Marrying a seventeen-year-old girl may not be the best of ideas. Zabel would have been fine, I knew this. Because of her untimely demise, I would spend the rest of my life wondering what sex would have been like with her. She took her own life while we were waiting for our wedding night to share the most sacred bond that can unite a man and a woman.
When I read the post-scriptum written by my generous benefactor, about life being too short to be spent in sorrow, I took it as meaning I should fly back from Montreal to Paris and reunite with that girl I had met when I was over there to compete in the 1946 World Championships.
So there I sat, again, uncomfortable in a seat meant for the average-sized man, where my extra-large frame was crammed for sixteen hours. Such is the life of a heavyweight Olympic weightlifter who flies abroad.
Once in Paris, I checked in at the same hotel where I had rented a room in October. I even got the same room! I looked everywhere for Zabel’s picture, which I had forgotten there when I helped Nadia escape from her ex-husband and from the black-clad agents of the MGB who were chasing us in the name of the USSR.
After leaving my things on my bed, I went downstairs and crossed the street. Jules, the café owner, was right there with his proverbial apron. His eyes lit up as he saw me.
“Daniel! If it isn’t you… Ha! Ha! Ha!” bellowed the fatherly man, who gave me a great hug that had me wondering what he was seeing in me—a son he never had, or perhaps a son he lost during the war.
I was ready to pay for my coffee and crescents, but he insisted! He would give me his best coffee and cuisine, on the house. Six weeks away from France had been enough to make me forget how wonderful food really is over there. I still loved my Canadian breakfasts.
The same sparrows were patrolling the pavement and pecking the crumbs that never failed to fall from the round tables, while people walked by in droves. The weather was wonderfully pleasant for late November. From a snow-covered landscape in Canada, I had landed in an autumn-like, leafless France that offered a chilly sunlight that didn’t preclude Jules from serving roasted chestnuts to customers wearing greatcoats.
On that particular day, the weather was almost warm, and French young ladies wore only light coats and walked around in circle dresses that showcased the playful gait of their stocking-ed lower legs. Many women were in a suit dress without a coat, but always with a stylish hat. Their bosoms displayed the alluring shapes that were meant for their husbands only. Winter was so much milder in France! I was partial to that softer side, at least for a few days.
I was midway through my quiche lorraine when I heard Marie, “Daniel! Daniel! C’est toi!?“
There she was, the Parisian maid! All five feet of her, delightfully petite and a peachy seventeen. She wore a loose raincoat over a water-green dress, along with the same black stockings and penny loafer shoes I saw her in when I first met her. I ordered the same pastry as on that occasion—a Paris-Brest.
She whirled like a ballerina, giggled as she waved her round hat at me, then she ran to sit beside me, giggled some more and finally put her arms around me and kissed me like only a French girl can kiss. It felt like being kissed by a laughing, giggling version of the Sun-Maid on the raisin boxes.
Fifteen minutes later, we were alone together in my hotel room. I was avidly kissing her. The mere proximity of her was enough to make me as hard as a Canadian stallion.
I ravenously began to take her clothes off. Her light raincoat flew down on the wooden floor, soon joined by her 1935-style hat. She began to giggle and was unable to stop as I hurriedly unbuttoned the blue-green water of her dress top, telling her how beautiful she was, how that turquoise colour made her pale skin so much brighter.
She giggled and giggled on, with fires of joy in her blue-green eyes as I opened her watery clothes and uncovered her sun maid’s cleavage with the bra-encased outlines of her small yet perky breasts.
I contemplated the whiteness of her bra, enjoying the plunging view on her cleavage, rich with cream white and shadows.
Marie’s merry sounds intensified my lust. I avidly grabbed her bra and slid my fingers underneath the flexible fabric, then I pushed it all the way up and she giggled louder as the glory of her boobs rose up to follow the upward movement of her bra, before coming back down to their natural splendour—a pair of graceful mounds with raspberry-like nipples that seemed lost in her laughing whiteness.
