L'homme français, la partie quatre

I only slept for a few hours before being awoken to a myriad of kisses on my breasts. He was hard and ready to go again. We had sex in a different position. I loved how experimental he was. I wanted to learn something new and Jean-Pierre was my instructor.

Sex lasted for over an hour before Jean-Pierre insisted we go to his favorite café for brunch. He said we needed to eat to keep up our strength. I insisted upon a shower for us both first. My intent was to actually get clean in the shower but of course, he had other ideas as he soaped up my breasts. We were in the shower until the water ran cold.

Finally! Dressed and out the door, we walked the few blocks from my apartment to the café. We dined on strong black coffee, beignets, and fresh fruit. Jean-Pierre’s desire was to spend as much time with me as possible. I didn’t mind. I actually liked him and enjoyed his company immensely. I wasn’t even desperate to get away. Kudos to me for sticking this one out.

We talked about anything and everything while we ate. Upon discovering a small, trivial fact about him, I couldn’t get the shocked expression off my face. He let out a hearty laughed at my surprise.

“I like older women,” he began.

“What do you mean?” I asked with a quizzical look upon my face.

“I’m only 20. The women I see are older as I imagine you are as well.” He said this with smug pride.

I dropped my beignet onto my plate, hence the shock on my face.

“I’m, uh, I’m…” I couldn’t help stammering.

“You are what? Don’t American women like younger men?”

“I’m not that much older than you!” I laughed.

Jean-Pierre joined me in laughter and then kissed me across the tiny table.

“Oui, Je sais. J'aime vous entendre rire.”

When he speaks to me in French, I go weak in the knees. Wow, he loves hearing me laugh. Some things I can pick up on but for the most part, I needed him to translate. We sat in the café for hours and spent the time with uninterrupted conversation. I learned so much about him in a short amount of time. He asked me about my childhood, my family, and what life was like growing up in the United States. He had been to a few places in the U.S., like San Francisco and New York City. He wasn’t even from France! He was actually French-Canadian, from Quebec. We talked about Montreal when I found that out! Why was he in France? Coworker was his cousin and he was going to school here.

After a while, a friend of Jean-Pierre’s came over to our table to say hello.

“Bonjour, Marcel!”

“Bonjour, Jean-Pierre. Ca va bien?” Marcel replied.

“Oui, et toi?”

“Très bien. Qui est votre amie?” He asked.

“C’est ma petite amie. Elle est de l'Amérique et parle un peu français,” responded Jean-Pierre.

I exchanged greetings with Marcel after introductions were made. I couldn’t believe Jean-Pierre introduced me as his girlfriend. Maybe it was a term they used loosely here. In America, it’s a term of possession in my opinion. I decided to ask him about it before throwing him out of my life. I needed to do it privately and waited until Marcel left.

L'homme français, la partie trois

I stepped forward and kissed him. The cool taste of his mouth had my spine tingling. His response was just as intense as mine. My hands practically ripped his shirt off of him as he unhooked my bra. We kept kissing the entire time we stripped each other. I paused for a moment after I undid his pants. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft as best as I could. He was enormous in girth and length. I dropped to my knees and pushed his pants to the ground. I wait for him to step out before I do anything else. He kicks his pants to the side.

I stare at the full length of him before I go any further. There was no way I was going to fit my mouth around him and take the entire length of him in. But damned to hell if I wasn’t going to try! I wanted every inch of him. I wanted to taste him, feel him, and everything in between.

I pulled him closer to me and began to lick his shaft as I slid my hands up his thighs. I grabbed his ass and took his head into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around his as best as I could. I couldn’t take much of him in because of his size. I felt his muscles tense and he let out a moan. Jean-Pierre wanted me to stop for a moment. He was becoming too sensitive.

I wanted to make this interlude last as long as possible. He helped me to my feet and led me down the hall to the bedroom. We laid down on the bed and resumed what we had started. He lavished kisses all over my body. His hands slid over my skin like soft velvet. I felt so wanton with desire. He placed his head between my legs and slowly licked my inner thighs. I was quivering. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to be that neighbor!

“Oh my God!” escaped from my lips.

My eyes rolled back into my head as Jean-Pierre’s tongue did a wicked dance on my most private girly parts. I was gasping. I couldn’t hold back.

“Please! OHMYWORD!”

I came with such intensity that I could not stop shaking. My legs felt like jello and would have given out from under me if I had attempted to stand. I could feel the juice of my orgasm soaking the bed.

He wasn’t done with me. He moved up my body, with his penis just hovering at the entrance to my portal. I eagerly awaited his plunge into me. He teased me instead by taking his sweet time entering me. Oh the agony! I wanted this beautiful man something fierce. I couldn’t help but gasp aloud when Jean-Pierre finally entered me. He paused for a moment, to allow my body to adjust to his size.

“Does it hurt? I do not wish to cause you any pain.” He whispered as he kissed my ear.

“No. I want you. I want to feel all of you.”

“I am not all the way in but you should only feel pleasure.”

I nodded. Jean-Pierre pushed the rest of the way in and rested a moment before continuing. He had a slow tantalizing rhythm once he was completely inside of me. I started to match his movements but he stopped me. This was his way of controlling his release.

“If you keep doing that, I will cum quickly. I don’t want that. I want to feel your orgasm around me first.”

I whispered, “do you want me to just lay here?”

“Oui, until I say.” He replied with a smile.

I held on to him as he drove into me tenderly. He came so hard that I felt it explode inside of me. Jean-Pierre laid on top of me, giving me soft kisses until he went soft. We fell asleep just as the sun came up.

The Chief, part 6

I wanted him in the worst way. How did this happen? How did I go from not being attracted to him to thinking about marriage? I decided right then and there that I was nuts. The pretentious and snobbish attitudes of my mother’s family would deter an idea of marriage between myself and someone who wasn’t white. Chief was not an European aristocrat. But then again, I never really cared what my family thought of men I dated. If dating is what you could call it. Just because some guy bought me dinner doesn’t make it a “date”. My friend Thea says those are “booty calls” with a public perk!

Half of this particular visit was spent in bed with Chief, the rest of the time I was hanging out. It was my time, although brief, until my actual vacation with Hannah’s girls. They had finally decided on Italy and I had everything booked. I was daydreaming about living someone else’s life when he interrupted my thoughts.

“Helloooo, where were you?” He grinned.

“Oh, um, uh, I was in lala land. You should know me well enough to figure that out.” I felt sheepish for not paying attention.

“I saw that. I hope it was good for you.”

“Nah, not nearly as good as being with you.” I got up and sat on his lap before giving him a kiss.

“Liar. You suck at lying.”

I was busted. I could tell as I stared into his dark brown eyes that it didn’t matter about the other guy in my head. If that other guy actually existed. As for the moment, Chief was the only one I wanted. I could tell the feeling was mutual as I dry humped him in the chair. I got up from his lap and knelt on the floor. His pants were tight but my expertise in undressing men allowed me to quickly free his manhood. I licked his lips before swallowing as much of him as I could take in my mouth. He leaned back into the couch and arched his back. He slid his hips down to make it easier for me work my magic. I learned how to perform oral sex from a gay friend when I was a teenager. My tongue was notorious for making men weak. If I hit it just right, most could lose their load on my command.

We had sex several times that weekend. My favorite kind of sex is “surprise sex”. I was asleep on my stomach in his bed when he slipped in from behind. I was in a dream-like trance and didn’t want to wake up. I moaned intently and I could feel his balls slapping against my clit. It drove me insane. What an incredible orgasm!

Weekends are short. Way too short and underrated if you ask me. I knew this was going to be the last time I would see him for a while. My boss called the day before I left to let me know I was going overseas for a while.

L'homme Français, la partie deux

I woke up early the next morning. I was looking forward to a day of peace and quiet after a trying week. I had some things that needed to be done but weren’t pressing. I laid in bed, debating upon how to start my day. Laundry needed to be done. Boxes needed to be unpacked. Life needed to be organized in general.

I decided my first order of the day would have to be some exercise. Otherwise I would just sit around all day. I hated that. I never had energy if I didn’t get some sort of exercise in. A run would be a perfect way for me to learn more about my new surroundings. I had to find my workout clothes and running shoes. Now which box is that stuff in? I scanned my note about which box was which. Found it! I ripped the box open and grabbed what I needed. I was out the door in less than 5 minutes.

My run took me along the Quai de Rive Neuve, the street that ran along the river. There are a lot of boutiques and restaurants along the waterfront. Traffic wasn’t heavy so it was easy for me to get lost in the music on my iPod as I ran. Until someone called my name from one of the cafés.

“Chelsea! Chelsea!”

I stopped dead in my tracks to see who was calling me. It was Jean-Pierre.
“Come, lovely. Have coffee with me,” he said.
“I need to finish my run. I have lots to do today.” I replied.
I kept bouncing in place to keep my momentum.
“Non, you shall stop and have coffee with me. I wish for your company today.” He insisted.
“I really cannot today. I have to do laundry, unpack, and organize my apartment.” I was begging for a way out of seeing this man today.
He gave me a sad pout with puppy dog eyes. “Ok, shall I call you later?”
“That would be fine. Good day!”

I continued on with my run. Don’t get me wrong, Jean-Pierre is an incredibly sexy man. Especially when he speaks in French. I have heard that French men are very passionate in everything they do. Especially in bed. This is one theory I was looking forward to. If anything, I could make Jean-Pierre my boy toy.

I rarely get obsessed with men but I was looking forward to Jean-Pierre’s call. I thought about him all day as I unpacked. I thought about what he did for a living, what he looked like without clothes, and what his lips would feel like as he kissed the inside of my thighs. Yes, I went there. I knew I was going to have a miserable weekend if I kept thinking about him though. I kicked myself for not telling him where I lived.

I took my sexual frustration out on unpacking and cleaning. Once I made a mess of the place, I knew I could work my OCD compulsion for organization to help relieve the frustration. An easier way to end my agony would be to find BOB. Who’s BOB? He’s my Battery Operated Boyfriend. Every girl must have one. Cucumbers are no match for BOB.

Unpacking and organizing lasted late into the night. I had lost all track of time until I heard a knock on the door. I froze. It was after midnight and I was not accustomed to people knocking on my door. My landlord was not awake at this hour so it certainly wasn’t her.

“Oui?” I nervously asked.
“Chelsea? It’s Jean-Pierre.”

I quickly opened the door for him and invited him in. How in the world did he find out where I lived? Was he stalking me? I had to know where to place him on my creep meter.

“I asked my cousin where you lived. I could not stop thinking about you all day, “ he said.
“That’s perfectly fine. Come in, find a seat.” I truly didn’t care that he was there and saw me in my sweaty state and the mess of my apartment.

“Shall I help you with anything?”

“Yes,” I breathlessly replied.