I’ve never been in Chantal’s bedroom by myself before. I stand just inside the door, which I’ve closed softly behind me, the door clicking shut, and look around, shifting from foot to foot. Here everything is in shades of green and blue. Not a touch of crimson to be seen, in stark contrast to Chantal’s salon, where crimson rules. I feel like a walker set amid a bucolic forest or a snorkeler in clear waters. It’s all so tranquil and calming, so why do I feel so uneasy, unsure whether to stand or sit on the bed or lie down?
I’m all tingly, you know where, just at the thought of being with Chantal, being in her room, and from the way she greeted me, and I’m sure she feels the same. We both know what’s going to follow, and it’s not a game of canasta or just swapping stories how our weeks went. I set my gift down on Chantal’s dressing table and sort things out in my mind, and when I do I drop out of my shoes and slip out of my dark dress and lie down naked on her bed. I want her to see me like this when she comes in the room, I don’t want any question to linger but that we are the lovers we were when I left.
I don’t have long to wait.
True to her word, Chantal has gotten the two customers settled with her girls, and it doesn’t take more than ten minutes or so, and the door opens and she steps inside the room. The fading evening light streams through the window and she can plainly see my fair skin, tinged pink in the glow of a closing day, laid out on her bed as I lie on my back, my legs ever so slightly parted, my darker nipples erect as my breasts, those tiny orbs of mine, rise and fall with my breathing, my breathing now so elevated in my suspense. No words are necessary, and after a look of recognition and tilting her head back just a bit, a way of expressing slight surprise combined with approval, and a smile that this time is more visible than subtle, what feels to be a knowing smile, she slips out of her heels and reaches back and unzips her dress, also a shade of blue, a kind of translucent sky blue, and drops it to the floor. She reaches between her breasts to release her bra and slides sa culotte, her panties, down her thighs and sets them free.
Chantal, the beautiful Chantal, my friend and boss and mother who has taken me as her lover, approaches the bed, wordlessly, and climbs up onto it, shaking it just a bit with her weight. I don’t know what to expect, whether it will be an embrace or a kiss or a look into my eyes or something else, but again I don’t have long to wait as she gently spreads my legs and settles between them and I see her head between my thighs and feel the pleasure she is intent on giving me. It makes me arch my back, oh god, how good it feels, how I’ve missed this, missed her, and I cry out a muffled shudder of joy as I feel her lips on me, those special lips of Chantal’s so fashioned by nature to provide pleasure as few can, and I feel her tongue enter me.
I don’t have to do a thing, just as she didn’t have to do a thing as I explored her body with my kisses and licks and pecks and probes that first Sunday morning, and I enjoy the liberation of just lying there letting the ecstasy overwhelm me, letting her show me what a good lover she can be. And how I can accept that she is, without resistance or questioning or doubt.
When I’ve cried out my release and the towering waves that raged through my body slowly begin to ebb, until just ripples linger on, Chantal lifts her face from the center of my pleasure and looks into my eyes, smiling, her face damp with my moisture.
“Chérie, you are a joy. And such a sweet joy you are. You are the sweetest pastry, sweeter than any I’ve tasted, bien sûr.”
All I can do is smile back at her, strength to do more drained from me, never mind that nap I took, and slowly she works her way up my body, a kiss there, a caress here, until finally our lips meet and I taste my own nectar on her tongue.
After minutes that seem endless our lips part and at last I can speak.
“Chantal, you can’t imagine how much I missed you. I thought of you every chance I could. And all I could think of when we got back today – well, other than taking a bath and a nap, both of which I really, really needed – was coming to see you.”
“You are so sweet to say that.”
“No, I mean it. Every word of it. It’s the truth. After three weeks of lies, it’s such a relief to finally be able to say something that’s 100 percent true, and mean it.”
“Well, chérie, if I am to tell you the truth, I missed you as well. Not just my little bird – of course I missed her, and the men, mon dieu, how they asked for her, never stopping, you have no idea – but you, my sweet love. It is you I missed.”
“Did you really, Chantal? Really? That makes me so happy.”
Chantal tells me she’s instructed the girls to see the men out when they’re done, and then to let themselves out once they’ve tidied up. She already gave them their compensation, so we have all the time we want with no distractions. It seems we’re not such a secret anymore. Now this time that we have feels to me like all the time in the world, and for the first time since Sid and I left Paris I’m feeling like I can at last relax and let my guard down. And I want, need, no guard up with Chantal.