I let out a primal grunt of satisfied lust and moved a bit to the side to enjoy a three-quarter view on the fascinating display of her nubile boobs that stood out just enough between the open curtains of her water-green dress. Her long brown hair completed the view as they fell on her half-exposed shoulders.
She caressed her own breasts with her white-gloved hands, smiling at me as she started to sing “Y a d’la joie!” by Charles Trenet. She kicked off her penny loafers and started to dance, wishing a good day to the swallows of Paris as she sang on and giving me the visual paradise of her stocking-ed feet as she danced with her breasts freely moving. Such a wonderful young lady!
I picked up Marie like a feather and sat her on a sideboard. Like a savage, I tucked her dress all the way up her stocking-ed thighs. Marie went nuts! She lightly bit the lobe of my ear, then ravenously kissed my neck as I hugged her and took a long whiff of her hair.
“Oh oui! Oui! Prends-moi, prends-moi! Oh oui, Daniel, prends-moi, mon bel étalon canadien!” (Oh yes! Yes! Take me, take me! Oh yes, Daniel, take me, my handsome Canadian stallion!)
After unzipping the trousers of my tweed suit, I set my erection free and fumbled a bit with her panties, simply tossing them aside before urgently pushing my cock against her entrance, which I found soaking wet as I easily found my way between her folds and suddenly became a happy prisoner of her girly grip.
I hugged her and got lost in the wild mass of her scented hair as she wrapped her tiny legs around my frame, and I began to play grab-ass right on that sideboard, making a bauble fall off in the process as she started to laugh out loud, just as if our encounter was a joke to be played in a vaudeville.
I got lost in her hair, lost in my grunts, lost in the wonderful grip of her deep intimacy as she kept me a prisoner in her wrapped limbs, her little gloved hands pressing the bulging muscles of my back through my jacket while I kept playing grab-ass, rocking her senseless with my repeated thrusts. Drilling her for oil was absolutely delightful! Her whimpers made a lovely sound along with the creaking sideboard as her small buttocks kept tap-dancing on it.
There was something about her that really got me. Something about her constant giggling and laughter, this and her natural grace. It made it impossible to last long inside her.
“Aaahhrr! Marie!” I screamed as I shot my ammo.
My ears drank her giggling, my soul drank her presence as she tightened the seal of her limbs around me while my spurting semen flooded her in powerful bolts of manliness. I cupped her butt through her tucked-up dress to make sure she took me deeply.
My spent ammo left me breathless on wobbly legs as I ravenously kissed her neck and the confusion of her dark hair while sensing all the little movements in her overcharged body.
There was nothing like sex with Marie! Nadia, the Soviet woman who had been my wife for two days, popped up in my mind to tell me silently what a fool I was.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Did you hear yourself? Aaah, Marie… Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Mister was in a hurry! You didn’t even take the time to undress me! I want to be naked in your arms. Will you help me with that?”
I surely did help her with that and some more. We spent the entire afternoon, then the evening and the night exploring each other. I will never forget the moment when I took her from behind. Her butt was just as charming as the rest of her. Her buns were dainty and surprisingly curvy, or perhaps it was just an illusion due to her waist being so small. Marie had the body of a ballerina with curves in the right places.
She told me she was making some money on the side by posing for a painter. I had no trouble believing her.
Next morning, we were starving. I wanted to have an English breakfast; eggs, bacon, and scones with custard cream, but such a place was hard to find, yet some passerby told me there was one particular pub, near the British embassy where such a breakfast could be had. Marie wanted her usual coffee-and-crescent breakfast, and this became our first argument. This is where I learned she could be picky and whiny over trifles.
I ended up sucking it up and having a French breakfast with her at Jules’s café. Then, I wanted to drop by the lifting club where I had trained during the week leading up to the championships. There were famous French lifters I wanted to shake hands with, and there were the legendary Wheels of Apollo. They weighed 366 pounds and had an impossibly thick axle that was especially difficult to hold on to, even with chalk. They were basically a set of train car wheels.
The lifting club would welcome me. After all, I was the fourth-strongest weightlifter in the world. I felt like enjoying my newfound fame in the lifting circles. I was all set to go, but Miss wouldn’t hear of it!
I ended up giving in and foregoing that lifting session I was looking forward to. She took me to her mother’s apartment, and from now on, I was more or less their prisoner. It was fun and all agreeable, but they wouldn’t let me leave and visit that lifting club. I took it in stride, as I didn’t want to ruffle their feathers.
The most difficult aspect was food. Marie’s mother felt I had a few extra pounds and I would be even more handsome if I dropped in weight to 100 kilos, which I had to convert to 220 pounds in my Imperial-subject mind. She began to oversee my food intake. She kept me so hungry!
Sex had to be kept quiet too! The mother knew her daughter, and she had no doubt that Marie and I had done some floor tango, but she pretended we hadn’t. In half-said words, she made it clear that she expected both of us to wait until we were married. She insisted that I slept in her guest’s room, where Marie would join me during the night. Her mother just kept on pretending we were a virtuous pair of lovebirds waiting for our wedding.
Marriage was discussed surprisingly soon. Actually, I had said a thing or two about my enviable financial situation and the fact I no longer needed to work. I began to hear about Marie moving to Canada to live with me as my wife… along with her mother.
It was a take-it-or-leave-it deal. I would marry the daughter and take both her and her mother along with me, or no deal! I was shocked. I insisted to take a long walk and think it over. They reluctantly agreed.
At that point, as I walked along the Seine and caught sight of the Eiffel Tower, I thought of Zabel. Life would have been so wonderful with Zabel! Zabel would have made a much better wife for a weightlifter. I thought of simply not going back to Marie and her mother. I would lose my luggage, some clothes, and a few books, but I would retain my freedom and pay a visit to that famous lifting club to see if I could deadlift these Wheels of Apollo without dropping them.
But I was very much infatuated with Marie. With Zabel gone, I felt that becoming Marie’s husband was the best thing that could happen to me. I was already twenty-two years old. It was time for me to settle down. With nothing to worry about financially, I would make babies with Marie and keep competing.
My life ahead of me was a path to sunshine and happiness!
I went back to Faubourg Saint-Germain and announced to my hostess that I would wed Marie, under the condition that it would be as soon as possible and in front of a judge, not in church. There was some arguing, but I was adamant. There was a force that made me absolutely refuse a religious wedding. Only Zabel was fit for a wedding in church.
As they saw that nothing would make me change my mind, they finally agreed. Once they did, they became cheerful again, and all seemed to be good.
Marie and her mother met my parents two days before Christmas, after a very tiring flight at the end of which our four-engine DC-4 landed under snowfall.
Marie and her mother slept in the guest room in my parents’ Canadian-style house, in Village Sainte-Thérèse, some twelve miles north of Montreal, while I slept on the couch along with Don Quichotte, the family dog, a teckel.
New Year’s Eve came with the countdown to 1947. Then, Marie and I became one of the first newlyweds in that year when we got married in front of a sobering-up judge on January 2nd.
We moved into my two-bedroom apartment on Rue Parthenais in Montreal, which isn’t far from Parc Jarry where I had first met Zabel only seven months before. I felt a sudden pang of sorrow on my wedding night as I drove my new Chevrolet with my new wife sitting at my right and my mother-in-law sitting in the back.
My mother-in-law would live with us. It was part of the deal. The first consequence of this happy state of things—Having a hard play with Marie bent over the kitchen table was out of the question.
After hastily taking off my suit and leading Marie to our bedroom, the fun began. Her mother kept asking about things… Where was the milk? Where was the flour? She said she wanted to make a chestnut cake to celebrate the occasion, but there were no chestnuts in the cupboard. Where was the coffee? And oh, Marie must not forget to wear that lovely round hat to go for a walk tomorrow, weather allowing. Etc., etc., etc.
