Chapter 1

Emmanuelle;

This is an actual true story, told as I remember it. Believe it or not, this happened.

I met her in a little restaurant near a popular beach on a tropical island where hippies and druggies hung out back in 1980.

I sat in the dark on the balcony, away from the noise and smell inside. She came out and asked if it was true that I didn’t drink or smoke.

I said yes, and she sat and ate with me.

I couldn’t see her in the darkness, but she had a good figure and a nice voice with a French accent. We laughed together in the dark.

She asked if I knew a place to swim at night; I told her I did. When I went to pay the bill, the owner laughed and told me the girl had paid for me.

I took her on my motorbike down the narrow track to the beach where I spent my days.

The starlight reflected from the water was enough to see her slim body and pert breasts. The sand was cold under our feet, but the water was warm.

We swam naked in the warm tropical sea, which was lit green by magic bio luminant algae that night. She laughed and splashed, creating swirls of weird light in the water around us.

“Now I’m all salty.” She said as we came back onto the land, “Where can I take a shower?”

Specs of bioluminescent algae on her skin lit her like a goddess in the darkness.

“My house is close by.” I told her, marveling that a girl would be so forward, even back then.

When we went inside and I switched on the light, I saw her face for the first time.

She was a cute girl; half Asian, with long black curly hair and a great but slightly crooked smile. She was just 19, and I was a year younger.

We showered separately, and afterwards I kissed her, and two hours after we’d met, we were in bed together.

She loved sex; loved to be loved, to be touched. She could kiss forever, tickling my stiff young penis.

I slid it into her bareback, like we did in those days. I can still remember that moment; her bright smile, her fingers on my ass, her legs open as my hips met hers.

Her wet warm vagina holding my hard cock in a tight welcome as I joyfully and passionately fucked her in the silence of the tropical night.

She wasn’t a girl who would turn heads if she sat still in contemplation, which she tended to do. But when she laughed and spun around, arms and hair flailing in delight, you had to love her.

We made love late into the night, and our orgasms weren’t our final destination, but just a step in the road. We were mostly missionary, but she liked to be on top sometimes too.

I came when she did, shamelessly squirting my semen inside her.

In the morning over breakfast, she told me she was staying a few miles away.

“When I got here I didn’t know where to go, but I met a nice boy and he said I could stay with him, I always meet nice boys who help me, that’s why I never worry.” She said, “But he’s a drug addict, he can’t get hard. I thought I could help him but no, really it just doesn’t work at all.” She looked a little bit distressed, I had the impression she wanted me to offer some advice on the matter, but I had none.

So I gave her a lift and dropped her off at the guy’s place. “Turn the motor off so he doesn’t hear us.” She said, and after getting off the bike gave me a quick kiss and snuck into the house, as if the guy wouldn’t notice her absence.

The morning after that, she was at my door. She smiled at me with her bright face and crooked teeth, and laughed as I pulled her inside.

Her body was petite, her ass tight, her color was just a half shade of yellow off white. “I want to take a shower.” She said, “Together with you.”

“That sounds good to me.” I agreed, and we both undressed.

“You’re hard already!” she laughed, pointing at my stiff penis and bouncing on her bare feet like the happy girl she was.

“Show me how you masturbate.” She requested as we washed each other.

I stepped away and did it, looking at her face. She stared down at my hand, thrilled and interested in the details.

“So slowly?” she marveled, “Will you come?”

“If you want me to.” I said.

“Oui, oui!” she laughed, so kinky and pretty that I would do whatever she asked.

Even though she wasn’t even touching me, it was sex. I ran my eyes down her slim little body, her tight young tits, her furry groin, her flat belly. Her grin was her sexiest feature; that smile of delight as she watched my performance, her joy. I looked into her Eurasian eyes, and ejaculated, pointing it at her face. I had enough velocity to get there, which surprised us both.

She didn’t like that though; she was a bit angry with me. I tried not to laugh, but it was pretty funny.

She washed it off, and we went to bed. We kissed, touched, tickled, and fucked.

The first time is always best, except with Emanual the second time was better. She’d woken early and walked 3 miles to my house. The first time was sort of random, a chance meeting, a pickup.

When she came back for seconds, it meant she liked it.

And that she liked me.

She rode me, looking down through her long disheveled curls, her happy eyes and crooked grin more sexy than anything as her hips rotated around my stiff rod.

Her breasts were firm little bumps, her nipples small and stiff. I looked up at her, the stranger on my cock. We didn’t know each other at all, yet we knew enough.