I tell her I’m not anxious to talk about the trip, though I assure her I’ll tell her about it before the evening is over, but I relate to her the morning when I realized that if anything happened to me I’d just be gone, not a trace left, not a sign, and how no one, not my Aunt Carol or my cousin, not my parents, not the school, and not her, Chantal, my lover, would know what happened. And how sad it made me. Just reliving that morning, those thoughts, I find tears streaming down my cheeks again. Chantal holds me to her, not judging me, not lecturing me about Sid, not theorizing how to avoid such situations, she just holds me and lets me cry against her scented shoulder. And at that moment, that’s all I need.
We make tender love some more, this time it’s my turn to give her pleasure, and when we’re done we’re both breathless. I sit up on the bed – it’s gotten dark by now, and only the muted traces of street lights make their way into the room – and manage to grab a breath, like I’m coming up from a deep dive.
“I haven’t told you, but I got to see my Aunt Carol, Chantal. My aunt in South Africa I haven’t seen in four years. It was so good. I’ve missed her so, and she me.”
“Oh, I’m very happy for you, my sweet. I can imagine that was very emotional. How did you convince Sid to let you see her?”
“That’s a long story. I told him if we were going to Johannesburg he had to let me see her, and I wasn’t going to reveal any secrets about him or me. It wasn’t easy, but he finally agreed. You won’t believe all the places we were to on this trip. That was just one of them.”
“I must say I have been intrigued to hear what this exotic country was you were going to.”
“Well, that wasn’t it. It was Thailand. That was pretty exotic, I gotta say, especially the afternoon in Bangkok we both almost got shot. And the trip to the drug lord up in the north, out in the jungle. That was pretty exotic. At least he didn’t try to kill us. And then we were in Dubai, ogling the Russian girls. They’re so hot, Chantal. I could see myself doing that sometime, if it ever came to it. And then The Netherlands, when I thought we were on our way back. But no, first we had to fly all the way down to South Africa from Amsterdam, so at least I got to see my aunt. And now, finally, back here.”
“Mon dieu, Rosie. No wonder you are worn out, mon petit oiseau. Your little wings must be so tired. Surely you need a vacation for a week just to get over all this. You traveled the whole world.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. But at least I have a night with you. That’s worth more than a week vacation. Unless it’s a week with you, Chantal.”
We kiss again and just lie in each other’s arms in the near-dark, as lovers do, soft skin against soft skin, and I tell Chantal about the dream I had of her on the flight to Bangkok. She smiles and is happy hearing about it, and tells me how she loves the fields of sunflowers in the South, how they give her such a feeling of freedom and peace. How she would love to make love with me in nature like that, amid the sunflowers.
“Do you want to hear something funny?” I ask her.
“But of course. I always enjoy being amused.”
So I tell her Michelle’s story, how she got her U.S. visa, and how she sprung it on me and hoped to get me to tell her something equally mischievous, and I refused, just so I could get her goat.
“So she is a naughty girl, too.”
“Alors-la, ma petite, we know you are. You might be able to fool your aunt or your cousin, but you can’t fool old Chantal.”
I poke her good-naturedly in the ribs.
“Oh, and you’re not? Mademoiselle la Madame?”
“I never said I wasn’t a naughty girl, did I?”
“No, I suppose not. Me, either.”
“Okay, now I dare you, chérie. Tell me the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done. I’m not your cousin so you can tell me. I want to hear about it. I’m sure you have a good story to tell.”
“Are you kidding me? No!”
“Oui, you must. I want to hear how naughty you can be. All of it, out now.”
Chantal can’t see it in the dark, but I’m blushing bright red from embarrassment. I know exactly the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done, and I haven’t told a soul, not even Sid, and now my lover wants me to reveal it to her in all its lurid details.
“Go on. You can tell me, chérie. No secrets here, d’accord?”
“If I tell you, will you tell me the naughtiest thing you’ve done, too?”
“Moi? Ma petite, I run a brothel. I get men, many, many men, married men, laid for money. What more naughty thing could I do?”
“You’re weaseling out of it.”
“What is this word, ‘weaseling’?”
We go back and forth like this and finally she convinces me to tell her my story. Actually, it’s kind of funny and it gets me turned-on just thinking about telling it, so I do.
“It happened earlier this year. About a month after I turned 16. So at least I was legal, right? Anyway, Sid took me up to near the border with Canada. In Washington State, somewhere between Seattle and Vancouver. He had to see some of his associates across the border, but it wasn’t worth dragging me along. So he let me loose and told me to behave myself in this town, whatever it was, and he’d meet me later.”
“Behave yourself? I am sure that was like Sid waved a red flag in front of a bull to you, Rosie.”
“Very funny. Anyway, here I am in this town with nothing to do for a whole afternoon, and I find this church, it was a Catholic church, right in the town. It looked kind of interesting, and I have this thing for architecture, so I went in partly to look at the inside and partly just to get off the street. Well, here I am sitting in a pew minding my own little business, and this priest sees me and comes up to me.”
“A priest? Rosie!”
“Wait. We’re not nearly there yet. So this priest comes up to me, and he’s, I don’t know, in his 20s, a little younger than Sid, and he’s kinda cute. Well, cute for a priest, anyway. Actually, he was very nice. Looked Irish. Kind of short reddish hair and all, fair skin, on the thin side.”
“And you have a thing for Irish priests?”
“Hush, Chantal. Well, I don’t know, but he comes over and starts to chat me up. In, you know, hushed tones, this being in a church and all, and he asks me shouldn’t I be in school at that hour? So I tell him I’m traveling with my dad and he had to go over to Canada but he left me there until he got back.”
“Did he take you in the confessional, chérie?”
“No, Chantal, he didn’t take me in the confessional. Let me tell the story, okay? So, after we talked for awhile, he took me to his office, this office right there off the church. And we kept talking, about me and school – I’m just making it up – and I could tell he was hot for me, the way he kept looking at my boobs, and I was wearing this sort of low-cut top, even if I don’t have any real cleavage.”
“Poor fellow. You are such a tease.”
“Well, I am, but that’s beside the point. I could tell he was getting turned on talking to me and looking at me, so finally I got up and went over and sat in his lap. Just like that. I really did. I was so forward. He tried to resist, you should have seen the look on his face, but I just sat down on him, him in his black priest outfit, he even smelled like a priest, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, with the Roman collar and all, and started licking his ear. He couldn’t resist that, and the next thing I knew I could feel his dick getting hard under me. Did you ever feel a priest’s hardon, Chantal?”
“Of course, my dear. More than one. And rabbis and muftis and all the rest, too.”
“So who’s the naughty girl now?”
“But none that young, I must say. And not right there in a church. You surpass me on that.”
“Okay. Do I really? Cool. Anyway, next thing you know, I have his cock out and I’m down on my knees, and I’m not praying on my knees, I’ll tell you that, and he’s getting probably the first blow job of his life. At least from a girl, though I don’t think this guy was into boys. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“You never can be too sure, chérie. They can surprise you. Abstinence does funny things. So what happened then?”
“Yeah, well, he was definitely digging on this, and then he had me get up and he went over and locked the door and then he put me over the desk, on the other side, and pulled down my jeans and panties and he slid that holy scepter of his into me and he dicked me doggie style right there on top of the desk in his office in the church. He really got into it, grunting and sweating on me and all, and actually he was pretty damned good.”
“Oh, you are such a naughty girl, aren’t you, chérie?”
“Yeah, but that’s not all. After we were at it for awhile I finally came, really loud, especially for being in a church, and the only organ playing wasn’t the pipe organ, and I guess that did it for him because he came right after that, too, and, man, and you should have heard him. So I got all his Jesus juice up in me, and when we’re done and we button up and he thanks me and all, he tells me he was a virgin and this was his first time. Can you imagine, Chantal? I fucked a virgin priest right there in the church, Roman collar and all. Is that the naughtiest thing ever, or what?”
“Mon dieu, chérie. Bien sûr, c’etait très, très méchante de toi. But it’s such a lovely story. I think you win the prize over your cousin. You know, of course, this priest will never forget you. Even in Heaven he’ll look for you.”
“Yeah, I know that. Being his first and all. I hope he doesn’t wind up leaving the priesthood because of me.”
“And why, chérie? It is his life. Maybe you opened his eyes to something more pleasing than being a priest and jerking off in his narrow bed every night. You might have been – how do you say? – a blessing in disguise.”
“Hmmm, maybe. Didn’t see it that way. But maybe you’re right. Little Rosie, like the Holy Ghost or something. The Holy Cunt. A blessing in disguise. Yeah.”
I muse on that and how Chantal might have a point. Maybe I did that young priest a real favor, more than just giving him his first taste of pussy. And maybe he’ll thank me for it the rest of his life, the girl in the church that momentous afternoon, even if he’ll never see me again. And then in the middle of my thoughts something else intervenes.
“Hey, Chantal, are you getting hungry? Want to get something to eat? Besides me, of course.”