What hit me the hardest was seeing that Marie was more on her side than mine. Didn’t she understand that this was a very special night for me? Where was that Parisian maid that laughed out loud during sex? This wasn’t what I had signed for!
At the end, I capitulated and fell asleep. I woke up with the wintery sounds of hoofs on the snow-covered street. The milkman was making his usual round in his horse-drawn wagon.
Marie was sleeping by my side, wearing only a nightgown. I began to kiss her. I began to fondle her thigh and went higher, getting close to her home plate. She slowly woke up and told me to please let her sleep on as she was ‘dog-tired.’ I got a bit sore and very much surprised. This was supposed to be our special night when sex between us became legitimate. Any other night, I wouldn’t have insisted, but this occasion was different.
“Marie, this is our wedding night?! I thought that…”
“I’m tired, Daniel! Can’t you understand French? Tired!” she snapped.
I couldn’t believe my ears! Zabel would never have snapped at me like that. I felt so disappointed! Why did Zabel have to take her own life? Why? If she hadn’t, we’d have spent Christmas together, and we’d be counting the days until our wedding in June. Then, it would have been a wonderful night of love. Waiting for a full year before finally having sex must be nothing short of amazing. I wasn’t really sore with Marie. I was angry at fate.
Trying to manage my emotions, I took a few deep breaths, akin to when I wanted to calm down and clear my mind before attempting a difficult lift on the platform. I looked at Marie, who was lying on her side, facing away from me, and I gently kissed her hair. She was such a beautiful wife! Her tranquil beauty deeply moved me.
I began to weep as the tragedy of Zabel’s loss truly hit me like a black steam locomotive. Marie was not Zabel, and I wished she were. I was sore and disappointed with my wedding night, but most of all, I was grieving Zabel.
There was a sudden knock on our door.
“Marie, dear. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Mother. Everything’s all right.”
“Do you want me to make some coffee?”
“Yes, but not right away. I’ll be in the kitchen in a half hour.”
I waited, anger and disbelief taking their toll on my temper. I heard the footsteps going away toward the kitchen. That mother-in-law! Just as I was starting to calm down and understand why I was so sore! Why did she have to pick that time to knock on our door?
“All right, Daniel. Let’s get this out of the way. Use me all you want, then I’ll go have a coffee with my mother,” my lovely wife said.
“You know what? Go have your coffee and chat with your beloved mother! I’ll get dressed and go take a walk!”
She began to cry, started telling me she didn’t mean to be rude, etc., but it was too late. I was sore and needed some fresh air. I quickly got dressed and said I was sorry, but I left her without a kiss. So much for our wedding night!
When I was outside in the pre-dawn darkness, I breathed easier. I tried to think it out in a more positive light, telling myself that coming to Canada was a big change for Marie and her mother and that I ought to be more patient. After walking on the thin, crisp ice of a cold, but bearable early morning, I went back inside, feeling better and eager to have a nice, hot cup of coffee and getting to know my new family better.
I found the kitchen deserted. The mother and her daughter were having a chat together in the former’s bedroom, and the door was closed with a sign, ‘Do not disturb’ hanging from the brass doorknob. I had to make coffee for myself as they didn’t make any for me.
Being respectful of their privacy, I got busy and cooked a comforting breakfast, the one I called the champion’s breakfast. There were pancakes, plenty of slices of crisp bacon, sausages, lots of beans, a huge heap of broiled eggs, and plenty of maple syrup. All this with a wonderful cup of steaming coffee. I made enough for all three of us.
Looking at my German cuckoo clock, I learned it was twenty-past seven. My wife and my mother-in-law had been chatting together for a full hour, at least. I gently knocked on the door to tell them that breakfast was ready.
“Can’t you read? The sign says we are not to be disturbed!” the mother yelled.
