La Première Fois

La Première Fois

By Dawn R

The things I learn on our first family holiday in the South of France

From the first encounter I was aware of his eyes roving over me with an undisguised delight as he spoke to my parents. We were on vacation at the little village where had rented a 'gite' about twenty kilometres South of Narbonne. My parents had rented it for almost the whole of July. I think they assumed they would be part of a small community of like-minded Brits but the 'gite' was actually quite isolated.

We were quite close to the sea, only a fifteen-minute drive from a small but beautiful Mediterranean beach. The beach was narrow and less than a hundred yards in length made up of smooth oval rocks not much bigger than snowballs. What made it beautiful was its intimacy with the cliffs on each side and the dazzling clarity of the sea water as the beach shelved steeply to a depth of about twenty feet or more only a yard or so from the shore.

My parents had been thrilled to meet Charles in the local super Marché on our second day. Someone pointed him out as an ex-pat, even though he had lived here so long most locals treated him as one of them. His French was fluent with accentless. Even the intonation and cadence of his speech was indistinguishable from theirs. He even introduced himself as 'Charles' pronouncing it the way the French did.

The best thing about the beach was that it was only accessible down the footpath that led to a villa nestled into the cliff. In theory the beach was public like all French beaches but was only accessible by boat unless like us you had permission to go through the patio and descend the last fifteen steps. It turned out that Charles was the owner of the villa and after inviting us to join him for an aperitif that very evening, he quickly made it clear we had that permission. There weren't any paddle boards in sight, maybe he had one in the house. There was a pontoon raft with a ladder anchored about fifty feet out, but still within the shelter of the cliffs.

As we sat under an awning on his patio, he and my mum drinking Cinzano, me with the glass of rosé they allowed me, and Dad with a Scotch, he explained he was an artist. He was about fifty, a few years older than my parents and I could tell my mother was completely taken with him. He looked lean and fit; it would be an understatement to say he was good-looking. I was sure he knew it, although nothing in his behaviour suggested it. It's just that I have had my fill of arrogant narcissists. They seem to pop up wherever I go. My school is full of them.

He was just shy of six feet tall with strong masculine features, a closely trimmed beard and a touch of grey in his full head of hair, unlike my already ever so slightly balding Pops. He usually wore short-sleeved cotton shirts that were so sheer you could see through them. He had light hairs on his upper chest; a thin line of them ran down to his navel and beyond vanishing into the waist of his tan linen trousers.

Mum was blushing and simpering like a teenager as he complimented her on her figure. She does look good for someone her age, slim and exuding good health. People often mistakenly assume she's in her mid-thirties, not almost a decade older.

"You're far too young to be her mother," they would say, looking at me. I already looked to be a few years older than my years, in a good way. The artist didn't say any of these things although his compliments implied as much. In fact, he didn't remark on me at all. He virtually ignored me, although I sensed he was almost licking his lips every time he glanced in my direction. My mother continued to hang on his every word and was unusually animated. After we left and returned to the gite she must have found at least three opportunities to say how lucky we were in meeting him and what a charmer he was.

As I lay in bed that night, I heard noises from their room. Although I'm aware they still do it on a reasonable regular basis they normally keep it pretty quiet. Tonight, I found myself wondering if spending time with Charles had aroused fantasies in Mum that were causing the extra excitement. I fell asleep chuckling to myself.

So, every day in our first week if the weather was nice, which was almost a given, we would drive over there in our rented Peugeot. Sometimes we came in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. We'd swim, hang out on the raft or sit and read. He said we were welcome to sit on his patio, so we did; the stones on the beach could get uncomfortably hot once the sun got above the cliffs. Occasionally he would invite us for lunch, and we'd stay the whole day. Charles was often out and, if he were there, he would spend most of his time in his studio painting. We were aware he had an older couple come and sit on three occasions, while he completed a painting of them. He explained this was a commission, an important part of his livelihood. There was also a girl a few years older than me who we saw arrive once and enter the studio. Later he explained, she was his regular model.

At the beginning of the second week, he invited us into his studio and showed us a couple of examples of his work. After as he stood discussing some aspect of French politics or the economy with my parents, I looked through some mounted canvases that were stacked against the wall. I flicked through various beach scenes and what I took to be local landmarks, efficiently executed. No doubt stuff that sold well to tourists. He exhibited in a gallery in town as well as ones in Narbonne and Perpignan. The next one I revealed was of this girl in the nude and the pose was hardly discrete. I felt my body's reaction instantly. If this were a photo I'd call it porn. My nipples jutted and I felt a distinctly warm tingle in my groin. I looked at the next one and there she was again although this pose was more modest. There was third but also modest.

I caught Charles glancing over at me, and I smiled and tried not to blush, as I tidied them. His glance did not linger; he continued his explanation. He always talked to us in English, which had taken on a slight French intonation, as he was so unused to using it. At first, I suspected it was an affectation but eventually I realized it was a reality of his living here. It seemed I always made bad assumptions about him.

After those early days I wanted to do something different. My parents wanted to visit Toulouse which was about a two-hour drive. Really not what I had in mind. I asked if we could go to the waterpark in Narbonne instead. My dad was keen, but mum was not.

"I'd rather just go to the beach if you don't mind. I've got a good book I'm trying to finish," she said, "You could drop me off before you go and pick me up on your way back. I'll take a sandwich not to bother Charles, if he's there."

So that's how it went. Dad and I had fun at the waterpark. He loved the fact that some women went topless in the pools and on the slides. I loved it when we went down the high slide. I almost lost my top halfway down and then just hung on to it. By the time we reached the bottom I practically had to pull my thong out of my pussy before too many people saw. Meanwhile Dad was also bemoaning his painful wedgie. I stuck my top in my daypack and continued to blend in with the other topless babes.

Dad did a doubletake but didn't say a word even when we sat down together to eat a hotdog. I must say that really impressed me. I doubt Mum would have been as tolerant. When we got back to Charles' villa we found he and Mum chatting quietly while drinking Dubonnet on the patio. They wanted to hear all about our adventure, and we gave them the bowdlerized version before Mum said it was time we were getting home.

When Dad and Mum said they really wanted to go to Toulouse a few days later, I took a leaf from Mum's book and said I would prefer to spend my time at the beach. Mum called ahead to make sure that would be okay with Charles and said they'd drop me off at nine. When they dropped me off the following morning, it was actually about ten-to.

Mum's parting words were, "Be sure not to disturb Charles if he's trying to work," and I said I wouldn't.

I hurried down the path, across the patio and started down the steps. That's when I saw that Charles was in the water snorkeling. He was clearly naked and with his head down did not see me.

What should I do? There was no one else around. I did not know how long he might keep swimming so after some hesitation I continued down to the beach. After a couple of minutes his head popped up and he looked at the watch on his wrist and began to move swiftly towards the shore. That's when he saw me. Because the beach shelved so steeply there was no where for him to stand until he was knee deep in the water and fully exposed.

He didn't make a show of covering himself. He just smiled and said, "You're early."

"A minute or so."

"Give me a minute," he said stepping from the water and going a few steps to pick up his towel.

"Just finishing my morning swim," he continued, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you but I rarely wear anything in the water. It feels freer without."

I wondered whether I should follow his lead, but it would mean taking off the swimsuit I was already wearing. Although I was tempted, for it would be fun, I thought it would be... well, a little forward. I certainly did not want to embarrass him or having him rat me out to my parents as a budding nympho.

"I quite understand. Sorry to drop in early." I glanced at my watch it was almost a quarter after nine. Had I really been early by the time I got down to the beach or did the pervert want me to see him naked? Immediately I thought, "There you go making bad assumptions again."

It was the first time I had seen a grown man totally naked even if only briefly. Everything seemed to be where I would have expected. What did strike me most was how lean and sinewy his tanned body was. There were no visible tan lines, or barely any (unintentional pun). I pulled my sundress over my head in such a way that I could watch his reaction, but he showed no reaction as he saw what I was wearing. It was a rather ordinary one-piece, not even one of my bikinis. Did I hope to see a flicker of disappointment? If so, I was the one who was disappointed. I was sure he had looked desirously at me that first day. At school people thought I was hot, and I just didn't expect him to think my body to be just ... ho-hum. Had I projected that lustful look on to him? I didn't think so.

Men of fifty still had pervy thoughts, didn't they? Just not as often as people my age. I thought of my dad enjoying the bare breasts at the waterpark, just everyday stuff for the locals, but definitely a little erotic for my dad. I must admit as I had slid down one of the slides on my knees my nipples were almost painfully hard whether from the rush of cool air brushing by them or the rush of naughty excitement or a combination.

"I have spare snorkels and masks if you want," he interrupted my train of thought. As I returned to the present, he dropped the towel to pull on some shorts and once more showing me his flaccid penis. It didn't seem that remarkable, maybe four inches or so, but I had no experience to judge by. Despite taking art in school, I had never been exposed to nudity in the flesh, only in statues or paintings and everyone said the penises in those were always understated. I did remember a photo of a Greek satyr with an oversize erection that made us all giggle, even the boys.

I had never snorkeled and was quite intrigued to try, especially as the water was so warm and clear.

"Have you snorkeled before?"

"No, but I'd like to try."

He walked to a small metal cupboard by the foot of the steps and came back with a mesh bag full of various items.

"Here's a mask to try." I put it on, and it fit fine. "Here's a snorkel. Take off the mask and attach the snorkel. You won't need fins. I've watched you swim."

When I had attached the snorkel, he said, "now, spit in the mask and rinse it around. I have a spray at the villa but split works to keep you mask clear."

I did as he said and then put on the mask and placed the snorkel in my mouth.

"Now just breathe normally through the snorkel and get in the water."

I did as he said but for some reason, I quickly came up coughing.

"Keep looking down so your snorkel sticks straight up. It has a valve to stop water getting in but that also cuts off your air. Would you like me to show you?"

I nodded and without hesitation he reached for his snorkel and dropped his shorts. By the time he got in I was already getting the hang of it. We swam out a bit and he pointed out various small fish. On the bottom there were starfish and evil-looking black sea urchins that stuck to rocky outcrops. As we swam through the water he was in front of me and I was taken with the effortless was he moved, like a well muscled machine.

I also took the opportunity to look at it more closely. It hung down and brushed his body as he swam. I don't know if he was aware of my gaze, but it seemed to bob a little and thicken slightly. He stopped and trod water facing me.

"God, I would love to paint him!" I guess I wasn't looking down enough for suddenly my air was cut off and I panicked. Treading water like crazy I pulled up the mask and gulped air. Charles was immediately beside me, and I felt his nakedness against me as he supported me in the water.

"Enough for now," he said and led me back to the shore. Once there he pulled on his shorts without stopping to towel dry. "Pity!" I thought, as I would have like to see if he had grown. I thought I had felt it bump against my thigh as he held me. I tried to put these lascivious thoughts from my head.

"Would you like a coffee?" he asked.

"I would," I said, as I followed him up the steps with my sundress tucked under the arm that still clutched the mask and snorkel.

"Have you always been an artist?" I asked as he waited for the cafetiere. I was intrigued as I had never seen coffee made this way.

"I was always interested even at school. But I joined the navy when I was eighteen. Later I served for about nine years in the SBS from the mid-1990s to the early 2000s, latterly as an instructor. Do you know what the SBS is?"

"Special Boat Service, kind of like the SAS but in the water," I ventured.

"That's right, fun stuff, but I can't give you details."

So, Charles was almost a James Bond. It certainly fit with his image.

