Je T'aime (I Love You)

Home-schooling has its advantages. For one, I have more control over my curriculum. Which means that as of today, I have already earned all the credits I need to graduate and can pretty much do whatever I want.

I decide to seriously pursue French, which will complement the International Relations degree I plan on earning. When I was young, I wanted to be a nurse like my mom. But then I was selected to participate in the Model United Nations Conference in New York City. For a week, I served on the UN Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC) proudly representing Ecuador.

I blaze through an online course then convince my parents that I need to study with a full-time native speaker. We try various websites but have no luck finding what I need. No matter, my dad comes to the rescue--he makes reservations at our favorite Bistro.

The owner greets us the way he always does; however, this time I surprise him with my newfound skill. He is delighted. After dinner (I went with the chicken confit -- yummo!), he brings over a coffee press and once he's poured our cups my dad broaches the subject.

While the owner ponders, I nervously chase the last remaining bite of dessert around my small plate. Then he smiles and tells us to wait right here. He disappears into the kitchen and is soon back with exciting news.

The chef has a cousin, who will be in town for a few months while he endeavors to secure a job at a university. Anyway, they just spoke on the phone...and if the particulars can be worked out, then I'll have my very own fulltime, dedicated teacher.

A few days later an interview is scheduled at our house. My heart flutters when the doorbell rings, then my mom tells me to go to my room, that they will call me down if he's a good fit. I try to protest (like shouldn't I be included from the start?) but my mom responds cryptically, "we just want to make sure it's not his eyes making this decision for him, now do what I say!"

I scamper upstairs. Time seems to crawl...then I hear my dad calling my name. I bound down the steps, then whirl into the kitchen to meet the well-dressed and quite-handsome (debonair!) Monsieur Darroze. He smiles, I notice he has kind eyes...

French Lessons

Learning a foreign language is challenging. To do so one-on-one with an instructor, 7 hours a day...binds the two of you intimately together. Not right away...it sneaks up on you...

We've only been together a month now but already I find myself living in two completely different worlds: my regular humdrum / my vibrant existence, where I am constantly discovering exciting new things--and this world has a population of just 2 souls...but it is thriving.

Monday-Thursday follows a similar pattern. 9am: we go over my homework while having breakfast, 10 am: grammar lesson, 11 am: reading, noon: vocabulary, 1 pm: conversational hour over lunch, 2 pm: current events, 3 pm: quiz & new homework.

Today is Friday though! Which means less structure and I get to pick and choose what we do. Earlier in the week, I had sketched out the day's events...so when I arrive, he is ready to go. Breakfast hour is all about him showing me how to make crepes. Not as easy as it looks...but he's a great teacher and soon I have the technique down.

Next, we move to all-things Football (soccer). I practically know nothing about the subject but it's clear to me that he is a huge fan. We change into shorts & t-shirts then head outside into the back yard.

We kick the ball around a bit; he shows me how to use the side of my foot so I'll have more control. Then he explains the header and we run a drill where he tosses the ball up at me and I smack it with my head. He laughs the whole time...

Okay, time for me to jog around his backyard a bit to build my endurance; he'll be right back. I feel like I'm about to drop by the time he returns with a pitcher of Iced Tea. It's so refreshing, not like anything I've had before. I ask and he explains it's black tea with honey, lemon, orange, vanilla, and mint--voila!

Finally, what I've been looking forward to most: he sets up an actual net and we take turns trying to make goals. He's so incredibly talented... I do manage to make a couple myself though!

Back inside, he tells me all about the French National Team and how they had just won the World Cup last year. He ushers me into the living room, turns on the TV and soon we are watching the final championship match (France vs Croatia) that he had actually taped on VHS. (I didn't even know you could do that.)

As the game begins he gives me a little background on all the players--I immediately choose #10 (Kylian Mbappe) as my champion. France scores the first goal then Croatia answers but then soon thereafter a penalty is called and France gets like a free kick against just the goalie and I'm on my feet screaming when the ball sails into the net to give France a 2-1 lead.

