I had not heard from him since he moved back to Paris after college until just two months ago. He called and mysteriously invited me to come stay with him for a couple weeks. I accepted, thinking the change would be exciting. I had no idea how exciting it would be.
He picked me up at the airport and drove to his apartment. I was surprised that it was so small, but at least it had an extra bedroom, which he had been using as an office. We ate dinner that night at a small restaurant nearby and then he let me relax to unwind from the long flight.
“There are two girls I would like you to meet,” he said. “Both of them are friends of mine, and each is very different from the other.”
“Really?” I asked, “How so?”
“They have different attitudes towards life and sex but both are very sexual. I’ve told each of them about you.”
“You did?”
“Yes, but each does not know the other will meet you while you are here. I just wanted to show you the wide difference in women here compared to the United States.” He said.
“That sounds interesting,” I said, becoming more intrigued.
“Genevieve has an apartment not far from here, and we will meet her for lunch. If she likes you, we will move your things to her apartment for three days so you can get to know each other.”
“What if she doesn’t like me?” I asked, concerned.
“Don’t worry; I’ve given her the impression that you’re quite the perfect lover for a woman, and she has all but decided to accept you.”
I could hardly wait until lunch time. The café was on the sidewalk, like something from a French movie, and we only waited a few minutes before she arrived. Genevieve came walking down the sidewalk, smiling and waving as she saw Armand. She was petite, barely five feet tall and incredibly pretty, high cheek bones, a pert little nose, tight little lips, covered with just enough red lipstick to make her adorable.
She had short blond hair and blue eyes. Her silky dress flowed around her and danced around her legs as she walked up to us. She hugged Armand and then me, as though she knew me already. Her perfume sent erotic tingles through my body and her eyes sparkled as she smiled.
We sat and spoke over lunch and we talked more than ate. I learned that she studied ballet, which was her passion. She smiled at me repeatedly, as if she knew a secret about me. Her French accent was as delicate as her fingers which touched my hand too many times. I developed an erection early on during lunch. She asked very little about me, but as we were finishing our coffee, she slid a hand under the table on my thigh.
My eyes must have widened in surprise, but she was just asking a question. “What do you think of Paris? (she pronounced it Paree) Do you like what you’ve seen so far?”
I almost stammered like a schoolboy. “Yes, yes, I LOVE what I’ve seen so far!”
Her hand inched confidently upward and her fingers lightly closed over my erection, as though she knew it would be there. She looked at me without smiling and asked, “Would you like me to show you more?” Those delicate fingers squeezed ever so gently and I nearly whimpered.
I cleared my throat and answered confidently, “Yes, Genevieve, I would love that.” She withdrew her hand and winked at Armand.
Armand stood and excused himself. “I must run but I’ll bring your things to her apartment after dinner.”
As soon as Armand was out of sight Genevieve took my hand and we walked to her apartment. It was also tiny but beautifully decorated. Somehow we both understood what would take place and I let it happen. She seduced me in every way possible, audibly, visually and sexually. The way she dressed, the way she talked, the things she inferred drove me crazy.
All that afternoon she explored my body, teasing me with her hands and mouth until I begged, pleasuring me until I groaned with appreciation. She was incredibly oral, much to my liking, and we shared every possible pleasure between us until my energy was sapped. I had never had a woman physically drain me with repeated oral sex and it was exhilarating.
That night we went out on the town after dinner, drinking and dancing. When we returned, I noted that Armand had dropped off my luggage. That night Genevieve made love to me, slowly and sensually until we were both moaning with pleasure.
The next day was spent playing sexual games, to see who could last the longest. We took turns giving each other oral sex until we were out of breath and then culminated our lust in a sixty-nine session. That night we stayed out even later and made love even longer into the night. She seemed insatiable.
The last day we spent with more oral sexual games, to see who could make the other one come the most times. Naturally I expected to lose, and she was merciful, just masturbating me a little until she had come twice. I still lost the competition, willingly. That night, Armand came to take me and my luggage back to his place. Genevieve kissed me goodbye and invited me back.
On the way to his apartment, I told Armand that Genevieve wore me out. He laughed and said, “That’s why she’s not with any one man; she’s a nymphomaniac, Ben!” I believed him.
The next day Armand and I drove around Paris and visited the usual tourist attractions, and I enjoyed it. That night he told me about Justine.
“Justine is from the West Bank; quite different from Genevieve,” he said. “She is an athlete, a professional tennis player. There are lots of women on the circuit and many are lesbians, but she is not one of them, believe me.”
The next morning Armand drove me across town to meet Justine, at her apartment. She was definitely different from Genevieve. Justine was my height, with long dark hair, and brown eyes. Her upper body was well toned and more developed than Genevieve. She wore tennis shorts when we arrived and you could tell that her legs were those of a female athlete.
Armand had basically set up sex dates for me with these women, and neither did not seem to mind. I was eager to see what Justine was like. After Armand left her apartment, Justine and I had a drink and she jumped right to the chase. “Do you like to fuck?” she blurted out. I nearly choked on my drink.
Before I could answer, she said, “Because I like to fuck. Not make love, just fuck, you know?” Her accent and her bravado started something in my pants that I knew I would need soon.
“Yes, I do love to fuck,” I said boldly, “I like all kinds of sex.”
“Do you like kinky? Because I’m kinky,” she said, challenging me.