"I used to sketch all the time when we weren't active. The lads used to tease me about it. When I left, I went to Art college for two years and then I moved here. I quickly got a reputation locally and through sales and commissions and my pension I do okay."

That's when I noticed a pale scar from below his neck to below his shoulder blade. Its lighter white colour stood out in the sunshine.

"What about that?" I asked, pointing?

"Hazards of the job, I was lucky. End of story."

As we drank our coffee, he asked, "What about you? What's a lively young thing doing with her life?"

"I wasn't crazy about the 'lively young thing' designation, but I just answered, "Believe it or not I'm also going to Art College."

"Oh, yes, your mother told me that was what you hoped for."

"I'd like to paint you," I said boldly, thinking, "Where did that come from?" as soon as I'd said it.

"Would you?" was his reply.

"Yes, and I'd like you to paint me." I looked towards the studio, which was just a partition with a door, part of the open concept spacious ground floor. Despite the partition wall it shared the same floor-to-ceiling glass front onto the patio as the rest of the place, so there was lots of natural light

"You couldn't afford it," he laughed.

"Not a commission, just using me as a model."

"I saw you looking at my canvases. I paint nudes. Would you pose nude for me?"

"Yes, but only if you pose for me."

"Nude."

"That or in swim trunks."

"Nude, it is," He said, smiling, "Deal?"

"Deal!" I said, "but don't tell my parents."

We both sat in silence for a moment digesting what we'd just said. At least, I knew I was. I couldn't quite believe I had been so bold, but I was glad I had.

"Do you want to swim again? No snorkeling, just swimming."

"Sure, but I might put this on," and I pulled out a white UPF-rated t-shirt from my bag. I could feel my shoulders had been catching the sun.

He watched as I slid my arms out of the one-piece straps and pulled on the t-shirt. Then I peeled off the swimsuit. I wanted him to see I was not frightened to be nude, although in it scared me almost as much as it excited me. The t-shirt covered me to the tops of my thighs.

His only comment was, "Wear your Crocs," as he got up and started down the steps.

As soon as his feet hit the stones, he dropped his shorts and continued to the water's edge. There he turned and looked back at me and almost subconsciously I pulled down the hem of my shirt.

"Was he bigger?" I wondered. It was hanging out a little from his body. He caught my glance and turned, took one step and dived deep into the water. I kicked off my Crocs and followed him in. I swam out strongly past the shelter of the cliffs and immediately saw a wide swath of coastline. I returned to the shelter of our cove and swam around feeling the heat of the sun on my body, glad I was wearing the shirt. Charles was swimming back and forth as if doing lengths in an imaginary pool not paying me the slightest attention.

I stopped swimming, took a deep breath and let myself roll over face down. I began to count slowly and every so often I let a little breath escape. I was close to two hundred when I felt Charles grab my shoulder and spin me over. I exhaled with a loud gasp as I took in fresh air and clung to his shoulders smiling.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Just seeing how long I could hold my breath," I replied innocently as I let my now upright body sway against his.

"Are you teasing me? Don't do that!"

He sounded anxious but still had his arm around my waist.

"You weren't worried?" I said questioningly.

"You were face down in the water."

"It's so clear you can see almost everything without a mask."

Finally, I sensed movement from around our waists. He must have sensed it too for he held me a moment longer and then pushed away saying, "As long as you're all right."

I smiled although he had turned away and I swam back to shore. I got out and began to move up the beach carrying my Crocs. After a couple of steps, I realized my feet were no longer protected by a film of water and the stones were really hot. I quickly put on my Crocs before continuing. Charles lingered a few moments before getting out, but his thickened cock was now pointing out from his body at about a thirty-degree angle, definitely bigger than the flaccid version. I was delighted, at least now I knew he wasn't impervious to me however much he tried to hide it.

He pushed his feet into his espadrilles and came after me.

"I guess you think that was funny?"

"What?" I replied innocently, and he let it go.

Up on the patio in the shade of the awning I pulled my shirt over my head. Now for the first time I was as naked as him. I climbed on one of the bar stools, took a beaker and ran some water from the tap. I drank greedily. He came over and reached for a beer, uncapped it and drank from the bottle.

"You are quite the piece of work. I can't wait to paint you."

"Me neither, but lunch would be nice."

He laughed.

Half an hour later we sat on fresh towels on opposite sides of the table eating his version of a salad Nicoise and sipping an icy rosé wine. My parents would die if they had seen me, but they wouldn't be back for hours.

We talked about all kinds of stuff: books, music, movies and painting. There were lots of things he referenced that meant nothing to me and more I mentioned that meant nothing to him, but our conversation still flowed. It was when we came to painting that our zeitgeist connected.

We liked a lot of the same artists from the renaissance to certain impressionists and had little respect for anyone after Picasso, Braque and Dali. I even realized I was now totally unaware of our nudity. It wasn't even an issue. So maybe it was true that people could just hang on nude beaches without any arousal. Me and my friends had never believed it.

I declined coffee but accepted a green tea and then we looked at each other.

"Do you want to start?" he said nodding towards the studio. I wasn't sure if he meant me painting him, or he painting me, but I said, "you first," and left him to figure it out.

When we got to the studio it was clear he intended to paint me, which I suspect was always his intention. He moved the daybed out from the wall and had me lie on it. He left me to choose a pose and remembering his model I pulled over a couple of large cushions and lay back against them with and my legs spread before me. To be a little more provocative I bent my left knee so that all my treasures were on view.

He neither commented nor moved to adjust the pose to something more modest. Instead, he continued to prepare his materials. He was still naked, and I could see he was not entirely oblivious of my pose. He sat himself on a high stool in front of his easel and began to work.

If I had been totally unconscious of my nudity when we were talking, I was super conscious of it now and wondered whether such a pose was a smart choice. Not that it was a difficult one to maintain, nothing easier but each time he glanced over my heart began was pounding.

