RightField
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 30, 2003
- Posts
- 9,335
What do you remember of young love? Please share your stories.
I was in Paris when I was teenager halfway through high school, about this time of year. I was quite shy, and many years later still am. It was summer and hot. My hosts, family friends from the U.S., with two daughters close to my age and a son a few years younger, had moved there a year earlier. They decided to have a luncheon party one Sunday at one of the nicer restaurants and invited a couple friends. The parents said "You have to meet Camille, she's delightful." Camille, a couple years older than me, came with her sister, a couple years younger. Camille sat next to me, two of us on one side and her sister sat next to her around the corner. Camille had light brown shoulder length hair, lightly tanned skin, green eyes and a bright smile that came out often. She was wearing a fairly sheer long sundress, cinched cotton, almost ankle length which was very fashionable at the time. I admired it when she came in, it had pastel colors, modest, but just right for a hot day. She was lithe and moved with the grace of one of the dancers Paris is so famous for. The conversation around the table was engaging, half in English, half in French, full of laughter and dramatic gestures. She and I talked a little, but nothing out of the ordinary, no more than with anyone else at the table. She spoke a little English and I spoke as much French as you might expect after a year of high school lessons which is to say, not much. About halfway through the lunch, she reached for her napkin and started fanning herself a little, then, with her other hand, reached below the long tablecloth and pulled her skirt up to mid-thigh in a way no one else could see. As she was pulling it up, she glanced in my direction sort of whispering with her eyes, "look at that." I noticed. Being so naive, all I did was suck my breath in a little as a way of conveying acknowledgement and maybe a little complement. A few minutes later, during a lull in the conversation, she said "chaud" with a little exclamation, reached for a glass of wine with her left hand, drawing attention that way, looking across the table at the others, then subtly pulled her skirt up further with her right hand. After taking the sip and returning the wine glass. She leaned back, turned to me, smiled, let her right arm drop again so I followed the motion. She'd pulled her skirt up so far I could see her white panties. She turned her head a little to her left, fanned herself with her napkin again, then looked back at me. I smiled, but was struck speechless. As it is so often with girls, she was a master and I was an orangatang, just speechless with a heart beating fast. I'm lucky I didn't let my mouth drop. I kept thinking about whether I should reach to hold her hand, but no, the best I could come up with was to sing up when it came time for dessert so I could sit next to her a little longer. We left Paris a couple days later for Milan and I never heard of her or saw her again, but often dreamed about how nice it would be to have an engaging French girlfriend.
I was in Paris when I was teenager halfway through high school, about this time of year. I was quite shy, and many years later still am. It was summer and hot. My hosts, family friends from the U.S., with two daughters close to my age and a son a few years younger, had moved there a year earlier. They decided to have a luncheon party one Sunday at one of the nicer restaurants and invited a couple friends. The parents said "You have to meet Camille, she's delightful." Camille, a couple years older than me, came with her sister, a couple years younger. Camille sat next to me, two of us on one side and her sister sat next to her around the corner. Camille had light brown shoulder length hair, lightly tanned skin, green eyes and a bright smile that came out often. She was wearing a fairly sheer long sundress, cinched cotton, almost ankle length which was very fashionable at the time. I admired it when she came in, it had pastel colors, modest, but just right for a hot day. She was lithe and moved with the grace of one of the dancers Paris is so famous for. The conversation around the table was engaging, half in English, half in French, full of laughter and dramatic gestures. She and I talked a little, but nothing out of the ordinary, no more than with anyone else at the table. She spoke a little English and I spoke as much French as you might expect after a year of high school lessons which is to say, not much. About halfway through the lunch, she reached for her napkin and started fanning herself a little, then, with her other hand, reached below the long tablecloth and pulled her skirt up to mid-thigh in a way no one else could see. As she was pulling it up, she glanced in my direction sort of whispering with her eyes, "look at that." I noticed. Being so naive, all I did was suck my breath in a little as a way of conveying acknowledgement and maybe a little complement. A few minutes later, during a lull in the conversation, she said "chaud" with a little exclamation, reached for a glass of wine with her left hand, drawing attention that way, looking across the table at the others, then subtly pulled her skirt up further with her right hand. After taking the sip and returning the wine glass. She leaned back, turned to me, smiled, let her right arm drop again so I followed the motion. She'd pulled her skirt up so far I could see her white panties. She turned her head a little to her left, fanned herself with her napkin again, then looked back at me. I smiled, but was struck speechless. As it is so often with girls, she was a master and I was an orangatang, just speechless with a heart beating fast. I'm lucky I didn't let my mouth drop. I kept thinking about whether I should reach to hold her hand, but no, the best I could come up with was to sing up when it came time for dessert so I could sit next to her a little longer. We left Paris a couple days later for Milan and I never heard of her or saw her again, but often dreamed about how nice it would be to have an engaging French girlfriend.
Last edited:
