Atlantic Virgin

So here I was sat outside Bar Edgar hoping for a little déjà vu.

Two years ago at this very table a Brazilian backpacker had flopped down on the seat opposite me with a great sigh; when I say this hill is steep, it's steep! I remember chatting with her in a garbled mixture of broken English and Portuguese and offering her a beer. She was a tad overweight, but in a sexy way, and definitely fanceable with extremely wide kissable lips which would have done credit to the thickest of male genitalia. I know, because they did! Her half exposed breasts were deeply tanned, round and full, a hint of purple nipple showing through her bra and sleeveless top; and she had those haunting come-to-bed eyes so prevalent in Latin countries. Her deeply tanned legs were bare apart from a pair of loose khaki shorts, and a pair of well-worn black sneakers. Her ass, which I had the good fortune to explore intimately a little later, was firm and round.

Melita had been looking for a youth hostel I had never heard of and I explained it was most unlikely to be on this hill, which is occupied mainly by expensive high-rise apartments, trendy tourist shops and a bloody great white church.

"I just need place for sleep tonight," she declared, her hands waving despairingly in the air, "before fly home tomorrow."

"And where is home?"

"Sao Paulo, is in Brazil."

I pointed up at my hotel and tentatively suggested that, as it was off-season, they might have a room free, but unfortunately for my active libido she took one look at it and remarked it would be too expensive for her. Then she looked back at me curiously through those devastating eyes.

"You stay there?"

I nodded, watching her take a sip of her Carlsberg, idly wondering how often that delicious mouth had slipped over the head of an eager cock, my own starting to show solid interest in the proceedings. The beer foam on her lips completed a highly erotic picture.

"You are there just you?" She sounded surprised, maybe she had discovered that Paris beds are designed for two.

"Uh huh. Business trip."

She stared at me for a long moment as if weighing up the situation, no doubt picking up my salacious thoughts, and certainly not missing my eyes dwelling on her vibrant youthful body. It didn't go amiss either that she had glanced more than once at the ill-concealed growing bulge in my pants. I was on the verge of offering her the hospitality of part of my bed, preferably the middle part, when she seemed to come to a decision and leaned towards me, pointing a finger first at me and then at herself. Her English was very broken, but her request was unmistakeable in any language.

"I sleep your room, you sex me."

Even though that precise activity was foremost in my mind, I still managed to choke on my drink!

And 'sex her' I did, three times I recollect, but not before I had shown some English courtesy and bought her a burger and fries and a couple more beers. She was so grateful for the meal that she granted me a heavy snog in a shop doorway on the way back to the hotel. It so happened that Melita was so horny that our first fuck, following joint investigation of each other's private parts in the tiny elevator, was a fully clothed screw up against the bedroom door as soon as we had closed it; somehow I had managed to work my erect cock up the loose leg of her shorts, her panties eased to one side! I freed and fondled her magnificent breasts while she expertly installed the aptly named French Letter. I idly wondered how many cocks had experienced this delightful service from her delicate fingers.

Out of interest this hotel supplies condoms free with every room; the packet-of-three lies there in the drawer next to the Gideons Bible, a conflicting statement if ever there was one! Maybe safe sex gets God's blessing in France? Or more likely the hotel simply wants to reduce the laundry bill!

Melita fucked in that enthusiastic amateurish way that only a 19 year old can, breathing hard and biting my neck as we humped desperately against that door, her eagerness almost to the point of being embarrassing; hardly surprising when I learned later that this was her first sex since leaving South America eight weeks ago! I remember apologising for ejaculating too quickly. Well, wouldn't you in that situation? After all I had gone without longer than she had. Although my motto is 'girls-cum-first' she clearly enjoyed pleasing me and suggested it would be her turn shortly.

We undressed and soaped each other in the shower, slowly getting aroused again. Then, after drying each other off and spraying eau-de-cologne everywhere. we sat naked watching some soft porn, slowly caressing and masturbating each other towards the next round. Melita's pussy really turned me on; she was a little hairy down there, but the black pubes were trimmed to modest bikini lines. While she remained glued to the screen I buried my face in her scented haven and tongue-fucked her to a shuddering orgasm. I remember her surprise when I probed a gentle finger into her tight little asshole. She kissed my wet face passionately when I returned from the steamy jungle.