Let’s just say that I was a bit sore, being treated like that under my own roof. I managed to keep my temper since I didn’t want to spoil my breakfast. It would be such a pity to let it go cold. So I went back to the kitchen, where the table was loaded with my champion’s breakfast, and I began to eat with the ravenous appetite of a heavyweight Olympic lifter.
I was midway through my plate when they both walked into the kitchen. I civilly rose to greet them. They were still wearing their nightgowns. My mother-in-law took a look at my food, and I’ll never forget her expression. I saw nothing but contempt.
“You speak French, but you eat like an Englishman. You don’t even speak French properly, by the way.”
Now, I was more than sore. I was beside myself with anger. I have no idea how on earth I managed not to strike her.
“Would you like something to eat, honey?” I said to Marie.
She hesitated, then looked at her mother, who was staring at her. Marie looked back at me and gently shook her head.
“No, thank you, Daniel. I’m not hungry right now.”
They then took a cup of coffee each and quickly retreated to my in-law’s bedroom. I overheard that infernal in-law passing a remark on the coffee tasting horrible.
“Your husband has a lot to learn, my dear,” I overheard her tell Marie.
I had called Marie ‘honey’ for the very first time, then it hit me. She kept calling me ‘Daniel.’ Zabel would have called me ‘darling’ the morning after. I knew my Zabel, but I realised that I didn’t know Marie at all.
That awful morning was just the beginning of a painful series of incidents of disrespect and rudeness from my mother-in-law, who was behaving as if she owned the place. She insisted that I needed to lose weight and literally forced me to eat French breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Eating just a crescent with a coffee upon waking up is too little to go on for a 250-plus-pound weightlifter. No more pancakes, no more buttermilk! No more sausages and no crispy bacon, either!
As my body weight went down, the weights in the gym started to feel a bit heavier, especially in the Clean and Press. I held the Canadian record after strict-pressing 274 pounds at the previous world championships. One day in February, I barely pressed two-fifty-five and missed two-sixty. This wasn’t good.
Sex with Marie became dull. She would simply lie on her bed and let me undress and use her, without much in the way of responding. She never kissed me on her own volition. If I felt like kissing her, I had to come for her and hug her, and then she would find some excuse to move away after only a few seconds. And she always called me by my first name, so I soon stopped calling her honey. No more honey and no darling.
My mother-in-law was always in the way. I had hoped she would make some friends or meet a man her own age, but not her, not Sophie Berthier. She stuck in my apartment and made it look as Parisian as she could. One day, my kitchen cuckoo clock disappeared. This was a souvenir from my tour of duty in Germany! It meant a lot to me.
She had gotten rid of it without even consulting me! It was now for sale in some flea market on Atwater Street. Just like that! I grabbed my coat and hat and rushed over there.
I spent nearly the entire day at the flea market, looking everywhere, and finally bought it back.
If it had been only that!
Denis, my elder brother, suddenly started paying us visits in April. I trained four days a week, and sometimes I came back home and found Denis at our table, having a coffee and chatting with Marie and her mother. I didn’t like the way he kept looking at Marie, who smiled at him and seemed to have found back her giggling ways.
This happened more and more often.
Denis used to be the big brother. He was four years my senior and had been used to treating me like a sidekick. The war changed that. I came back a full-grown man, wearing the chevron of a Lance Corporal and decorated with the Distinguished Service Medal for throwing a grenade inside a German tank; never mind that the pork-like smell of burnt flesh still gave me nightmares two years after the deed.
When I returned home, I was a hero. Denis was the man who had stayed behind with wife and kids. He had got married in 1940. Their two elder children were born within three years, so Denis was excused from conscription. His wife Blanche had a younger sister, but they didn’t make any effort in the way of finding me a wife in 1942 since I was only seventeen. Blanche’s sister ended up marrying someone else, and I got drafted as a single young man in 1944. I was a shy boy back then.