In the second half, doesn't take France very long to go up 3-1...but then, what I've been waiting for the whole game finally happens--a sudden pass to Mbappe and he is far away from the goal...but no hesitation, he kicks and it's like a canon just went off and the ball curves and goes right into the left corner of the net. I lose my mind and as we both come to our feet, I just fling myself up at him--and now my arms are up and over his shoulders while my legs are wrapped tightly around his waist. And he is jumping in a circle and I am bouncing up and down against him.

That's when it happens, like I suddenly feel this ache...down there...and my legs involuntarily squeeze him even tighter and even though he is now done with his celebration and is standing still...I continue to rub myself against him.

I have like literally glued myself to him...so he'd have to practically peel me off. He remains motionless...then a moan escapes my mouth directly into his ear. He gives me a shake.

I pull back to look him in the eyes--one thing is for sure immediately clear to him: though he hadn't done anything untoward, he had nonetheless awoken a hunger within me that had long laid dormant. I press my lips urgently against his...

He doesn't stop me but clearly isn't exactly reciprocating. Then he carries me over to his desk...I never break my kiss.

As soon as my butt is securely on the edge of his desk, I release his neck so I can grasp the sides of the desk in order to keep my balance. My ankles remain locked. I lean back, shoot him a look that I hope telegraphs how much I want this intimate togetherness to continue.

But instead of pouncing, he gently pulls me back into a sitting position and soon we are conversing in French again and the transition is so smooth that my feelings aren't hurt in the least. Eventually I just naturally crawl off the desk like nothing had ever happened.

Still, the final hour is becoming so excruciating because I still have this ache because something had happened. I had just kissed a real man; what else did I want to do with him? I remind him my mom will be here soon and is it okay if I use his shower real quick...because I'm still sweaty from our soccer practice.

He ponders then says the guest room has a connecting bathroom...so from here on out, I can consider those to be my rooms. I give him the biggest smile and thank him profusely before heading upstairs.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I hop on the bed and my hand now slides down my gym shorts and I begin to touch myself--finally! When I can no longer resist, I strip down to my underwear and begin to energetically hump my pillow as I lick the back of my hand. Remy, Remy!

I keep kissing him and riding him until I reach the heavens...then my entire body spasms...and...I have the most profound experience of my life.

I quickly shower then change back into my normal clothes. Then there's an awkward wait until my mom picks me up.

During the ride home, my mom asks if I'm feeling alright because my face is all flush. She would've been shocked if she knew the truth-- masturbation is a sin. But if she knew the reason for my pent-up lust was a man at least twice my age...she would've surely crashed the car.

Samantha

Early the next morning I call my next-door neighbor. We've been kinda friends for years, though she's older and went to the public school. My parents have never really liked her. One time, I heard my mom explaining to my dad that there was no way I was going to be allowed to go to the party I had been invited to. "That girl is a bad influence, only a matter of time before she gets knocked-up."

I explain that I'm in over my head here and really need her help. There's this guy...and he's the only thing I can thing about...but that I've never even had a boyfriend before. But, he's no boy...like he's at least twice my age...and I kissed him but he didn't like take it seriously.

Sam listens sympathetically then says she can help me if I'm sure... I gush, "he's the one."

Sam tells me all about her first time... that maybe it wasn't exactly mind-blowing but still, it was very special. They were young and didn't even have a clue as to what they were doing...and it didn't last that long.

I ask so many questions...she patiently answers...clearly, I have been sheltered. I tell her more about my Remy...how I feel when I'm around him and--

She cuts me off. "Look, just get over here already." I leave a note for my folks then head next door.

She tells me to leave my--what are those? Hiking boots? --at the door, then Sam leads me into her bedroom. We sit down in front of her make-up table. She tells me to study my face, I don't know where this is headed but I listen. Then I'm handed her high school yearbook: "leaf through those class photos there and tell me what you think."

I study then tentatively offer up an answer, "well, I can see they are all wearing make-up...and...I'm not. But I didn't know...nobody ever told me."

Sam: "Right...you're getting warm. Look, most girls need make-up...but not you...you are a natural beauty."

I just stare at her, no idea what to say. Thankfully she interrupts the awkward silence with the answer: "You're prettier than all of those girls...but you don't know...because you've never really been out in the real world. The truth is...you are adorable."

