Chapter 3
Until that heavenly time when I would feel the full length of a solid male penis up my cunny, I decided to pick up all the knowledge I could about this fascinating subject called "sex." And I made up my mind I wouldn't be too particular where or how I got my facts about this forbidden thing . . .
I was now fifteen and, thanks to conversations between my school-mates or people in the streets or in cinemas, and thanks particularly to the lewd pictures that circulate in schools more rapidly than school-books, I was, at least in theory, quite well versed in sexual matters.
Then, my father one day completed my education still in theory, of course for he was not only a doctor, and a good one at that, but he had a modern outlook on sex.
I adored him and had always listened to him with great attention.
One day, with his usual sweet manners, he had made me sit on the arm of his armchair, and, while caressing my shoulder and arms, he had told me this:
"My little Rochelle, you know I must have a serious conversation with you. As you know, your daddy has a modern outlook, so I'm not going to preach or lecture to you as daddies in the nineteenth century used to do. Nowadays, fifteen-year-old daughters don't need their parents' explanations to know about men and sexual relations."
"But, daddy."
"Hush, listen, dear. I've known for some time that you seem to find a special attraction for reading my medical books, particularly those dealing with sexual problems."
"Oh, daddy."
"Don't deny it. But I'm not blaming you in the least. On the contrary, I'm glad of your healthy curiosity. Indeed, a girl of your age and with your intelligence should know about such things as well as about other matters.
But you're still too young to have any real discernment, for, speaking as a doctor, I can tell you that these books deal with generalities and not with particular cases.
I don't think I have to tell you about the possible results of physical intercourse between a man and a woman. You're too intelligent to be unaware of them. As you know, I'm a very indulgent daddy, but I would hate to see you come home pregnant without being married, Modern conventions are often ridiculous but we can't ignore them altogether . . .
You may try to tell me that there are ways and means of making children disappear before they're born.
True, but and I'm still speaking to you as a doctor one mustn't overdo it. To be perfectly frank: there's much more danger for the life of a woman in an abortion than in the normal way of giving birth.
There is also another peril that threatens teenagers of both sexes. You could meet a young man who will seem perfect to you: he will have instruction, education, intelligence, he will seem well-off and distinguished . . . in short, he will have "everything." If you only flirt with him, even if you go a little far and let him have your virginity, it doesn't matter. But if your "affaire" prolongs itself unduly, be careful, for, sometimes, Prince Charming is in reality a cad whose ultimate goal is to use the girl he seduced for financial gain. You see what I mean, don't you?
Well, my little daughter, I've told you all I had to. You know how I love you and my duty as a father was not to play the part of a police officer or hypocritical moralist but rather to enlighten you so that you should be happy, yet avoid danger."
I think I never kissed my father with such tenderness than on that day.
So, now, my aim was to have a sexual experiment with a person of opposite sex, a male, or, as my 16 year old school-mate said, a real man (she had already three or four lovers, or so she said).
But I had no intention of having intercourse at once with the first man that would come my way.
Rather, I wanted to see, first, if intimate caresses given by men would make me react differently from those given by girls.
Nor did I intend trying with a lad of my age, one of those noisy, conceited teenagers.
I knew that very young men are poor lovers, They all ejaculate too quickly and don't linger on preliminaries.
And the preliminaries were the very things
I wanted to taste.
That's why I chose Georges Leroux.
He was about 35 years old, so, for me, he was like a very mature man. Everything in life is a matter of comparison.
Besides, he had a reputation for being an expert seduction artist.
My reasoning seemed right: if he had screwed many women, it showed that he knew the art of making them come. He must even be very skillful in his caresses since so many women were running after him. So he was the man for me. My reasoning was simple but perfectly logical.
Georges was a friend of my father's, by profession a business man. He sold everything: cars, furniture, metals, commodities, etc.
My father had made his acquaintance when he purchased our "Lincoln" through him. Since that time, he used to call at our house from time to time and he also sent several of his girl friends to my father's office, for he knew that my father was a good doctor.
He was not exactly handsome, but his elegant appearance, his gift of the gab, the warm caressing tone of his voice, created around him an atmosphere of exciting charm and seduction.
At first, I resented his attitude towards me: he was charming, but seemed to consider me as a kid and not as a sex possibility.
I learned later that this kind of man instinctively shies away from young girls. These men are accustomed to easy successes and they're afraid of wasting their times with young virgins and they don't imagine the tears and general mess when they thrust their pricks through a cherry.
Fortunately, all women, even the coyest and the youngest, have an innate sense of coquettishness. That's right, you know, we all have inside ourselves great potentialities of seduction and we all know how to provoke a man until he flirts with us or even goes further.
I knew that Georges went nearly every day to a certain pub on the boulevard.
So I roamed in the vicinity two or three days in succession, at the time he went to that pub, and I eventually saw him come out of his little convertible.
He hadn't noticed me. I called him:
"Hello, Mr. Georges."
"Oh," he said, "how're you, Miss Rochelle, what a fortunate coincidence."
(Coincidence indeed.)
"I saw you come out of your car," I said, "and. . . "
"Well, how about having a drink with me? Just five minutes or so, OK."
"Fine."
We went into the pub.
"What'll you have?" he asked.
"Some port wine, I think."
"You think? You must be sure, you know, ha-ha. Waiter. Got any port?"
"Certainly, sir. Two?"
"Right," Georges said to the waiter, and, to me:
"How are things at home? Everybody well."
"Yes, thanks. And at your place."
"I'm the most diseased of all, haha."
"Funny your being alone, today."
"Of course I'm alone, why shouldn't I be."
"Because you're usually seen in the company of a blonde or a brunette, sometimes a redhead anyway never the same girl."
"Why are you telling me that?"
"For nothing in particular, just talking."
He hesitated before answering, then he softly took my bare arm (his hand was soft and warm, rather pleasant to the touch) and said:
"You're a strange girl."
"Maybe, and perhaps even stranger than you think."
"Really?"
"Yes. You'll be able to judge for yourself in a moment. I've got something to ask you."
"Go ahead."
"Well, I'd like to lay for you." I did not know the reactions of professional seducers to such a frank declaration before asking my question, but now I knew, and it was very funny. It was a good thing he was sitting down-After staring at me for a while, he ventured feebly:
"You said?"
"I said I would like to lay for you. Do you dig me?"
He looked me squarely in the face and said, after a pause:
"But do you realize what you're saying, little girl?"
Little girl indeed, I'd show him if I was a little girl.
My spite at being called a little girl made me do something which, I realize it now, was worthy of an aristocratic woman in heat or a common whore:
Glancing around me and realizing nobody was watching, I drew wide apart the neckline of the thin dress I was wearing (I had nothing underneath but panties), and, bending towards him, I offered him the sight of my bare tits, small but firm.
"And do you think this is the pair of a little girl?" I asked heatedly.
An odd glint lit his eyes the same glint which I was to find later every time a man was sexually excited by my tits or pussy, a glint of desire mixed with some bestiality.
Unhesitatingly, I seized his hand and placed it over one of my bare bosoms.
"They're not very big yet, but you can see how firm they are," I said.
His hand closed over my breast warmly.
Then he bent over and stuck his mouth almost brutally against my own.
He kissed quite well. It wasn't unpleasant at all, even when he stuck his tongue down my throat.
His kiss lasted quite some time, then he let go his lips and hand (which had been holding my titty during the kiss).
He gave an awkward cough and said:
"It's first time that . . "
"Me too," I interrupted.
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean that for you it's the first time you've come across such a cynical girl and for me it's the first time I've let a man play with my breasts. I also want to make it clear that if I fuck you, it will be for the first time. See?"
"Well, you're a real menace, aren't you?"
"Well, they say you're a man-about-town, a Casanova humping away in the twentieth century, so . . "
"So . . " he said, and, after another pause, and drawing back his chair a little, he added:
"Maybe I'm the man you described, but just because I'm that kind of man I hesitate before your very flattering offer."
"I don't understand. Don't you like me?"
"Oh, yes, I do, very much," he answered, and I saw again the glint of lust in his eyes, "but, you see, I classify you and all the semi-virgins of your kind as a category of dangerous women, to be avoided."
"Well, you don't mince your words."
"You don't understand. You're delightful and it would be a real pleasure to have you, but it's what would happen afterwards that I'm worried about."
"But," I said, "I suppose you're decent enough to use a rubber to avoid making me pregnant."
"Of course, but that's not what I mean. I'm talking about other kinds of consequences. Nearly all young girls, when they sleep with a man, particularly when he's the first, become clinging, jealous, a real pain in the ass and that's what I'm afraid of."
"If it's only that, it's all right. I assure you that, after I've screwed with you two or three times, in other words, after you've finished your work as a lover, I'll vanish if you want me to. You'll have done me a favor by breaking me in, that's all."
"I never saw a girl like you before."
"You see," I explained, "it must happen sooner or later. We're no longer in those times when being a virgin was a necessity. So I've chosen you as the one to rid me of that perfectly useless membrane called the hymen. I'm relying on you to relieve me of my cherry with deftness and little pain. Do you still refuse?"
"No, it will be quite a pleasure to accept, now that you've given me your word that you won't become the clinging type," he said, smiling.
"That's a bargain. Now for a date."
"You're a menace."
"You've said that already. So, when will it be?"
He took me in his arms and his hand lifted my skirt a little, slid over my bare thigh, stroked it nervously, and he crushed my mouth with his feverish lips, murmuring in a hoarse voice:
"At once, if you like."
As his lips burned on mine, his hand curled over my bush through my thin nylon panties. I felt his fingers between the panty hem as he caressed my cunny lips. They became drenched with woman-secretion. I could feel his penis, stiff as an iron bar, right through his pants. It was all very exciting.