I sometimes felt that Denis had always resented me for being slightly taller than him, and a lot stronger since I took up Olympic weightlifting. In my darker days, I felt Denis had hoped I would end up buried under a white cross in France.
And now, I was loaded with money. I had 100,000 dollars to my name, thanks to my stovepipe-wearing benefactor, a quaint man who was vampire-like strong, and filthy rich. Thanks to him, I had an investment income that was probably going to be in excess of seven thousand dollars for the current year. This was more than three times the income of an average worker. Lawyers and doctors were earning that kind of money.
Denis was obviously jealous.
During the family gathering on Easter, on April 6, I had caught Denis sweet-talking to Marie in a quieter corner of my parents’ living room, near the fireplace. This was when his visits to us started. These visits were growing more frequent. Marie would laugh and giggle for him, but not for me.
Denis was worryingly handsome, and he was good at sweet-talking a lady. I felt clumsy in comparison.
Then, there was Blanche, his wife. Blanche was a delicious blonde, petite and dainty with child-bearing hips that naturally attracted my gaze to her dress. Blanche had a spotless face with delicate features and luminous skin that let me know that seeing her in the nude would be a very enlightening experience.
Blanche liked me, but of course, I had never tried anything with her. She was my sister-in-law. But now that Denis had grown fond of my own wife, the situation was different. I began to think that sex with Blanche would be a lot more fun than Marie letting me use her as if she were a lifeless doll.
I didn’t care to know whether Marie was actually having sex with Denis. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t care much about Marie anymore. Thanks to her mother, I was no longer the master under my own roof. She kept insisting for more and more money. I calculated that she was spending between three hundred and five hundred dollars each month, mostly on fancy clothes for herself and her beloved daughter.
Marie’s eighteenth birthday was upcoming, and her mother told me that buying her a car would be a nice thought.
“Why not a mink coat, while you’re at it? Do you think I’m a Rockefeller?”
And I went out for a walk in Parc Jarry, ignoring whatever stinging reply she came up with. I had to face it. I was in a bad marriage. Maybe I got married too soon after Zabel’s suicide. I should have taken my time and simply enjoyed life. Montreal is an amazing place to live in. Do you know many cities with a forested mountain right in its middle?
On a fine day in May, I showed up unannounced at Denis’s house. Denis was at work, and Blanche was by herself. Their eldest sons were in the backyard, playing in a sandbox.
“Daniel?! What a lovely surprise!” Blanche said as she answered the door, looking at me with the honest-wife lights in her water-blue eyes.
I was towering above her. She stood about five feet two, and her entire figure irradiated with female heat. She seemed unaware of how sexy she was, wearing a white blouse neatly tucked into a navy-blue skirt. Her figure of youthful respectability was completed by the same pearl necklace she owned when she was my brother’s fiancée. She had been doing her household chores dressed more like a teenage girl than a housewife. I had only seen her on more formal occasions, so this was a pleasant surprise. She wore penny loafer shoes without stockings, leaving her lower legs in their natural display under the hem of her circle skirt.
There was silence in the hall as we gazed at each other. This was the very first time ever we were alone together. She was so beautiful and dainty with the pure paleness of her skin! I just wanted to… Then, why not? The worst that could happen would be her pushing me off with me telling her I’m sorry. What if…
“Daniel…” she said, her face blushing. “Daniel, would you like to… please… come in…”
Before I knew what was happening, I was on Blanche and feverishly kissed her.
“Daniel?! Wh… What are you doing?!”
She wasn’t trying to push me away. I felt her hands on my flanks as I kept kissing her. Her hands hesitated, and then they began exploring the powerful geography of my back as she pressed her slim frame against my massive bosom.
I gently pushed Blanche against the wall and ravenously kissed her and made out. She kissed me back. Our tongues met and enjoyed one another’s twirling company. I loved the taste of her lipstick. I loved her flowery scent. Blanche was a fantasy of mine. I pushed my lap against her to make her feel my erection. I was raging hard and felt like banging her right there in the hall, against that wall. Why not?