Me? No, like I'm sure she's just trying to make me feel better. But then she begins to be brutally honest with me to the point where I know she's not trying to protect my feelings.

Sam: "But, look at you...no sense of style whatsoever. Even today...are those cargo shorts? Plus, why are your socks pulled all the way up like that? Are you afraid to show even a little leg? And what's up with that baggy top? Do you even have breasts?"

Her observations sting...a tear rolls down my face.

Sam: "Trust me, I am going to help you."

She takes my hand and leads me into her bathroom so we can stand before the double-sink and gaze into the large mirror. A minute passes...maybe two...then Sam crosses her arms and grabs the hem of her shirt and lifts it over her head in one fluid motion and lets it drop to the ground.

I have no words; she is now totally topless and her breasts are staring back at me from the mirror. I realize how truly beautiful she is...then begin to understand why no man would be interested in me.

Sam steps behind me...reaches around and begins to unbutton my top. I freeze...like the paralyzing kind...then she pulls my shirt back over my shoulders and tosses it aside.

Sam: "Okay, seriously? Even my grandmother wouldn't be caught dead wearing a bra like that."

Then I feel her struggling at my back until it's completely unclasped and she lets it fall into the sink right in front of me. I'm embarrassed and go to cover up with my hands; she pulls me arms back to my sides.

Sam (whistling with approval): "Those are about the nicest tits I've ever seen...and trust me, I was a cheerleader."

Me: "No, they are...too small."

She stands behind me and reaches out to cup my breasts...

Sam: "Listen to me, bigger isn't always better. Let me tell you what I see. You have perky, playful tits...perfectly drawn areolas...the color is a delicious, delicate pink...and look at how your nipples capture the eye--they are like ripe berries."

I'm now instantly blushing; finally, I mumble "thanks."

She stands next to me again and begins to hop up and down so I can watch her breasts bounce. They are mesmerizing. Then she tells me it's my turn...and I shyly give it a go but even that's enough--I understand what she wants me to see.

Sam: "Okay, don't chicken out now. We're not done yet."

Then her shorts are tossed aside and I see that she is fully naked. My eyes grow wide when I notice how smooth her body is...like all over...then she turns to show off her behind.

I'm transfixed...then without warning she is tugging at my pants and soon I am also naked. She takes my hand and makes me twirl around so she can see what she is dealing with.

Sam: "Okay, let's start with the positives: your bubble butt--god, I just want to squeeze those cheeks!"

And then she does... facing me now, her arms wrap around my waist and each of her hands grabs one of my butt cheeks and she begins to squeeze and knead them. I must admit that I enjoyed the compliment.

Sam: "Let's get to the negatives...first we are going to shave your legs. Next, we are going to have to seriously shape up that bush."

Me: "We do?"

Sam: "Oh yeah, trust me... that's not a good look. And guys don't want to go down on that."

Me: "Go down?"

Sam: "Do you know anything?"

Me: "My mom hasn't told me nothing, I just figured it all falls into place on your wedding night."

Sam (tilts her head, like she's genuinely confused): "Doesn't matter...I'm your big sister now and you can count on me."

Next, she runs a bath for me...and I soak while she tells me all about the ways to capture a man's attention. She grabs one of my ankles and pulls my leg straight up out of the water and rests it on her shoulder. A pink can squirts pink foam and after slathering it all over my leg, she dips a pink razor into the bath, then begins to shave my entire leg. I watch her every move.

Now it's my turn... I raise my other leg and prop it against the wall...then I apply the cream and carefully shave short strips, followed by a dunk of the razor into the tub, then a few more strokes. When I'm finished, it's time to really get down to business--I stand with my feet spread far apart.

Sam uses a pair of small scissors and jokes the whole time about my wild, untamed wilderness... then when my hair has been trimmed, she carefully razors-away everything except a small patch above my...you know.

Sam: "They call that a 'landing strip' (giggles) it's like a runway...that will lead a plane into your terminal (giggles some more)."

I blush again and just shake my head in disbelief. Then it's into her large walk-in closet to pick out some sexy clothes.

Me: "No need wasting our time...my mom drives me there & back...no way she'd let me wear anything provocative."

