The Frenchman Who Loved Me. (Part 2)

How could I not love him? Well, it hadn’t been for the lack of not trying not to. There was just something about him. He was just like no other I’d known before. I’d lay in bed for several hours trying to figure out why I found him so irresistible, but alas! Futile attempts. He’d redefined love for me.

I was closely watching him, sitting right next to me on our love couch, in our love nest_ his home. His eyes were on the television opposite us. Suddenly feeling my eyes upon his gorgeous form, he turned, flashed his signature lazy smile and raised a bushy eyebrow in question. A man of not so many words. That aside, English wasn’t his first language and I knew not a word of French but our bodies spoke for where our mouths couldn’t.

I quickly looked away. It was becoming a thing_getting caught looking. I couldn’t help it, I admired him so!
I silently called on Eros, the God of love to save me from the dilemma in which I stood, neck deep. Our love was as sweet as it was forbidden. Tristan and Iseult. Sigh.

Would I up and leave everything for him? Would he do the same for me? What would his family say? What would mine say? Why did it have to be like this? Why hadn’t I met him earlier? Did the age difference matter at all? So many questions. Limited answers.

I worried about what would become of our sweet love if the hurdles seemed way too many and fatigue, exhaustion, exasperation, defeat, discouragement and prior commitments won over determination and the warm connection of our hearts….won over our love.

As if sensing my thoughts, my overwhelming dread, the trepidation that filled me in that moment, his veined olive hand touched mine. I could feel his intense gaze upon me. My eyes suddenly dropped, I didn’t want him to see how much they’d welled up to thoughts of our seemingly eventual and inevitable separation. Was I over thinking things as usual?

Was I taking his tender most well natured heart for a ride? What in the world had I been thinking getting myself involved like this? Did I want to hurt him? Of course not…at least that’s something I was dead certain about.
He had already intimated to me that he wanted to live out the rest of his days with me. Thoughts of mixed wavy haired beautiful babies had filled my mind. But….oh the but…why did there have to be a but? Why, oh why?
Too many stumbling blocks, too many rocks and hedges and steep paths stood in our way on both our sides.
Our sweet love would inevitably turn bitter sweet…doomed to be laced with tears, accusations and piercing hateful words. I could foresee it, in my mind’s eye. We’d both have no control over it all eventually. I sighed in resignation, brought my other hand to my eyes and brushed away the tears and turned to meet his gaze.

The concern on his face almost tore me apart. This man loved me, that I knew now without a doubt. All his actions so far were screaming out loud that he did. Perhaps I loved him even more. He wanted to know if he’d offended me in anyway, he mumbled in his jumbled up English. He’d now fully turned towards me, so had I_ towards him. He was apologizing…both my hands held firmly in his now. My sweet, sweet Frenchman. I knew then in that moment that I’d never know another like him. Such a beautiful soul, melting away my heart and reaching into my very core.
I opened my mouth to explain…silence…instead my lips moved in on his and he hungrily took them without hesitation. His hands were already on my bust, frantically searching for bare skin….hindered by clothing. Mine were on his belt, blindingly unstraping it, unzipping his shorts and releasing his nature. I felt it shoot up in excitement in my hands. Rhythmically stroked it, felt it harden more.

His hands had wrestled my top off, hastily unstrapping my bra and releasing my full breasts…overly eager nipples in tow. Heavy breathing, panting….as his warm mouth made contact with my nipples and nibbled on them. Sinful pleasure. Forbidden pleasure.

I drew away for a moment, shifted and sat astride him…holding his gaze. His hand reached under my skirt, drawing my pantie to the side, brushing the warm moist folds of my womanhood in the process…sending tingles all over my body. His grand entrance was so sudden that I gasped and grabbed his shoulders…just as his hands grabbed my rear. My gaze never left his. The horse ride was just beginning…but this was no ordinary horse…oh no, it wasn’t….it was an adult overgrown stallion taking me to heights I’d hitherto had no knowledge of.

Mary mother of Jesus.

My natural streams started flowing…my breath coming in shorter by the minute….someone was moaning, screaming…. and the voice seemed eerily similar to mine….but I had no time to think…couldn’t be bothered to think. Once more, I closed my eyes, drew my head back and lived in the moment, saving my troubles for another day.


Written by Anita Victoria (0)

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