Chapter 10
"As American as apple pie." This was what everyone said about Marcia, the thirty-three year old housewife of a Marine Captain, assigned to diplomatic duty on the French Riviera.
She was born and raised in Kansas. Her style of life and her ethical code had been formed in that environment. It was perhaps inevitable that when she left the States for the first time to join her husband on the Riviera, the freedom in that area would have a profound effect on her life.
But it was not inevitable that she would be seduced by a fifteen year old boy, far wiser than her in the ways of the flesh. This is what makes Marcia's story unique. She loved her husband and was happy with his career. Life on the Riviera was just an extended vacation and Marcia was willing to stay there forever. In other words, none of the ingredients of our other stories are present in this case. Marcia was not bored or unhappy. Marcia was just a woman overwhelmed by a style of life which proved too powerful for her to combat. She was unable to withstand the subconscious urges which the young boy, Pierre, brought out. Thus, we have a case here where the aggressor was the boy and the willing victim was the older woman.
There are thousands of boys like Pierre along the southern coast of France. They survive by playing on the sexual whims of tourists. Very rarely do they have anything to do with American military people for this would be far too dangerous. There are plenty of eager female tourists around to satisfy both their financial and emotional needs. Pierre was one of them. What made him a little different was his acute intelligence and his desire to be first in everything.
Let us try to reconstruct the events leading to the scandal so that we may study the actual events with greater precision.
Marcia's husband put in a full day at the Embassy. She was left with a lot of time on her hands but this never bothered her. After making Dave breakfast, she would clean the lovely apartment which had been furnished by the Marine Corps and do the day's shopping in a small market only a few streets away.
With that accomplished, she would dress and stroll downtown to look in the amazingly varied collection of shops. It was an exciting way to spend the morning and she would always return home from these shopping expeditions flushed and excited even though she often bought nothing.
She would make herself a light lunch, change into a bathing suit and spend the afternoon at the beach. About an hour before her husband was due home, she would leave and return to the apartment to prepare supper for him. The evenings would be spent with Dave. Sometimes they stayed home, often they would go for long walks through the town or on the beach, and sometimes they would see a movie. All in all it was quite a fulfilling life and there were no problems about money or health. Marcia's letters home to her family reflected the fact that she was having the time of her life.
Four months after she arrived on the Riviera, that idyllic existence was shattered. It was shattered brutally and finally and when she emerged from the whirlpool, she was an utterly changed woman.
It began under a brilliant Riviera sun. Marcia was lying under a beach umbrella only a few feet from the edge of the water. She had been napping from time to time and watching the children race up and down the sand.
She felt, suddenly, that someone was watching her. Looking behind her, in the opposite direction from the water, she saw a young boy staring at her. He was beautifully tanned, with his long black hair cut in the fashionable style. Not thinking anything of his curiosity, she smiled at him and then turned toward the water.
The boy walked toward her slowly. He knew that she was the wife of a Marine Captain and though all the boys on the beach stayed away from the wives of American servicemen, there was something about her wholesome good looks which drew him like a fly to melted chocolate.
An instant later he was standing beside her, arrogant and sure of himself.
"Good afternoon, Madame."
His voice was deep and resonant, but it still retained the innocence of a young child. Marcia saw his shadow on the sand before she saw him. Finally, she turned smiling, and said:
"Good afternoon, what is your name?"
"Pierre."
Marcia, always polite, introduced herself and the boy, without asking, sat down on the blanket beside her. They were very close. She knew of the reputation of many boys on the beach, but it never occurred to her that such a boy might have designs on her.
"What do you do?" She asked him.
The boy shrugged but did not answer, shielding his eyes against the sun and looking out over the water.
"Do you work or go to school?" She persisted.
"I do nothing," he replied, "except have fun."
Marcia was shocked. She had been raised in a society where it was sinful for males not to work. She expressed this view to Pierre who only laughed at her.
His laugh had a strange effect on her. The boy had succeeded, with that one strange laugh, in dissolving the difference in ages between them, and making her less sure of herself. Who is this child? What does he want? Should I tell him to leave? These were the questions that raced through her mind.
Without saying another word, but waving his arm in farewell, Pierre moved quickly away from her and she followed his sinewy body as it raced across the sand, until it was only a tan blur beneath the sun.
She went home thinking about the boy. But when her husband arrived for supper she forgot about Pierre and the young couple spent a lovely evening together. But the next day, at the beach, Pierre showed up again. This time he came to the blanket as if he owned it and Marcia was beginning to lose patience with his boldness.
"Haven't you ever learned that it is good manners to wait until you're invited before you join someone."
He answered her quickly and savagely. Her question had hurt him.
"Manners are for slaves. I am no one's slave."
Immediately upon uttering those words, he pulled the blanket over both of their heads and thrust his hand under her elastic bathing suit, resting it lightly between her naked thighs.
"What are you doing?" She said in a low panicky voice, almost hysterical, a red flush appearing on her skin.
"If you move now or throw back the blanket the whole beach will see us like this. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
She realized the truth of his words. The child had trapped her, there was nothing she could do.
He began to rub her softly between her legs. She resolved to suffer in silence. But as the hand brought a warmth to her private parts, she felt herself slipping under a cloud of lust. It was as if there was some special, mysterious quality in Pierre's hand that she could not overcome. Her breathing came quickly, and she closed her eyes. His hand also was inside her suit now, gently touching her ample breasts. Marcia tried once more to fight the child, begging him to leave her alone, but when his finger entered her most precious opening, she gave up the struggle. The entry was so sudden and beautiful, she could not be opposed to it. His other hand was now playing with her nipple, and his mouth, that small, innocent mouth which smelled of fruit and tobacco odors, pressed to her neck, sucking the skin.
