Chapter 33: Roger and Sophie

[Undated Entry]
Near Oxford, Oxfordshire

THE DAY PROMISED to be hot again. Roger’s excitement and anticipation of his day with Sophie caused him to wake up early. Years later he wondered if somehow the morning promise foreordained the way the day would end. At the moment he had no idea. He was to find out Sophie was adventurous in more ways than one.

The two decided to set out on their own and meet up with the others sometime in the late afternoon for tea or a light evening meal. “After all,” Professor Perrine had said, “they’re young and eager and ready to take on the world.”

Roger wasn’t sure where the professor had heard such nonsense, but the truth of the matter was he had fallen hard for Sophie in the shortest possible time.

Sophie took Roger’s hand as they left the professor’s house, farewells and laughter following them out the door. Outside, she released him and took his arm. She tugged him to stop and turned to face him, her smile broad and her eyes sparkling.

“We are going to have so much fun today, Roger!” Sophie moved closer and kissed Roger on his lips, quick and soft. Roger’s smile matched hers.

“Yes, Sophie.” His smile faded after their kiss. “Why is there so much noise here, Sophie?”

His response was probably not what she expected, and she looked at him for a moment. “It seems noisy to you, Roger?”

He laughed.

“Yes, very.”

“Don’t you have noise in your Oxford?” She couldn’t think of another way to ask.

“Of course,” he answered. “Horses, shouts, carts, wheels, geese, chickens. All of that.” He paused for a moment. “But here, these ... carts or whatever they are,” he pointed at a line of autos parked at the curb, “make so much more noise. And the larger ones, and those enclosures with sound, so loud.” Roger turned to her. “It’s very different, Sophie, that’s all.”

Sophie chuckled in answer.

“You’ll get used to it.” She tugged at his hand. “Come on, let’s see what’s happening at the stones.”

It was late morning when they joined the crowd. The dancers in their varied costumes made splashes of color as the moved and circled, some in time with the music, some not.

Sophie remained close to him, her arm through his. Whenever he caught her eye she smiled. Roger thought of Sandrine and Mistress Heathcoate and his smile grew wider. His experience with women was limited but intense. Among other advice Roger found extremely rewarding, the women taught him to understand body language. Like any boy his age he understood the body language of boys and men perfectly, and he knew when to relax, when to fight, and when to run.

He did not understand female signals. The only women in his life were his mother and his aunts. There were almost no opportunities to learn from girls his age nearby, and the one or two cousins he saw infrequently were as inexperienced and clueless as he was.

Roger was confident he understood Sophie’s signals. So he kissed her again. By her warm soft lips and the way she lingered he knew he’d guessed correctly. This time when Roger let her go, reluctantly, she took his hand and led him to join the circle of dancers.

By noon Roger was exhausted. Sophie’s dance, graceful, energetic, unstopping let him move in a fashion he thought kept him out of her way, but he did not dare approach. Apart from a short rest and water from a container made of some unrecognizable material Sophie carried, they’d danced for over three hours.

Roger found the music not completely strange to him, although he did not recognize some of the tunes or the lyrics.

But the noise. The noise was oppressive. The musicians played instruments not unlike those Roger knew, but their music came from strange black objects on posts. How this was accomplished Roger had no idea. When he asked Sophie later her response made no sense at all to him. Sophie was more interesting anyway.

Whenever they weren’t dancing Sophie found reason to touch his arm and even stroke his cheek once or twice. Her signals did not go unnoticed. Sometime after mid-day the two followed their noses to one of the many small stands where chunks of meat grilled over open fires.

Roger watched Sophie tuck into the charred meat with enthusiasm. Grease escaped but he thought he probably looked the same. After they’d returned for a second portion, which they shared, Sophie produced a package of what seemed to be paper dipped in alcohol to clean their hands and mouths and chins.

Finished, Sophie led Roger to the edge of the clearing. Without a word she put her backpack on the ground, put two hands at her waist, and stripped off her shirt. She wore no under vest. Roger goggled. Sophie’s laughter was not meant to be unkind.

“What, Roger? You’ve never seen a girl’s breasts before? Roger?”

He managed to close his mouth enough to respond, even if his words didn’t make a lot of sense. Whatever he said apparently pleased his companion, for she stepped close and kissed him.

“Come on, Roger, let’s dance some more.”

She led him over to a circle of revelers engaged in their own version of a Renaissance summer solstice dance. A few of the women danced bare-breasted, one or two completely bare, as was one of the men. Many had imbibed or smoked. The aroma was familiar.

Sophie led Roger again through her repertoire. No one seemed to care, really, what dance one chose. Roger managed to keep time to the music, even if his midday meal and ale and general fatigue meant his movements were more gestures than actual dancing.

Sophie finally took pity on him and led the way to where a pair or women served lemonade. With their containers that appeared to Roger to be made of heavy paper Sophie led them away from the dancers to the relative quiet at the edge of the clearing. The two sat in the grass and sipped lemonade.

“So, Roger, don’t they dance where you come from?”

Roger felt himself blush.

“Of course we do, Sophie.”

He omitted to add he was as poor a dancer in his own time as he was today.

Without conscious thought Roger stared at the droplets of sweat on Sophie’s shiny breasts. She wasn’t generously endowed, he thought. She was perfect.

Sophie put her lemonade aside and scootched over to Roger. He didn’t ignore the invitation to open his arms and embrace her, his hands suddenly wet from her slick back. Minutes or hours later, he wasn’t sure, he pulled back. Her lips were soft and puffy, her eyes heavy-lidded and her smile soft and sensual.

“Sophie,” he whispered.

Her smile grew broader.

“That was wonderful.”

“Ssh, Roger.”

She kissed him again. This time his hand found a small breast, where his thumb slid across an upright nipple.

“Mmm.”

He stroked her and she squirmed against him, against his hardness. He moved his hand to her bottom and pulled her against him. When they broke the kiss she giggled.

“You’re a good kisser, Roger.”

He knew enough to keep quiet. Sophie rolled away from him and put her hands behind her head. He resisted the urge to lean close and kiss her nipples and lick the sweat from her breasts.

“Shall we dance a little more, Roger? What do you say?”

Roger thought he’d rather continue kissing, but he was smart enough to see where Sophie’s proposal appeared to lead. He knew he’d like the destination.

“Sure, Sophie.” With that he stood and reached his hand down to Sophie. In a second she was in his arms again.

Their dancing was slower this time as they moved in and out of each other’s arms. Each time they joined Sophie contrived to wriggle against him. Roger remained half-hard.

When they took a break from their dancing Roger refused Sophie’s suggestion of another beer. He wanted to keep a clear head for whatever Sophie had in mind. Sophie had another beer. Idly, Roger wondered how much alcohol a person barely five feet tall could consume, but other than a slight looseness Sophie seemed unaffected.

When she finished she tossed the bottle aside and turned to Roger and rolled herself into his arms. Roger responded with lips and tongues and hands. She was sweaty and a little ripe. It didn’t matter. Roger was as well, and the two lost themselves in their kiss.

When they came up for air Sophie moved back a little and grinned. She seemed to search Roger’s face, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Whatever she searched for she found, for she burst out laughing and leaned forward to kiss Roger again. This time she sighed when they separated. After a moment she pushed Roger onto his back and scrunched herself forward to hold his cheek in her hand.