Sam: "Don't be silly. You carry with you, change when you get to his house, change back before you head home. Mom does not need to know anything, nor do you need her approval."

I find myself nodding in agreement--Sam is wise, indeed. It takes a minute but soon she has put together several ensembles for me. I try one on, literally gasping as I look in the mirror.

Sam: "It's a simple white halter top, no bra...to really highlight your breasts and show off your bellybutton. A mini-skirt...remind me to give you a pair of pink satin panties...and then sandals which show off your pretty feet."

Me: "I don't know how to thank you. Like this is awesome and you've been amazing."

Sam (winking at me): "Just keep in touch with all the developments."

The Following Week

Monday comes and I chicken out. Tuesday is a repeat. I call Sam, she gives me much-needed encouragement.

Sam: "Trust me, he's more afraid of you then you are of him."

Me: "Afraid? Of...me? Why?"

Sam: "Look, it's the way men are hardwired... first, they think about sex all the time. So, your teacher has surely already fantasized about taking you every which way."

Me: "Taking me...where?"

Sam: "You know...like fucking you. He must think about that all the time. In fact, I bet as soon as you leave his house, he is jerking himself silly."

Me: "That's crazy talk... he's like older... very professional."

Sam: "Uh-huh. Look, you just put that outfit on and flirt with him...be yourself...but like more confident than you usually are."

The next day, I am finally ready...

As I enter his house, I hear him holler from the kitchen--he is already making our breakfast. I duck into my guest bedroom to change into my steamy outfit. I look in the mirror and give myself a pep talk. Then I take a deep breath and walk to him.

Me: "Bonjour, Monsieur Darroze."

He turns...then, dumbstruck, he drops the spatula he is using to make our quiche onto the floor. I can see he is clearly embarrassed, then he regains his composure. He picks up the spatula, rinses it off in the sink, and goes back to tending the frying pan.

I take my seat at the table then, with his back still turned to me, I slide my spaghetti straps down, then wiggle until my breasts are fully on display. After he has plated our meal, he turns and approaches. I watch his eyes; his eyes are glued to my chest.

We make small talk as we eat...gravity becomes my friend and soon my nipples are clearly the only thing holding my top up. He doesn't exactly know what to say, how would he bring this to my attention anyway? I just keep smiling and acting oblivious but his eyes are now clearly betraying him. This is a first for me...and I begin to enjoy my newfound power.

I compliment him on the meal, he smiles then begins to clear the table as I head into the living room to prepare for the morning lesson. I put my top back into place but after sitting, I pull my already-short skirt up even higher so that he'll have a nice view of my girly, pink, satin panties.

He takes the seat opposite me. I watch his eyes; his eyes are focused between my legs. I launch into my book report. (okay, I read a children's book...but there were some difficult words!) His eyes bounce up and down the entire time. I finish, he doesn't respond...I clear my throat, he snaps out of his daze to say, "well done."

We conjugate verbs -- future tense. I continuously bend this way and that to hold his attention to where it needs to be. Next up: I pull out my writing book. He says a sentence then I write it down. A couple pages later, we are finished but instead of handing him my tablet I walk over then kneel down in front of him. He stares at me; I offer up my work.

He skims my translations...then nods with approval. "Nicely done."

I remain on my knees, innocently looking up at him while bending forward. He stays seated, with a fixed-gaze down my shirt.

I insist on making lunch -- my specialty: the croque monsieur (basically a fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwich). The tantalizing scent of thyme wafts throughout the kitchen. I can see he is already being swayed...then I drop (okay, I tossed it) my turner utensil.

I walk over, turn so he has a full view of my backside...then I slowly bend down. My skirt rises--I can't see him, but I know--he is now staring at the small gap between my upper thighs...and the pink fabric barely concealing my flower bud.

Yeah, another move that Sam had taught me.

He has a voracious appetite and makes all kinds of appreciative noises. I ask for a grade; he says that was an A+ effort. We return to the living room.

We go over the latest from French newspapers (Le Monde, Le Figaro, La Croix). The Yellow-Vest demonstrations against President Macron are continuing; the police are responding with tear gas and arresting scores of protestors.