Relaxing together on my bed as the day heated up outside, sweat evaporating from her tight young skin, we talked about ourselves and she told me about an affair she had just before she left France.

“When I am angry or upset, I like to walk.

On this day, I was very upset; I walked and walked, out of my small city of Bordeaux, past the fancy houses with their neat gardens, until I was in the nature. I like the nature, when there are trees and things I am more relaxed.

I wandered off the road into a field. It was getting late and cold, and my anger was also cooling now. Perhaps I should have been worried, as I had no money with me and only a light jacket, but I was never the kind of girl to worry about practical things.

I was surprised to see a man sitting under a tree. In France, people [other than me] didn’t normally sit in fields under trees, they sat in nice café’s and drank wine.

“Bonjour” I said.

He looked up, surprised to see another person in this lonely place off the road. He was an older man, grey and round. His eyes were red and there were tears flowing down his cheeks. This was the most surprising of all; a well dressed old man had been sitting here all alone, crying like a girl.

My own problems lifted away from my mind. “What is wrong, why are you crying?” I asked the man. I’m like that; if I want to know, I simply ask.

At first he wouldn’t talk about it, as he was a man. But after some time I convinced him to open up to me. And because I was an 18 year old girl, he did.

His wife of thirty years had recently died. He had no one now, his children had moved away long ago. He didn’t like his work anymore, he didn’t enjoy life at all.

I told him about my own problems, but they seemed silly somehow, since I was young and pretty and every boy or man would help me.

Actually that was my problem; I had two boyfriends and they both wanted me to move in with them and give up the other.

But they were both such lovely boys, how could I decide? I’d been happy in my own little room in my employer’s apartment above the bookstore where I worked. But now I had lost my job and I was told I must leave the room immediately.

“But they can’t just fire you, they must follow legal procedures for that.” My new friend told me.

“But I was working black, it was all under the table.” I told him. We had already been talking for an hour, and it was starting to get dark. But I felt ok there in the field with the old man.

“That makes no difference, you have rights.” He insisted. He was forgetting his own worries as he considered mine, just as I had forgotten mine to consider his. It was nice, we were the same even though we were so completely different.

I didn’t tell him what the argument had been with my boss; she was angry with me because I made love with her young son, but that’s a different story.

It was getting cold in the field now, and my new friend had a big felt coat over his shoulders. He released the buttons and opened the front, holding it open. I settled close to him, and he put his arm and the coat around me as we talked more.

It was warm and friendly in his coat. His body was large but comfortable. I thought that this is such a nice man, and I could help him so easily; surely making love with a young girl like me would repair his dark mood? Of course I didn’t find him attractive, as he was old and a bit fat, and I liked boys young and thin. But it would make me feel good inside to know I had helped a stranger, and I needed to feel better as well because my employer had said terrible things to me.

I like to have different experiences. Meeting a lonely old man under a tree in a field was just the sort of rendezvous that excites me.

So I snuggled closer to him, and we talked. He was good to talk to, he had a lovely deep voice but soft language. And he listened attentively when I spoke, and he replied thoughtfully to what I said.

Some girls might feel afraid to lie with a stranger in a field as the night fell, but I felt warm and safe with him, because I was sure he was a good man and perhaps we’d make love, and that thought didn’t frighten me.

I tilted my face up to look into his face. It was dusk now, but we could still see clearly. His white hair was cut very precisely, and his face was freshly shaved. He was handsome, in his way. The way an older person can be sometimes. The heat from his body felt nice, his arm around me was friendly. I looked into his face, and I thought to myself that it could be fun and actually even quite interesting to make love with him. I was wet between my legs, and I hoped he wanted me too.

“You are very beautiful.” He said, seeing my thoughts on my face in the starlight. And then he kissed me.

I found the kiss surprisingly exciting; I had kissed quite a few boys by that time, and I had thought that kissing Claude would be more like kissing my father or grandfather.

But it wasn’t like that at all, because he was a potential lover; his old mouth was hungry for me, and we kissed deeply in the cold dark field, his strong soft hands holding my young body firmly.

Emmanuelle is the name of my favorite erotic movie from that time. I don’t like pornographic movies, but some erotic movies are nice. Emmanuelle was a young girl who married an older man. And he takes her to the tropics and shows her everything erotic; he has her make love with different boys and girls, and she does everything he tells her because she loves him and also of course she is enjoying herself.

Claude was much older than the man in the movie, but I was thinking that like Emmanuelle I had been with several boys now, but not an older man, and it was good to try it just to see what it would make me feel, because I want to have whatever experiences I can.