I asked myself, "Why do I trust this guy and what is he thinking?"

After what seemed a long time, I asked, "Can I talk?"

"Apparently so," he replied laughing, "Talk away as long as you don't change position."

Suddenly I didn't know what I wanted to say.

"Interesting choice of pose. Are you trying to shock me? I don't shock easily, and I've seen it all, although you are kind of special."

That meant a lot to me.

"You remind me of a film star, one before my time but who is still fondly remembered here in France. Of course, she was a blonde."

"Brigitte Bardot?" I said with a slight question mark.

"You've heard of her."

"Yes, I haven't seen her movies, but I've seen photos. I think she was more... but facially, I always thought I saw a resemblance. I don't think anyone else did."

"Well, I do. You're right she had a little more in the hips, slightly fuller tits, but you've got time. Also, you are taller.

"How tall was she?"

"About five foot five, I think. You are five eight, an excellent height."

He was pretty much dead on. "Fuck me!" I thought, and it made me laugh, and then my next thoughts were, "Don't rush it. Be careful what you wish for."

Then I was quiet again and I relaxed further into the cushions, but he didn't comment.

"Wake up, it's almost five-thirty." Your parents should be getting back soon.

It took me a minute to gather myself. I was still naked on his day bed with my legs spread. "Why had I fallen asleep? Was it the wine or the sun?"

I pulled myself together and climbed off the bed which Charles pushed back against the wall. He was now dressed in his usual tan pants and a smart shirt.

I pulled underwear from my pack and quickly put it on before pulling my sun dress on over it. I went to the loo and after a pee I combed my hair into some kind of order and applied some makeup. Twenty minutes later as we sat playing cards my parents showed up.

"I hope Violet hasn't been a nuisance," were my Mum's opening words, and I saw my dad give a little shudder. It sounded as though I was a five-year old.

"No Indeed. I have been able to get on with my work. We had a nice chat over lunch, really, she can come any time."

"That's good to hear. Would you like to be our guest for dinner I hear the restaurant's quite good, and we've eaten in every night."

"Yes, it is quite good. I should be delighted, if you're sure you're not too tired after your long day."

"No, we're good. How about you Violet?"

"Actually, I had a nap, so I'm good."

Dad looked stoic as Mum carried on. He was the one who had had to do all the driving. Mum and I can drive, but it's not allowed by the rental agreement.

"Is it too early?"

"Can I offer you an aperitif and I'll call and let them know we're coming around seven."

"Perfect!"

The meal was excellent, but I could tell Dad was itching to get home as he had declined any drinks. As we drove home, I realized I had no idea how the painting had gone.

The following day we went to check out some of the areas close to our gite. In particular, I loved the picturesque little town of Collioure with its narrow streets and beach by the church and the Fort. The beach was very crowded, but we sat down anyway. Many of the women were topless and after a bit I quietly removed my top. I waited for a reaction from Mum, but she surprised me by removing her own. She just looked at me and smiled. Well, how about that? I looked at Dad and he grinned. Maybe he had told Mum about our time at the water park.

We were passing another beach on our way back, when Mum said, "Why are we in such as hurry. It's a nice day, let's just stop here. Dad pulled into the parking, and we made our way to the beach. Near the First Aid station it was clear there were two sides to the beach. On our left everyone had swimsuits, and on the right, they were mostly nude.

"This is different," said Mum, "it's a nude beach. You remember Tom we always used to wonder what being on one would be like. Now's our chance to find out. You don't mind, do you Violet?"

I too had often wondered what being on a nude beach would be like, but I hadn't expected it to be with my parents. Dad seemed more gobsmacked than I was, and I filled the silence by saying, "Sure, if you want to."

"Was this Mum's mid-life crisis?" I'd been stunned when she went topless earlier. "Was she now going to bare it all?"

We grabbed our beach bags. She led the way, I followed, and Dad came along after us. After we'd walked about fifty yards Mum dropped her bag on the sand and spread out her towel. As I did the same, she removed her top just as she had earlier. Then she unbuttoned her skirt and shimmied out of her underwear. She grinned at me, and said, "This is fun."

"Would wonders never cease?" I thought as I stripped off everything and quickly sat down.

"Tom dear, get undressed would you and put some lotion on me"

My dad did so reluctantly and looked embarrassed as he bent to apply sunscreen to my mum's bare back.

"Sorry dear, I'll stand up," said Mum, "that will make it easier," and she did so. I noticed her pubes were neatly shaved to a little triangle rather than the full bush I'd seen her with in the bath at home. Of course, she would shave, she was coming on a beach holiday. I remembered when she first helped me. I think I was fourteen at the time.

Then couldn't help noticing that as he helped her, my dad's embarrassment had caused his willy to rise and grow a little sticking out almost straight. I'd seen my mum naked before, but never my dad. His cock was now about the size of Charles' flaccid one, about the length of my iPhone 13 mini, more or less. There was something disturbing but rather cool about seeing it. I tried to imagine him sticking it in mum and then quickly stopped. "What kind of perv am I?"

Someone came and offered us chairs and an umbrella, and I was glad we got one as the sun was very hot. We stayed about an hour and a half and nobody paid us any attention, I got up and went for a walk. Lots of variety on view, quite interesting, I mainly scoped out the guys, I'd seen plenty of girls of different shapes and sizes at school. When I returned, Mum just said, "That was brave!" and I just sort nodded a grunt. Then we got dressed, packed up, and went home. So much for our first nude beach experience. Mum chattered on about nothing in particular, and Dad was as silent as the grave, no doubt wondering what was going on.

As far I could tell he got some good sex out of it that night and again in the morning. That was unusual. This holiday had kicked mum's libido up a couple of notches.

"Good for her! and him," I thought as I lay thinking about getting up for my shower. I was having fun but not as much as them, and I began to rub myself. Thoughts of Charles and his semi erect cock filled my mind. I hadn't seen it fully erect yet.

"Had Mum?" Where did thought come from? I stopped rubbing for a moment and as I began again, I imagined my mum swimming naked with Charles. I couldn't stop... thinking or imagining. As my climax got closer, she was on her knees on the rocks giving him a blowjob... then she was on the day bed and he was with her preparing to enter. As he did, I had the most violent orgasm of my life.

"Shit, that was good," I thought, "Who could imagine that perving about your mum could be so much fun?"

I almost laughed out loud and had to stifle it. "After all, this was my mum, never going to happen."

The day after that the weather changed the temperature dropped and a coldish wind brought rain. The local weather forecast on the television called this a 'mistral noir.' We sat in our gite read books, played cards and dominoes and watched my downloaded movies through the smart tv. On the third day Dad and I decided we should go to Perpignan. Although we had passed through it, we had not yet spent time there. It was not much further than Narbonne. Mum surprised us by calling Charles and asking if she could come and read her book at the villa just for a change of scenery. There was a chance it would warm up, so she took her beach bag and a towel.

We dropped her off and continued into the town. It's an attractive town. First, we went to the art gallery and then while Dad went to the bank and whatever, I went to check out shops for new swimsuits and picked up two that were on sale. The first was a one piece, a high-cut rich red clinging lycra, no padding, that came with a detachable neck strap. I loved it.

The other was a sheer very pale chartreuse bikini. The bottoms were also high-cut, and what material there was, was unlined and sheer, attached to a cord tied on one side. It was not a thong as such, but this arrangement allowed the front and/or the rear to be moved wider or narrower on the cord and the lycra-blend was not wide to begin with either front or back. At its broadest it would just provide a minimal coverage; at its narrowest it could be like a ribbon up the butt and possibly not fully cover my pussy lips, so daring. Furthermore, when I tried it on, it was translucent giving a pretty clear idea of what was beneath it. I imagined that when wet it would be transparent revealing all. I loved this one even more, although I wasn't sure when I would wear it and if I had the bravado to carry it off.

When I came out the sun was shining and there was real warmth in the air. I guess the bad weather was done. I went to the brasserie where we'd agreed to meet to find Dad waiting. He was slowly sipping on a glass of beer. We enjoyed a pleasant lunch and having no more to do, we headed back.

The patio gate was locked, and Mum had taken our key. We pressed the bell, waited and pressed again. Charles came out dressed in his shorts and a golf shirt and said, "Hello, back from your trip to town. Perpignan is such a delightful city. Violet, I see you've done some shopping. Please come on in and he held the gate open. I think Jennifer is having a nap."

Sure enough, when we turned the corner there was Mum in her swimsuit lying under the awning with her eyes closed, her open book on her lap. The suit was pulled over her breasts, but the straps hung loose under her armpits.

"She was reading most of the morning but when the sun came out, she went for a swim," Charles said in a low voice. I noted he said she and not we, but I wondered.

"We shared a bottle of rosé for lunch."

At that point Mum stretched, suppressed a yawn, and said, "Goodness, I fell asleep. What time is it?"

Dad looked at his watch and said, "Three-fifteen." He looked questioningly at Mum, and I saw her give him a little smile, as she said, "I've been asleep over an hour. How unlike me!"

She was right about that. I have never known my mother to take an afternoon nap.

I looked at her open book and her reading glasses in their case.

"You probably fell asleep reading" I said, wondering how, if she had nodded off, had her glasses got into the case.

"I must have, she agreed, "Are you going to show us what you bought?"

"Later. I left in in the boot of the car."

"Do you want to swim?" asked Charles.

"Don't have a suit," said Dad.

"Can't lend you one, but you don't need one on my account," said Charles, "you'll be quite private."

"How about you?" Mum asked me, "Have you a swimsuit?"

I figured my new one-piece would work.

"In the car," I said and took the keys from Dad, who was still looking hesitant, as I bounded up the path.

I unwrapped it not touching the other package and hurried back down to the patio.

"You wanted to see what I got. It's a one-piece. Can I go in the studio to put it on?"

"Of course, just don't touch things."

As soon as I closed the door, I took a quick glance around. The day bed was shoved against the wall, but the one of the cushions had fallen to the floor and the cover was rumpled and folded over. I wanted to go to look at the canvases, but they would see me through the glass.

"Was Mum in the middle of posing when we arrived?" I wondered, remembering my fantasy. "Would she be nude? Would she do that? Surely, she wasn't paying for a commission?" My mind was working overtime as I slipped off my shorts and shirt and put on the one-piece carefully attaching the neck strap that made sure it stayed up, although I didn't think it was necessary. I slipped my trainers back on without bothering with socks.

"We didn't bring towels?" I added.

"Plenty of those." Charles threw a couple at me.

Mum grabbed Dad's hand and said, "If it will help, I'll go skinny too," and she led the way down the steps. Her suit stayed up despite the dangling straps. Dad followed still fully dressed and I brought up the rear.

"Will you join us, Charles?" Mum shouted over her shoulder as we stepped on to the rocks.

"Nothing to wear," he shouted back.

Mum turned to look at me. "Would that bother you?"

"No, not in the least! Just like the beach... but if everyone's going to skinny, why am I getting my new suit wet. All I'm all I'm going to see are old guys, no young jocks. I don't think it's going to traumatize me." I detached the neck strap and rolled down the top of my one-piece.

"Don't be shy." Mum yelled back at Charles.

"As long as you're sure."

"Come on Tom," said Mum to Dad, "Don't be a slowpoke."

He was pulling off his shirt but still looked apprehensive. He unbuckled his belt, undid the fly and slid his trouser to his ankles, only his Y-fronts remained. My swimsuit was off, and I moved swiftly to the water's edge before removing my trainers. Then I took two steps and dived.