“Daniel, this… This isn’t moral… We shouldn’t, oohh, yes! We shouldn’t be doing… this… I… I… Ooohh!”
My feverish hands urgently undid her blouse buttons, and she exhaled with surprised confusion as I opened her blouse and let my lust feed on her bra-encased boobs and her cleavage that suddenly caught the hall’s natural light. I immediately fell on them and started to kiss and feel her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra.
“Daniel! I’m married to your broth… Mhff…”
I was back up and kissing her. Then, she did something completely unexpected. She broke away from my kiss. I thought she was trying to escape adultery, but I was mistaken.
She gracefully lowered herself down on her knees, not minding the hard wooden floor, and she unzipped the trousers of my suit. I threw off my fedora hat as she went inside my boxers. She took hold of my raging erection, which she kissed and immediately put in her mouth.
Denis’s wife was now sucking my dick, and wow! She was good at it! How stupid a man had to be to cheat on such a lovely wife!
Blanche avidly took me deep in her mouth and made me feel the twirling caress of her tongue, coating my hardness with her spit and sliding rapidly to and fro as she moved fast, making my eyes follow the bright-gold movements of her laid-back chignon style in sweet waves of twirled hair.
I found the true meaning of soft when I started caressing her bobbing head. Only Nadia had such softness in her hair. This further taught me about the difference between a grown woman and a maid. Blanche had turned twenty-six in April.
Just caressing her hair was a journey in itself, but this paradise came with the added benefit of her sealed mouth performing wonders for my hard pillar in its busy sliding motion as she looked up at me with a mix of surprise, worry, and fascination in her eyes. I became a beast. I wanted to buck her! Now!
I formed a plan in my head. I had parked my car some distance away and seen her two sons playing in the backyard, and there was not a sound from her seven-month daughter, who was probably asleep in a bedroom upstairs. I stooped down and easily picked up Blanche.
I carried the housewife in my arms, with my erection sticking out of my open trousers, while I still wore my suit jacket, bow tie, and all. She didn’t say a word as I carried her to the small living room that Denis used as a library and a place to play pool with guests.
I laid her down on the billiard table and quickly walked back, closing and locking the door. She lay on one side, looking at me in silence with the lovely play of her wide-open blouse and the lines of her half-folded legs. The upper side of her child-bearing hips under her navy-blue skirt told me where I wanted to go.
I walked upon her and felt the silkiness of her married legs. My hands slid down these sleek lines, found her ankles and slipped off her penny loafer shoes of brown leather. Such a natural colour was a perfect fit for this simple girl who was gorgeous without any makeup other than a thin layer of lipstick that was nearly all gone anyway. Her pale feet were tender and pure silk to the touch. Fondling them was heaven.
She silently let me move her about. Her daintiness intoxicated me and caused my lust to explode as I caressed her from her feet and all the way up, tossing her skirt higher and higher as I uncovered the hidden charms of her pin-up legs. She put her hands on mine and caressed them as I caressed her upward.
“We must hurry! My sons may be back inside, but my neighbour’s watching them. Will you pretend you’re a burglar?” Blanche said with a smile of amusement on her face.
“Then, lovely, if I’m a burglar, I ought to have you like this!” I replied, lifting her off the green tabletop and quickly making her stand on her feet, facing the pool table as I gently pushed her down until she was bent over it with her face pressed down on the green velvet, where she had a close-up view on the red three-ball and the black eight-ball a bit farther.
“I’ll treat you like this, little housewife! Like this! Hhrrr!”
With grunts of satisfaction, I urgently undid her thin belt and dropped her skirt from her blouse, before savagely ripping her panties off! She yelped with surprise and intense arousal as I uncovered the fullness of her derriere.