"Brazil films more fuck," she remarked a little breathlessly, pointing to an obviously faked screen coupling.

"I pay if you want see real fuck," I suggested in Pidgin English, picking up the remote, but she shook her head and grinned, and holding my stiff cock erect, installed another complimentary condom with her mouth, and promptly climbed on top of me. She kissed my mouth wetly and we both gasped as she slithered down my pole. "This real fuck!"

And real fuck it was, in anyone's language! For a while her tight pussy assaulted me from above while I supported her bouncing breasts, she squealing in delight when I chewed on the nearest nipple. Melita then leapt off me and presented her ass in the air and I took her young sweet cunny deeply from behind while she rapidly frigged herself to another noisy orgasm. I don't climax easily again so soon with condoms, so while she calmed down I took the opportunity of once again exploring her intriguing honeypot with my tongue, my nose buried in the musky aroma of her curly pubic hair, finally teasing her tiny clitoris to another, but quieter, orgasm.

Most girls I know love to be kissed while having sex and Melita was no exception. She glued herself to my mouth when I turned her over on to her back and swiftly entered her again, this time holding her legs in the air. My tongue made love to her mouth in time with my deep thrusting lower down. In this position her youthful vaginal walls were gripping me tightly but when she sensed I was ready to cum she pushed me away.

"Cum! I see cum!" she cried and pointed to her tanned belly.

Immediately catching on, I whipped off the condom and she watched intently as I squirted my cream up the length of her body, making sure I reached those gorgeous breasts, one spurt settling neatly under her chin. To cap the erotic occasion she put one finger into a small dollop next to her right nipple and placed it between her lips! This girl obviously watched too much porn back home! Seeing she was still high as a kite, I massaged my spunk into her tits with one hand, paying careful attention to her engorged nipples, while with the other I frigged her off into yet another grateful climax. To add icing to the cake she finally leant over me and licked the remainder of the cum off my shrinking member.

After a quick fondle in another much needed shower we both fell naked, body to body into an exhausted sleep; after all she had been backpacking all day!

We 'sexed' yet again when she woke me at dawn, pushing herself back on to me after finding me erect. Being a morning person it didn't take much persuasion to fill her with some freshly brewed man-juice while she happily played with herself. While lying together, our juices seeping out on the already dampened sheet, my brain returned to its allocated position in my anatomy and I solemnly considered the stupidity of not using the remaining hotel condom; but Melita assured me she was clean and on the pill; apparently tests are obligatory in her part of the world. Also I felt further relief knowing I was clean myself, and that she hadn't been with anyone in recent times.

"Cream much nicer without rubber," she declared, heading for the coffee pot.

I soon forgot the condom issue (forgive the pun) and was standing shaving in the bathroom when this delightful teenager surprised me yet again by squatting down and delving into the front of my boxers, feeding my limp cock into her mouth.

"This say thank you for sleep here."

Despite the early morning encounter I hardened instantly on her tongue. "You said thank you last night Melita, three times to be precise."

Erotically she held the head of my cock against her tongue as she looked up at me, vigorously shaking her head, "No, no. Yesterday I want fuck, you want fuck, we did fuck. This..." she paused, with a long lick up the length of my shaft, "...this say thank you. Now I give Brazilian job."

For the uninitiated who have never been to Rio, a Brazilian blowjob is cocksucking a la crème; the woman (or male if that's your choice) performs half the job before her man prepares her some breakfast, his reward for that being 'full' completion afterward. Then she sends him satisfied off to work. Using fingers, tongue and mouth, not forgetting the little finger in my small round hole, she quickly brought me close to the point of no return and then stopped.

"Now we eat!"

In the little restaurant I remembered struggling through croissants and coffee in total discomfort and frustration, but the wait was well worth it. Half an hour later she sat on the bed as I held her head and exploded into her throat with a pent-up force way beyond anything I could ever have imagined. And to complete the picture she merrily gulped the lot down with a huge grin!

Her parting words as she lewdly licked her lips before trotting off down the hill were, "I not ever have English cream, it very good thank you. I take back to Brazil."