I swam a few strokes and when I turned back Mum was standing at the water's edge looking back at the villa. Dad had folded his pants inside his trousers and was stepping gingerly into the water.,

Be careful, Dad, it's steep," I said, knowing the drop was much more abrupt than the beach. I needed have bothered he stepped down carefully and launched himself into the water. When I looked up, I saw Charles coming down the steps. His tan slacks were already hanging over the patio rail and his cock was swinging before him. His hand gave it a careless... what? an unconscious wank, as he reached the bottom step. Mum was looking and I saw her smile, give a shake of her head, and enter the water. Then I realized that I was smiling too. Shouldn't read anything into that. Once Charles was in the water, we all swam around. I swam out to the raft, climbed the ladder and sat

down. Mum came next and then Charles. Finally, Dad joined us. The men sat facing us both looking mildly aroused, and I realized in this state Charles' was definitely thicker and about two inches longer. What would happen if they got erections? I stood up with my puss pointed right at them. No reaction. I absent-mindedly scratched my crotch but nothing, so I dived back not the water.

Frankly, I was bored. I heard them talking as I swam towards the shore and then they all laughed at some story my dad was telling. It seemed he had finally relaxed. As I lay on my back and floated, I wondered about their difference in size. Everybody knew about the question of whether size matters. I'd first read an article about it in one of mum's old Cosmopolitans years ago and views were very divided on the issue, citing technique and emotional connection as being more significant factors. It was intriguing. I wondered if Dad noticed the difference and what he thought. I'm sure Mum noticed, just like I did.

Just then they all arrived back and began to get out; so, I did too. We grabbed our towels, all except Charles who, of course, had not brought one. He carried his shorts as he and his taught naked butt led the way across the stones and up the steps. I noticed the heat in the stones did not bother him. I guess his feet just got calloused from walking on them.

Three days later the heat had really built up and Mum and Dad suggested we go to Arles. Did I mention our gite did not have air conditioning only ceiling fans. This would be another two-hour drive. They said it would be pleasanter in our air-conditioned rental. Once again, I declined and said I'd rather stay home. As soon as they left, I called Charles and asked if it would be too much trouble to come over and pick me up. He said he'd be delighted to do so in about thirty minutes. We were only ten minutes away. If it weren't so hot, I'd have walked.

When we got to the villa all the glass fronts were slid open allowing the breeze to waft through. I realized there were only ceiling fans there too. We moved straight to the studio, and I stripped off my shirt and shorts. I hadn't bothered with underwear, although my backpack held my sexy new bikini. It seemed he had already prepared and while he asked what my parents were doing, he had me take up the same lewd pose I had adopted before. He came over and adjusted my legs laying his hand on my inner thigh. He went back to the canvas looked and the came back and did it again. I hoped he put down any wetness he felt there to my sweat. I was certainly feeling wet.

He the went back and sat on his high-stool and started painting. I could tell he worked fast. He probably often finished in one sitting and he had had at least three hours possibly nearer four to paint me while I had napped.

After half an hour he wiped off his brush and put it down.

"Do you want to see?"

"Of course!" I got up and walked over to the easel. As I moved round to face it, I felt his hand on my bare bum and the sensation was electric, straight to all my erogenous zones, nipples, clit, cunt to name the most obvious ones. His painting of me did nothing to abate these feelings. I now realized that when I had viewed his one of his model's erotic poses, it was a far superior painting to that of his landscapes. He clearly had a love of the human body at its most erotic and an amazing talent to capture it on canvas. Indeed, it leapt off the canvas. Every detail of my nudity was there from the short almost invisible hair on my arms to my not so innocent smile, the curvature of my breasts topped by hard nipples. My eyes dropped from there to my sexy navel to each delicate hair of my carefully trimmed pubes, then to the nub of my clit, parted labia and my juicy cunt. It was at the epicenter, the so-called vanishing point on the picture. It sparkled with my dew, and I found it hard to take my eyes of it.

"Nobody must ever see this picture," I thought; then I thought or rather wished the whole world could see this picture. It was a true masterpiece. It wasn't a photo, I knew he had added touches to enhance the signs of my arousal, and I totally approved.

"Would any gallery hang it?" I asked.

"Yes, some here would, if they deem the art good enough. Some have areas with restricted access or clear warnings of explicit content. If you go to Paris, you can see Gustav Courbet's 'L'origine do Monde' on public view.

"I know it's a vagina, but the model doesn't have a face."

"Some of his others like 'Femme nue couchée' do. Then there's the 'Reclining Venus' and, of course, Goya's 'Naked Maja'; she was not only recognizable but recognized. At least it's generally believed she was Maria del Pilar Teresa Cayetana de Silva y Álvarez de Toledo, 13th Duchess of Alba with whom it was supposed Goya was intimate."

His choice of words made me laugh.

"Is this one you've done, good enough to hang?"

"I think so. Would you like that?"

"Maybe, nobody here knows me. Someday I could come and visit it."

"Would you paint another of me, less provocative?"

"Maybe, if I fuck you first."

"Wow, you're direct. Let me think about it. Let's have coffee and a swim." My heart was racing.

"Deal! I'll make it now."

We went into the kitchen, and he pulled out the cafetiere. While he got everything started, I wandered over to the window and looked out.

"There's a boat down there. Someone's swimming to the raft."

"Well, there's nothing I can do. It happens. Technically the raft is mine. but the water isn't. It happens now and again."

"When am I going to paint you?"

"We'll see, not today."

After coffee, I took another look out of the window. "They're still there."

I went to my backpack and pulled out my new bikini. "Would you paint me in this?"

"Put it on."

I put the bottoms on first and then the top.

"I think just the bottoms might do. You know I can see pretty much everything it's almost not there."

"I know."

"If I paint it, I'll make it almost disappear."

"Excellent."

He walked to the window. "Still there."

"Maybe if we go and swim they'll go away."

"I'd love that." I laughed.

