Layla and I had been best friends since we were little. Since our families even often holidayed together, we’d rarely been separated for more than a few days in all that time, and never more than a week. Now I was going away for three weeks and I didn’t know how I was going to cope.

My family was going to Europe, visiting London first, then Paris, and then on to my mom’s old school friend’s place near Rennes in Brittany.

I spoke to Layla on the phone as often as I could manage, and I told her all about the places we’d seen, which was nice, but I still missed her terribly. Her being so far away made me wish I’d told her how I felt about her.

I’d been having ... feelings for her for a while. When we had sleepovers, I’d sneak glances at her while she was changing, and, as we talked sometimes, I’d zone out, thinking about how soft her lips looked, and how they might feel if she kissed me. She’d never given me any impression that she felt that way about me, and I didn’t dare say anything: our friendship was way too precious to risk.

We were spending the last fours days at Mom’s friend’s farm and I didn’t get too much of a chance to ring Layla. The cell coverage was awful and I didn’t like to use the house phone for long distance calls.

I did make one call on the day before we left.

“Sophie!” she squealed happily down the phone. “It’s been ages. How are you?”

“Hi, Layla. I’m ... fine, but I can’t talk long--”

“I’ve missed you so much,” she interrupted. “How’s the farm?”

“I know. I’ve missed you too,” I said. “Oh, Sophie, I’ve got so much to tell you ... but I can’t on the phone. We’re flying tomorrow, but we get in at awful o’clock in the morning. Maybe, if I try to sleep in the afternoon, I could see you in the evening?”

“OK. You can stay at mine,” she said, “then we can talk all night.”

“That’s perfect. Sorry, I’d better go. I love you.”

There was a distinct pause and I cursed myself: we never said that to each other, and I didn’t know how she’d react. “I love you too, Sophie,” she said finally and very solemnly. The relief was huge and I felt my whole body filling up with joy.

“Bye,” I whispered, barely able to make myself say it: I just wanted to go on talking to her forever.

“Bye. See you in a day and a bit.” And then the line went dead. She’d said it! I tried to calm myself down ... but she’d said it!

The next day seemed to crawl: the drive to the airport, the endless queueing, the interminable flight, and trying to sleep when we got home, exhausted and jetlagged.

Finally, I was standing outside Layla’s front door, buzzing with excitement.

Her mother answered the door and gave me a big hug, which was lovely, if a little unusual. “I don’t know where Layla’s got to. Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you some juice. Or are you on coffee now after France?”

“Juice will be fine, thank you, Janice.”

We sat down at the kitchen table. “So, where did you go? What did you see?”

I got my phone out, and I’d just begun to show her my pictures when there was a screech behind me. “Sophie! I’m sorry I was in-- Never mind,” Layla said, hugging me around the shoulders. I desperately wanted to stand up and hug her properly, but with her mom there it all felt a bit awkward.

There was nothing for it but to go on with the picture show, wishing I hadn’t taken so many now, and that Janice would stop asking so many questions. I needed so much to get Layla alone and, in the end, I think maybe her mom sensed it.

She smiled at my increasingly desperate expression, “What am I thinking of,” she said smiling at me sympathetically. “I’m sure you girls have lots to catch up on...”

The haste with which we left the table and ran upstairs was almost embarrassing. Not that either of us cared. We got changed for bed, as we always did, and I tried hard not to peek as she stood with her back to me in just a pair of pink cotton panties, before pulling an oversized T-shirt over her head. Then we jumped onto the bed and lay facing one another.

“OK. Spill,” she told me.

I looked into her lovely brown eyes and they were full of eagerness and excitement.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I told her.

“I missed you too.”

“Would it be OK if I kissed you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said without a hint of a pause.

We kissed and it was every bit as beautiful as I’d hoped and dreamed.

I burst into tears.

“What is it?” she asked, taking my hand and squeezing it. Her concerned tone just made me feel even worse. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you,” I blurted out through the tears, “I want to be with you ... but--”

“You do?” she interrupted, “like as a couple?” I nodded miserably and she squealed happily and threw her arms around me.

“So do I,” she cried, “so do I. Wait, why are you crying? What’s the ‘but’?”

“I was with another girl ... in France,” I whispered.

She released me from her embrace and wiped away my tears. Finally, she kissed me firmly but tenderly on the lips. “I do love you, Sophie,” she said earnestly. “But you must tell me everything.”

Mom’s friend is called Angie, and she’s American. Her Dad, Bertrand, is French. He’s black and she’s white, and they have a daughter, Etienne, and she’s the most amazing coffee color.”

On the first day, Etienne showed me around the farm, they’ve got an orchard and a vineyard, and it’s all very beautiful. Etienne was so nice. Very friendly. She kept holding my hand and putting her arm around me and stuff, but I figured that the French must just be a bit more touchy-feely than us.

Dinner went on late, and, when I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep, too much excitement I suppose, and I’d had a few glasses of red wine as well. Anyway, I got up and looked out of the window at the orchard. The night was so warm and beautiful. I did something that I’d never do at home: I went outside, just in my nighty, and just walked around, breathing in the strange scents, and looking at the stars, and ... getting turned on. I didn’t know if it was the wine, or Etienne, or just the beautiful situation, but I was definitely feeling horny.