It crossed my mind that my semen had never travelled with Varig Airlines before; but then I thought rather sadly it would probably be peed out into a toilet in the airport well before then! I suppose that experience could be the basis for another story but I seem to have told most of it. One-night stands are one-night stands; meet, drink, eat, suck, fuck and then fuck some more. All there was to it! Barely enough for one page. Sometimes I like a little romance to go with my sex. It certainly didn't happen here. I did however get her number and made a mental note to enquire of the Directors the possibility of opening a branch in South America!

I digress.

So here I was two years later with another beer at the very same table wishing she was here right now, I was even staying in the very same room. She would be 21 by now. I idly wondered if the stains of our vigorous passion had gone through to the mattress, probably to join dozens of others no doubt. Perhaps Marie-Claire and I would add another contribution on Tuesday! If hotel mattresses could only talk! Yuk! I smiled invitingly at a couple of passing females but without success, and I really wasn't in the mood to go clubbing tonight. I glanced at my watch, 5.45, and wondering if that air stewardess was airborne yet, finished my beer and trudged the final steps up to the hotel.

Smiling hopefully at Margitte I requested my key and since it wasn't in its prescribed slot I assumed Lisa had forgotten to hand it in, or could she still be here? Maybe it wouldn't be the porn tonight after all! The porter let me into my room with a passkey and, you guessed it, she was still there, sitting on the bed, a huge grin on her face!

"I thought…" I stammered with mixed emotions.

"Cancelled," she interrupted. "Gatwick still closed."

The immediate thought of this lovely lady with nowhere to go tonight sprang foremost to my mind; perhaps my evening's entertainment was rescued after all, a twitch from Little Tommy echoing my thoughts. Shrugging off my jacket I tossed my briefcase onto the solitary armchair and sat on the bed by her feet.

She smirked, "Don't look so pleased, Heathrow has just reopened, I have to phone in at six…."

I looked at my watch, it was nearly six now, my brief erotic hopes went into reverse.

"…in the morning," she added with a wicked smile.

"Okay," I replied, trying to appear calm and disinterested. "Then we obviously have a situation here."

"Not really," she smiled softly, " I think compromise is the word if you are in agreement."

"Of course, whatever. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, before you go all gallant and suggest sleeping on the sofa, and I note that we are short of one said sofa and," she pointed to the armchair, "I am certainly not going to sleep in that thing; I suggest we come to some sort of arrangement about the bed?"

I pretended to head for the door. "Shops are still open, I'll go buy a saw."

She laughed and grabbed my arm, "Don't be silly, we are both grown up adults, it's a big bed and I think we can share it without any argument, don't you?"

"How could I possibly argue with a proposition like that?"

Her green eyes flares as she continued, "Assuming your kind hospitality is extended?"

She still had hold of my arm and I placed my hand on hers. "Of course it is. And if I may, I will repeat my offer of buying you dinner. I would like to prove to you that Paris isn't all that you think it is. And as it's early we could even take in a bar first."

She hesitated for a few seconds. "Okay with me, but only if I can pay for the wine?"

"You might regret that, I have expensive tastes."

"I know that, you are with me!" Suddenly the smile left her face and she got up off the bed and took my hands in hers, a concerned look in her eyes. Her nails were painted a delicate pearly pink. The whole of my body tingled at her touch.

"God, what am I thinking of? This is Paris, it's Friday and you might have had a date. I am so sorry Tom. "

"You're okay, I have all week for that and as it happens I don't have a date until Tuesday, and that won't necessarily get as far as this," I added, patting the bed, smiling knowingly. I showed her the photographs of the applicants; she paused at the picture of Marie-Claire.

"Bet you're hoping it will though?" she replied with a wink.

"Such an event I wouldn't find too disappointing," I tried to reply with an indifferent air, but failed by ending up with a wide grin.

"He looks fit," She was peering at one of the males I had rejected. "I would take him on, and I don't necessarily mean for work!"

"The girls at Head Office showed some interest in that one too."

"So, do you have a habit of dining all your staff? Or only the females?"

I smiled. "Only the ones with potential, and I do mean work!"

Suddenly Lisa stood up and patted my shoulder. "If we're going out I need to change, will you be a gentleman and go study that sunset for five minutes?"

I sensed that she was going along with my exaggerated formality; I discovered later that she was quite capable of stripping off right there in front of me without any preamble.

A grumpy Taxi Parisien took us a popular bar near the Bastille, where we shared a half bottle of white, followed by a short walk across the square to le Bofinger, an exclusive brasserie whose speciality is poisson. My sexy companion wore a lemon coloured knitted dress which touched every part it covered, accentuating her slender figure, the small breasts, slender waist and petite little bum clearly outlined with no VPL. Before we left the hotel she had asked me if I would like to see her with her hair down.

"I have no answer to that!" I had retorted.

She did so and the transformation was stunning, gone was the severe ponytail and the slender swan-like neck, her face was now framed softly by cascading ginger curls. All at the flick of a brush! A huge pair of silver curtain rings, now swung from her ears.

The maitre'di pretended to recognise me from my last visit and honoured us with his Place Royale as he put it, informing us this used to be Princess Di's favourite table. Idly I made a mental note to avoid driving through any riverside tunnels that night.

We enjoyed a delightfully mellow white burgundy while we gazed out at the famous 18^th century prison, wondering how this huge edifice could have been anything but impregnable. To start our meal we shared a platter of fruits-de-mer, and chatted between courses; the food was too delicious to interrupt with small talk.

"I see no ring Tom, are you not married?"

"Happily not, been there got the t-shirt."

She smiled and looked down at her own outstretched fingers, her right hand sprouting a large oval emerald stone.

"And you?"

"I have two men in my life, or had, one each side of the pond. My husband Sean in New York, and an old friend in Guildford."

"But no wedding ring?"

She sighed heavily, noticing my focus on her hand. "Sean is barely what you would call a husband. He's in New York Presbyterian in a coma, result of a car crash last year."

I placed my hand over hers. "I am so sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

She frowned. "Don't be. He was on his way back from screwing a client, and I don't mean screw as in business. I might have forgiven him if he'd been honest about it."

Our main course arrived with great flourish. I'd opted for their famous seafood sauerkraut. Lisa, having curiously enquired after the, as she put it, 'hard-on en daube culinaire' and being advised that it was actually 'hardoin', braised pigs trotter, settled for the smoked haddock.

"I suppose that wasn't the first time?" I continued.

"Damn right it wasn't. He put me through absolute shit, fucking anything in a skirt. And there I was flying around the world with opportunities to have my own fun, but stupidly I remained totally loyal to him."

"How long have you been with him?"

"Too long. Fuck him. I only go to see him now to make sure that cow of a sister of his doesn't get him to change the will. Call me a hard bitch if you like but that's it, I've had it up to here." Tears started to well up in her eyes, I passed her my serviette. "It might seem mercenary Tom, but that's life. He's fucked his up, I want to enjoy the rest of mine. If he'd told me that he wanted to screw around, I might have felt free to do the same myself, and perhaps we would have survived, and he wouldn't now be lying there dying."

After that admission we ate for a while in silence, enjoying the delicious food and each other's company. For the final course we shared again, an exquisite millefeuille.

"So how come this Guildford guy gets to enjoy what is obviously a very delightful sexy body? If it's not a rhetorical question?"

She lowered her eyes in mock modesty.

"Thank you for that. Did enjoy, past tense."

"Oh?"

She stared intently at me for a moment while she sipped from her glass. "I have known Graham back from schooldays, we grew up together but drifted apart when he got married."

"You were never lovers then?"

"Not then, no. But when things started to go wrong with him and his wife Sally, and I found out about Sean, we sort of cried on each other's shoulder. In my hotel bed as it happens!"

I grinned at her with a knowing look. "So what went wrong, you and Graham I mean?"

"We were really chalk and cheese. I make no secret of the fact that in the bedroom I like to be a bit adventurous, but he is very much Mister Missionary Man. Besides, he still had a thing for his wife, so his heart wasn't in it."

She paused while the waiter cleared our empty plates.

"Just his dick", she added, grinning.

"So that's why you've stopped seeing him?"