"Let's go!"

We went out on to the patio, and he pulled off his shirt and shorts but wrapped a towel around his waist. I adjusted my bottoms to cover my butt but narrowed the front to barely cover the essentials. I put on my Crocs, and we descended the steps. One person was siting on the raft. She looked our way and said some thing to her companion who was swimming. That's when Charles unwrapped his towel and we entered the water and began to swim. I knew she'd seen him, and she was talking again as we both headed straight for the raft.

Her companion a young man climbed on to the raft as we approached.

"Bonjour!" he said.

"Bonjour!" said Charles reaching the raft and starting to climb. I saw the woman, not much older than me watch him with interest. Charles said some thing in rapid French which made the two of them laugh. They hesitated and then both took off their swimsuits.

Charles looked at me as I climbed up and said, "I told them it's a no clothing zone. I'm afraid that applies to you too."

So, laughing, I took off my now transparent bikini. The young friends, not at couple, introduced themselves as Zazie and JC. From their naked bodies I could see that unlike me they were no strangers to nude beaches or at least nude sunbathing. JC kept looking at me, and naughtily I sat facing him and pulled my legs to my chest but kept them apart. His cock wasn't as big as Charles' but a good size I thought especially as it showed its appreciation when I let myself rest back on my elbows and parted my knees a little further. I felt quite juicy, and I could see Charles was aware of my flirting. Was he jealous? I doubted it.

I explained what I was doing here and that my parents and I were in a gite just outside the village. They said they knew the place and asked if I'd like to join them one evening to go dancing. They spoke slightly more slowly for me in clear French and not the local Occitan and I was rather pleased to find how I was becoming much more fluent without always defaulting to English.

After a little while they said they should be going and got into their boat and cast off. I dived into the water closely followed by Charles, who then wrapped his arms around me and held me close while we both trod water. He let go and swam to the beach. When I reached him, he held me again. This time I knew he was standing as I could just touch it with my toe if I let myself sink a little. He pulled me closer, and I could feel his cock stiffening. A week ago, when I thought about men or mostly boys around my own age it was their looks, their intelligence, their empathy and above all their sense of humour and now I was obsessing about the size of their cocks. How shallow is that?

I felt his fingers brush my labia and find my clit. There went that buzz again, right through me. He lifted me slightly and his fingers found my hole and then were in there, where no man had boldly gone before. I was clinging to him even more tightly than he was holding me, grasping his shoulders and raising myself. I sensed, rather than felt, him position himself and then I could feel his tip was pushing aside my lower lips and I relaxed my grip on him and sank lower. There was a sharp moment of pain and then he was guiding me down and I was opening to him.

"So, this is it, my first," I thought. Feelings of extreme erotic pleasure surged through me as he went deeper. I had heard so many tales of ignorant teenage fumbles leading to ultimate disappointment, that I was glad I had waited. He was moving gently inside me, and I could hold back no longer. I bit his shoulder as the orgasm swept through me. I tasted blood and spat.

"You came quickly," he said accusingly, as he stepped ashore and lifted me clear. I had nothing to say, I was still revelling in a succession of little thrills, like the aftershocks of an earthquake. I looked round but our visitors were long gone. Lying on the raft was my new bikini. I hoped it wouldn't blow away. He held my hand and led me up the beach to the steps.

"My bikini" were the first words I managed to utter. He looked out at the raft dropped my hand and ran back to the water. I stood waiting at the bottom of the steps glad of a moment to regain my senses. Before I knew it, he was back and handed it to me as I slipped on my Crocs. My knight in shining armour.

On the patio he handed me a towel, laughing and saying, "You have a really short fuse, but then so had I in my teens."

We looked at each other and I realized he had no idea he had just taken my virginity. If we hadn't been in the sea, it might have been different.

"Do you want a drink before I paint you again?"

"Yes, a stiff rum and coke," I replied. Why, I don't know, I'd only had a sip of one once.

"Coming up in just a minute, two 'Cuba libres'. Just got to go to the 'petit coin' first."

I knew the 'petit coin' was the loo. I wandered back into the studio to have another look at the canvas, but there was fresh blank one on the easel. There were some stacked in the corner. None of me. These were unfinished. The top two were local beachscapes.

"Oh shit! The next was my Mum. I was right she had been posing nude. She really was having a mid-life crisis or something. Nothing was hidden and I immediately knew.

I heard him flush and quickly put them back as I found them.

"He fucked her," I thought, and I boiled with anger. "and she let him," was my next thought. It looked like she had enjoyed it, she was smiling. I was both angry and confused.

I watched as he squeezed a fresh lime and added the juice to two fingers of Bacardi in each glass and topped them up with Coke and ice.

"Enjoy!"

My mind was still in turmoil, as I tried to enjoy my drink. When we finished, he asked, "Ready now?"

"First, you have to fuck me properly on the daybed." If he had fucked my Mum, I was going to make damned sure he was going to fuck me.

"Yes, Ma'am, if you insist."

I was still naked of course and in moments, I had climbed onto the bed and lain down spreading my legs wide.

"Give me a second," he said, and I saw he wasn't fully hard.

"Stand over here," I said sliding off the bed and on to my knees. This will sound silly, but my friends and I had once practiced giving blowjobs using bananas. I knew what to do and took him in hand. He had already begun to stiffen, and I bore down repressing my gag reflex, something I knew I could do that none of the others had been able to do.

I paused and went deeper. I could feel him in my throat as my lips met his scrotum. I plunged on it a couple of times and then partially withdrew so it was easier to breathe. I circled the head sucking and licking as I went. Suddenly I was filled with rage again. I closed my teeth on his cock. I could so easily bite down. I did just enough for him to flinch then I relaxed. It wasn't as though he had raped her. I ran my tongue over the spot and tasted blood. I licked and sucked harder until I felt his readiness and stopped. I did not want him to come.

