The French Lesson, Part 10
by The Scholar
"Know what I want?" Simon asked.
"An ice-cream?" This was my immediate reply.
French ice cream was delicious. Why it should be more delicious than English ice cream, I don't know, but it appeared to me that it was. Rich and creamy and very more-ish, just like their lemonade.
"No, dummy, not an ice cream. I want you."
Simon cut into my thoughts about French ice cream and French lemonade, but I wasn't quite sure I had heard him correctly.
"What?"
"I said, 'I want you'."
"That's what I thought you said. Wouldn't you prefer an ice cream?"
"No."
"Not even a chocolate one, or maybe some lemonade."
In the darkness I could see him shake his head as a negative response. Our last "working" day in France had been a far cry from our "free" day in Paris. We had taken a coach to trip to yet another place of "interest" and I had found it very hard to concentrate, especially as Susie Miller had latched on to Simon almost as soon as we set foot on the coach.
"Hello, Simon," she had purred. Yes, purred. I wanted to throw up.
"Hi, Susie." That had been Simon's only response, but those two words were enough for her. Anyone would have thought he'd said, "marry me" the way she reacted - all smiles, a little giggly and fluttering eyelashes. I hated Susie Miller.
It had not been a good day. Not for me, at least. We had returned to the hostel, eaten our dinner and done our homework and, because we were heading home early tomorrow, we had been practically ordered to have an early night.
Simon shook his head in the darkness. He wanted me. He just said that, I had heard him correctly.
"What about Susie Miller?" I felt obliged to ask. Kevin Bradshaw had said Susie Miller was going to "make Simon her boyfriend" by the end of the week. It was the end of the week. She had spent all day purring at him and, if I'm honest, pawing at him, so, yes, I felt obliged to ask, "what about Susie Miller?"
"Susie means nothing to me, you know that. She may well be pretty, but she's not the brightest star in the galaxy."
Before I knew what was happening, Simon moved closer and kissed my cheek.
"I'm coming up."
So was I!
What Simon meant was that he was climbing up into my bunk and as he crawled in beside me - admittedly, a tight squeeze - I felt his nakedness.
Simon was naked. There is a God.
"Turn over."
I did.
"Ready?"
I was.
I braced myself for what was about to happen. It was something that I had longed for and a wave of happiness washed over me, as I felt him push forward and I gasped for air, realising that I had been holding my breath and then he had stopped.
"N'arrête pas," I whispered.
Softly, tenderly, he pushed forward once more and he was inside me. I tried hard to relax, allowing myself to breath and allowing one more push from my friend. I could feel him inside of me; I could feel his skin against my own and I could feel his hands as they gently caressed my back, softly, gently brushing against my skin.
"J'aime ça," my voice was still a whisper.
I could feel his breath on my cheek, as he kissed me and in a whisper of his own, I heard his words.
"Tu es ma joie de vivre. Tu es mon amour. Mon amour pour toi est eternal."
And then he began to move, pulling his body away from mine and then pushing forward once more, a rhythm that continued in this way for some time and one that sent a feeling of warmth throughout my very soul. Slowly at first and then with more speed, more passion, more hunger.
"Ca, alors!" My voice was no longer a whisper. "Basie-moi plus fort."
His hands were on my shoulders and he moved my body in time with his own and all I could do was to ride this wave of ecstasy.
"Ca, alors!" I seemed to be screaming. "Ca, alors! Ca, alors!"
His voice broke through my own.
"Je viens!"
I heard the words and I felt the action as he shot his load inside of me, both of us now screaming in unison - "Ca, alors!"
His breathing, like my own, was heavy, almost panting, as he collapsed on top of me catching his breath.
"C'etair super," I panted, as he pulled his body free of mine and rolled over onto his back. Turning to face him, I kissed him and he returned my kiss, his tongue finding my own, as we shared our love.
As our lips parted I whispered softly: "Tu es magnifique! Je t'aime."
Simon grinned. "Je t'aime et je t'aimerai toujours."
I smiled back at him and moved my body closer to his and held him tight.
"Bonsoir, mon amour."
I dreamed of having found real happiness in the arms of the one I loved.
"Paul, êtes-vous bon?"
The voice was Simon's. I opened my eyes and he stood looking down on me in my bunk.
"What?"
"Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep."
"I was?"
"Yeah and in French, too!"
"Really? What was I saying?"
"How the hell do I know? Anyway, shut up, or you'll wake the whole dormitory. We have a long trip home tomorrow."
I was dreaming? Damn! I was dreaming! In French! How could that happen?
"Sorry," was all I could say, as he returned to his bunk and I returned to my dream.
Simon Taylor, ses yeux bleus hypnotiques, son sourire bête, son nez de bouton mignon, ses cheveux blonds tombant en désordre à travers son visage...
Damn it, Carter - dream in English.
Simon Taylor, his hypnotic blue eyes, his silly grin, his cute button nose, his blonde hair falling in disarray across his face...
That's better.
Simon a souri. Il ne devrait pas faire cela. J'ai examiné ses yeux et je noyais...
Damn it - English!
Simon grinned. He shouldn't do that. I looked into his eyes and I was drowning...
"Bonsoir, mon amour."
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