My nighty was longish, and it had buttons all up the front and I undid them.

“What. All of them?” Layla asked, clearly amazed.

“Yes, all of them.”

And then I danced around the trees. It was such a thrill being naked outdoors, my breasts, all free and bouncing in the warm breeze, my nipples all hard and achy. I was so excited and a little ... moist, and the Mistral wind on my damp pussy lips...

I heard a deep sigh, and Layla was gazing at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “I wish you’d been there,” I said wistfully. She tried to speak, but her voice broke.

“I wish I’d been there,” she managed after swallowing hard a couple of times. Then she looked expectantly at me and nodded urgently.

Then I heard a twig snap, so I pulled my nighty around me and froze.

“I am sorry, Sophie. It is only me,” I heard Etienne cry out, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

She walked up to me, smiling. “I am sorry I interrupted you,” she said. “I saw you leaving the house and I wanted to check you were OK. Then you started dancing and ... you are very beautiful.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and then she reached out and gently stroked my cheek. “Would it be OK if I kissed you?” she asked me.

“Oh, God. I hope you said yes,” Layla whispered, leaning closer to me.

It was so wonderful. She was caressing my face and my neck. And her body pressing was against mine ... I don’t know how long we kissed. When we finally stopped, she smiled fondly at me. “Do you have a special friend back home, Sophie?”

“Yes. She’s called Layla,” I replied.

“Do you kiss her like that?”

I could hardly breathe. “No,” I told her. “I’ve wanted to for a long time, but I never dared. I’m not sure that she likes me that way.”

“Oh, Sophie. Yes, I do like you that way,” Layla blurted out.

I leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Carry on. Carry on,” she said impatiently.

“That is a shame,” Etienne said, looking sad, and then she kissed me again, just briefly, and left me standing there. Trembling and confused.

“Oh,” Layla said, sounding disappointed and brushing a tear away from her eye.

The next night, late again, I went to Etienne’s room and asked her if she wanted to go for another walk. She led me by the hand to a small clearing in the orchard where the trees were only saplings, and we lay on the soft grass and looked up at the stars.

“Tell me about your Layla,” she said.

“She’s funny and clever and beautiful.” I told her.

“You said I was beautiful?” Layla asked me breathlessly.

“You are beautiful.” I told her, stroking her cheek.

She leaned up on an elbow to look down at me. “Why do you not make love to her?” she asked.

“I don’t know if she wants to...” I began.

“And?”

“And I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

“Would you like me to make love to you, Sophie? I would like to very, very much.”

“Oh God, Oh god. Please say that you said yes.”

“Yes,” I told her, embarrassed when it came out as barely a squeak.

She kissed me and, as she did, she slowly undid all of the buttons on my nighty, not opening it, but the featherlike touches as she undid them had me trembling with desire.

“Are you really sure that you want to hear all of this?” I asked Layla.

“Everything,” she replied firmly.

While she was still kissing me, she gently lifted the nighty away from my body. For what seemed like forever I just lay there in the moonlight, naked under the stars, with her sweet kisses taking my breath away.

I was so nervous, with butterflies so strong my tummy hurt. When she did begin to touch me, she was so gentle, just exploring the curves of my hips ... and my tummy ... and my neck ... and my thighs ... until I was desperate for more.

“Please,” I begged her, my nipples painfully hard and crying out to be loved. I gasped out loud when she cupped my breast and brushed her finger over one, and then moved to the other. When she leaned down and squeezed my nip between her lips I thought I might die from sheer pleasure. Again, she was so soft and patient with me, just kissing and caressing my breasts so tenderly until I couldn’t stop my hips from moving.

Layla was staring at me wide-eyed, nibbling on her lovely lips. I wanted so much to kiss her, but she seemed utterly enthralled.

Etienne’s hand moved slowly down my flank and then over my leg until her fingers tried to delve between my upper thighs.

“Open for me, sweet Sophie,” she whispered, her fingertips brushing just below my pussy. I didn’t dare. I was scandalously wet.

“Please,” she begged, softly urging my legs apart and kissing me. Gradually I let my legs spread, my lips opening and the cooling air inside my vagina making me quake with lust. Then, I was lying there, utterly naked, with my legs spread as wide as they’d go ... in public.

I held my breath as Etienne’s fingers traced across my vulva and dipped inside me, and my wetness leaked out. “Perfect,” she breathed into my mouth.

“Can I see you?” Layla asked, so quietly that I could barely hear her. I leaned forward and kissed her, having to force myself to stop in the end because I so wanted to be naked for my love.

I knelt up to remove my nighty, and Layla did the same. Suddenly my mouth was very dry and my pussy was very wet as I watched her peel her T-shirt up over her head. For the first time, I could look properly at her lovely breasts: so high and pert, and her darling little nipples, all erect. And the soft curves of her mound all-- “Sophie!” I heard her plaintive cry and, dragging my eyes up to her face, saw her looking at me accusingly.

“Sorry,” I said. “but God, you are so beautiful.” her expression softened but she still looked impatient. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I cried, realizing that I was staring again, and I finally pulled my nighty off.