As he withdrew, I could see my teeth marks and a tiny trace of blood, but it really wasn't bleeding.

"You little sadist, you're vicious!" he said, but he was smiling.

He lifted me to my feet and positioned me on the bed again. Now we were both ready. He produced some lube, but I don't think I needed it. He glided right in bumping past my cervix until he was fully buried. He lifted my legs and pressed his shoulders into the back of my knees lifting me. Then I remember nothing and everything. He began plunging into me like a demented bull, sometimes hurting me but touching me in so many thrilling places. I know I was pressing my pelvis against his every thrust. I sensed he was on the tipping point, but so was I and I struggled to hold back a little longer. Then with a grunt, he gave a final push as deep as he could go, and I felt the jerk as he released his load. I came seconds later. My orgasm was good, satisfying, but not as strong as the one I had had in the water. Maybe because I was distracted.

"God, that was amazing. Quick, but amazing," he said, "Another minute and I'd have come in your mouth."

I lay there realizing his cum was spilling out of me onto the bed. Was that what I intended? In my fantasies he came on my stomach or other places but not in me. I didn't have to worry about getting pregnant, I was on the pill. It just wasn't the way I'd envisaged it.

"I think I need another drink," he said, "How about you? and I guess I nodded."

We move back to our towels on the patio. I thought most of his cum must be gone. I was to discover that wasn't entirely true.

"I'm not sure I'm in the mood to paint any more. Maybe another swim," he said, finishing his drink. I had barely started mine.

"You go. I'm good here."

Once he had gone, I went back into the studio and took a longer look at his painting of my mum. I held it up to the light and looked at her vagina. Although that area was in shadow her inner lips looked puffy. I swear she was still dilated, and I could see her open hole. I got angry again and placed the canvas of the easel on top of the blank one. Then I went back to the patio and sat down.

By the time he came back my glass was half empty and I was asleep. He let me sleep, for an hour and then he pushed me into the shower. We showered together and I held onto to his cock until it grew hard again. That's when I said, "You fucked my mum."

"I did," he said. "It was her idea. I thought I was just going to paint her, but she wasn't really interested in posing and stopped me."

I was processing that, when pulled me against him and added, "I wouldn't have, but she said she had you dad's permission."

"Holy Crap!" Things were getting weirder by the minute.

"You probably fuck your model too."

"I think she might like me to, but she's local and a good model. You'll find life is full of sacrifices."

As I stood leaning against him, I felt his fingers exploring me again. Then he pushed me against the wall of the shower.

"Are you ready?"

Was I ever and he knew it. My mind was barrelling through a myriad of scenarios, but my body knew what it wanted. He bent his knees and lifted my up as I latched on to his shoulders. He dropped one hand, and I felt it go in. Bringing his hand back up he let me descend on to it. He tried to do it right there, but I was heavier than he thought, and we finished on the bathroom floor. It wasn't comfortable, by the end I felt quite bruised, but this orgasm was truly worth it. Then it was time to get dressed. He finished my drink, and we played cards until my parents arrived.

As soon as they got there, we left and headed home only stopping to pick up a pizza on the way. Mum couldn't stop telling me how much I had missed by not going to Arles with them. I just said my day was fine, but I was glad they had enjoyed themselves. I was in bed by nine-thirty and almost instantly asleep.

Charles must have said something, because it was after lunch the following day that my dad took me aside.

"You are probably wondering what's going on."

"Yeeaaah!" I paused, "but I don't want to talk to you behind Mum's back. I want ot know what's going on." I tried to keep my tone neutral. Dan looked at me and said,

"I'll get Mum."

I sat there for maybe a minute or two before dad returned with mum.

"Sorry," she said, "We thought it might be better for your dad to talk to you.

"Are you guys in some kind of... open marriage?" I'd heard of such things, but I still struggle to get the words out.

"Absolutely not!"

They could have rehearsed it except for the look they gave each other, almost surprise.

"Your Dad..." began Mum.

"Start at the beginning," interrupted Dad forcefully.

"Your Mum and I have been happily married more than twenty years."

"And we hope for at least twenty more," interjected Mum.

"But like a lot of couple we keep our marriage fresh with little fantasies."

"What your dad is trying to say is... well, for example there's these sites where they host erotic stories and we both like and share our favorites."

"Your Mum's always had picked ones with a certain kind of man..."

"... and when we met Charles..."

"he was like the embodiment of your mum's sexual desires"

"... fantasies," she corrected.

"ideal man," amended Dad

"We started sharing fantasies about him, and it worked because he was so real."

"and then I said, 'you'll never get another chance. Why don't you?' She looked at me like I was mad, and I thought I'd crossed a line..."

"... until I said, 'you mean for real' and Tom said 'yes'."

Dad nodded. "I mean: Why not? I knew it would just be sex, and I trust your mum."

I sat and looked at them trying to form meaningful questions.

Dad said, "you've heard the expression, 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'?"

I nodded.

"Well, it doesn't have to be Vegas."

I looked at Mum. "Will you do it again?"

"One, and done," she said, "Let me be clear I've. we've never done anything like this before, and I doubt we will again. Honestly, nothing can quite match the fantasy, but for this your dad is a hero, my hero."

I had one last question. I turned to Dad.

"You didn't want to watch?"

He looked angry and said, "This was about your mum, but also for both of us. Do you think I'm some kind of pervert?"

I couldn't answer. They both seemed at peace with it. I guess I have a lot to think about, especially when it comes to what makes a marriage, some marriages, work.

As if reading my mind, mum said, "Good healthy sex is important to fully living, and if you are lucky enough to meet the right man, remember love is the first essential and the sex will be better because of it."

I don't love Charles, but I'll certainly let him fuck me again, if he's willing. JC seems like he might also be a possibility. We only have another ten days here and I don't intend to waste them.

The End

Copyright: © Dawn Ramble 2025