Marcia was now a plaything in the child's experienced hands. One small finger controlled every part of her body and by deft and practiced movements brought her to an apex of passion. She lay there, moaning, her mouth open, her body arched as his hand told her the most hidden secrets of love, secrets which had long been the sole possession of the beach boys.
But Pierre had intended this as only a taste, an introduction to the future. A moment later he was gone, sliding out from under the blanket and whispering that he would meet her tomorrow on the beach.
Marcia sat up, wondering whether anyone on the beach knew what had happened under the blanket. Then, she left quickly. Once home, she cursed herself for having fallen prey to a passion that she despised. She vowed not to go to the beach again. Such goings on were intolerable. Her husband noticed her great distress but could find out nothing further. The next morning, after he had left, she sat on a chair, determined to spend the day home, reading and doing various chores about the apartment.
But as the hours passed and as the time approached when she usually went to the beach, strange thoughts began to flash through her mind. The boy had had a greater effect upon her than she realized at the time. Marcia fought the sudden, almost overwhelming desire that came to her; the desire to go to the beach and see the child. Those few brief seconds under the blanket had totally destroyed the protective devices in her subconscious.
Almost hypnotized by the memory of the blanket, she went to the beach to meet Pierre. Even as she was walking toward the sand, she was ashamed of herself and tried to stop. But it was no use. Her demon had been set loose and it would take more than will power to chain it once again.
He was waiting for her on the beach, a knowing smile on his face. She was so ashamed she could scarcely look at the boy.
"Follow me," he ordered her.
"Do you dare to speak to me like that?"
"Yes," he replied, "and you will listen. Now follow me. I have picked out a special place for us."
She followed him. They walked for a long while. Finally they reached a deserted part of the beach where the dunes were very high. He led her beneath the side of one dune, a place where the overhanging dune made a natural cave which shut out the sun and heat.
It was cool in there. He lay down and told her to undress him. She no longer argued. Removing his garments, she almost wept at the beauty of his body. There was not one ounce of fat on it or one inch that was not tanned to a golden bronze. Her lips were on his body, instantly and greedily. Never had she done anything like this before but her desire was so great that she did not even think. His maleness was there, lying pathetically between his sculptured thighs. She kissed it. Pierre moaned slightly. Suddenly, she leaped on it, as if it was the lodestone of paradise. Her mouth and tongue moved with incredible speed and passion, bringing the quiet flesh into a raging weapon. His maleness quivered, erect, near her.
A voice seemed to come out of her past and tell her to taste that which is beautiful, to savor with her taste buds those most delicate sweetmeats. So she allowed herself to pass into the forbidden realm, and her face reflected that exquisite reward.
But then she wanted more. She had come this far and now she must have all that can be gained. Lying back, she let her legs go apart, signaling the boy that she was ready for the divine sacrifice, that she was ready to dispense with all the myths of the past; fidelity to husband, loyalty, everything will go by the wayside.
Pierre understood. He understood everything about her. The child had the wisdom of ten men. He moved over her body. And then he entered her.
She screamed. He covered her mouth and her teeth penetrated the flesh of his palm. Marcia tasted the blood and she was happy.
His maleness was like a beserk animal. Her body rose and fell to meet it, to strain with her thighs and bring every expression of love to its thrust. She felt herself going back and back into a time and a period that she could not identify. The power of his flesh had transported her through the gates of puritanism, beyond the Kansas childhood. She was in the naked world, her body penetrated by the nakedness and power of a child who was more than a man. She wept, she squirmed, she moaned, but the thrusting organ kept taking its toll of her emotional residue.
There was no sun piercing the dunes, but she felt a sun a thousand times hotter than the orb in the sky. A moment later it came, the flood of seed that wrenched her body and twisted her mind into a mass of lurid colors. She felt that the law of lust had somehow emptied all of its knowledge into her. Finally, gasping, she turned to Pierre and pledged her love with an intensity and seriousness that was unique.
They rested under the dune for many hours, saying little. Then they walked slowly back to the inhabited section of the beach. A glow covered her whole body. She felt she was walking on another planet. They parted and made an appointment to meet the following day.
The next day they met and the next and the next. Marcia could not get enough of the child. And Pierre took tokens of money and gifts from her, but he, too, was absorbed with her body in a unique way.
Her husband did not know. But he did know that his wife seemed to be falling apart before his very eyes. She was losing weight rapidly and she had become a nervous wreck, smoking heavily and unable to concentrate on anything for an extended period of time.
She often refused to talk to him and their sex life came to a halt. He did not know what to do. Finally, in desperation and without her knowledge, he put in a request to be sent back to the States. The request took two months to process but finally it came through. He told her about it the night before they were scheduled to leave. Marcia sat there dumbly, unable to say anything, her heart almost bursting with the thought of leaving Pierre. But there was nothing she could do. If she told her husband she knew he would beat the boy and perhaps kill him in his rage.
So, she sent a note to Pierre and left with her husband. The boy recovered. Two weeks later he had found an American woman, on the Riviera for a vacation, who satisfied him and kept him in the manner he was accustomed to.
Marcia never really recovered. To this day, she still cannot control the raging demon which the boy set free. Yet, in the States, that demon must be controlled or meet the wrath of the law and the community. Perhaps she will survive and regain some measure of composure, but she will never be the same woman again.