her fingers still interlocked with mine, and raised my other hand up to her cheek.

I think she was surprised by the fact that I leant in and kissed her, expecting my answer to be in words, an spoken affirmation or compliment, as the first seconds of the kiss were her simply stiffening up and freezing, before she seemed to register what was happening, and began reciprocating. It was a simple kiss, our heads tilted to each side with our lips gently passing over each other, more passionate that lustful. It felt right to me.

After what must have been only 30 seconds, but felt like a paradigm shifting year, I attempted to withdraw my face from hers, and to my surprise, as I pulled back, she leaned into me, wanting more. I was doing better than I thought. But still, I steeled my will and disengaged, moving my hand from her cheek to her shoulder, the other still occupied being held by hers, and steadied her body, out of range of my lips, as I faced her and studied her face.

Fear crossed her face, followed by sadness, and under her breath she gasped "Even you stopped me, even you do not want to kiss me", her rich, luxurious French accent turning each word to sweet, musical notes.

I was shocked that she interpreted my interruption of her kiss so strongly, and pulled her into a hug, and whispered into her ear "The only reason I stopped, is because if I continued, I'd never be able to pull myself away from you".

She paused for a moment, barely breathing, considering the impact of what I had just told her. She leant back from my tender embrace, and looked up at my face, her eyes tinged slightly with tears.

"I think I'd like that"

That was all she said, and it was all the persuasion I needed. I ran my hand up from her shoulder, across her collar bone, up her neck, and to the nape of her neck, and brought her face to mine, and kissed her deeply, affectionately. I disengaged my other hand from its prison between her fingers, and placed it on her hip bones, drawing her body closer to mine, as I kissed her more hungrily. My tongue flicked her lips the first time I attempted to introduce it to the equation, and she quickly adapted her technique to accommodate for its presence, and so Laura experienced her first proper "French Kiss", a term which required some explanation after we stopped and I informed her of my little joke.

I returned to kissing her, this time controlling her head more carefully with my hand on the back of her head, fingers intertwined with her hair, as I kiss from her lips to her cheek, down her jawline, and down her neck, lightly placing little wet marks on her lovely olive skin as I tasted the subtly salty flavour of sweat and excitement that emanated from her. Her breathing began to grow rasping, and she arched her head back, giving me better access to her neck. My other hand ascended from her hipbone to the base of her ribcage, feeling the bones beneath her skin through her dress. Her body was slender, yet plentiful where it counted. I did not push my luck, nor my hand higher up her torso, ending with only the tip of my thumb under the edge of her bra, my fingers wrapped around her ribs, pulling her into me, trying to melt us into one being.

I cannot say how long I spent kissing from her neck, down to her collar bones, and all the way back up to her cheek and tips. Time had ceased to have meaning to me, until the sun was setting and we had not moved from the bench, where she had ended up with her legs placed over mine, along the bench, half sitting on my lap. Hungrily, we kissed, the intensity of our inexperienced lust surprising both of us every time we stopped to breathe before diving back in. We stopped to admire the sunset over the water, which painted the clouds in hues of blue, pink and red. That moment will forever remain imprinted in my memory, as the golden light bathed her face, and she nuzzled into me. I was content, moreso than I ever had been before.

As the sunlight died, we headed back to the apartments, where I knocked on dads' door to inform him we were back, safe, unrobbed and unmurdered. He was watching TV, and my sister was in the shower, where she was likely removing the makeup she had spent two hours carefully applying this morning, long before the sun rose.

I distinctly remember attempting to make steaks in the hotel kitchenette, and failing miserably due to the inadequate electronic stovetop, which refused to get the pan hot enough to sear the steaks that dad had bought whilst we were out exploring each other and our surroundings.