I pushed the hem of her blouse higher up to enjoy the full view on her beauty. Blanche’s buttocks got me instantly harder! Her curves and her scandalous crack of intense shadow sucked my gaze in while her curvy hips and full buns sucked in all the light from the room and reverberated it right into my eyes, turning me into a degenerate being only able to understand that he wanted to penetrate that woman and urgently so.
She was looking back at me as I fondled the contours of her softness, enjoying the intimate feel of her curves, while I held the base of my erection with my other hand.
“Please, Mister burglar! I’ll give you money! Please!” the impromptu actress said.
“I don’t want your dough, young lady! I’m more interested in this!”
“Ohh yes, Daniel! Uh, Mister burglar, call me young lady!”
“Now, young lady, now! Rraahh!”
With a primal grunt, I entered Blanche, forcefully, without restraint or civility, and began to pound her urgently, immensely enjoying her tightness while grabbing her slim waist for better leverage and fun. She was all wet and I slid inside her all right. I listened to her whimpers as she kept saying, “Oh, Mister burglar!” Blanche, oh, sweet Blanche! A mother of three, Blanche had kept her teenage charms. Fucking her from behind like a bitch was a boffo. Doing her in Denis’s study added a lot to the loaded fun.
I went to town and rammed her hard in urgent repetitions, listening to her whimpers that now filled the room as she got roughed up on the creaking pool table, her golden hair intensely contrasting with the emerald-green velvet as her head kept bobbing between the red three-ball on one side and the purple- and orange-striped twelve-ball and thirteen-ball on the other. I was living out my long-dreamed fantasy with her! Boiling her cabbage felt doggone dandy.
“How d’ye like it, housewife?”
“Aahhh! Please… Mister burglar… Oohh! Mister burglar! I… Oohh! Ooh! Ooohh! Ooh! My God! Oh, my God! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Aaahh, no, Daniel! We shouldn’t! Ooohh, yes! Yes! Yes!”
Blanche went even more nuts when I stooped down over her and grabbed her breasts from behind as I kept powerfully ramming her like a stallion. I slid my hands under her bra and took her medium-sized boobs, feeling the tender imprints of her nipples in the palm of my hands as I accelerated my pace to an unbridled frenzy.
She hollered her delight, uncaring about being heard through the open window. It suddenly occurred to me that the curtains and the venetian blinds were only halfway down, but it was daytime and safe enough… and it was too late!
I felt her climax through her swollen breasts and her entire being as I kept enjoying her deep and hard. Then I got hit by Cupid’s delight and my suddenly weightless body forced me to scream as I blissfully shot my bolts of seed inside my sister-in-law.
We both remained there, panting and sweaty, entangled in our scandalous half-nakedness. I always knew that making love with Blanche would be quite something.
“We need to go see the kids. Would you… Oh, gee! You roughed me up! Would you like a piece of pie and a cup of coffee before you go?”
“Well, Blanche, I… I…”
“Don’t worry! Half the neighbouring housewives saw you walking down the street and are already gossiping. It will be just as well that we go to the backyard and say hi to Adèle. There’s no law about a brother-in-law paying a visit! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now, if you would let me stand up. I can’t stay bent over that pool table until Judgement Day, so move your big muscles away from me, my sweet sinner! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
After I put myself together and visited the bathroom to ease my bladder and readjust my bowtie, I found Blanche and Adèle in the dining room with my five- and three-year-old nephews, Jean and Marcel. Blanche was breast-feeding her baby girl.
“Little Huguette is having her mid-afternoon snack!” said Blanche, smiling at me and looking radiantly beautiful with her golden hair against the pure white of her blouse. She was modestly facing away from me as she fed Huguette.
Adèle looked swell. She had glamorous hair arranged in twirling patterns. I told her I liked the chestnut shade of brown in her hair. She smiled and laughed at my compliment. It was hard to say how old she was. She was clearly in her thirties, but she still had that spotless charm of youthfulness in her features. Adèle had been Blanche’s neighbour for four years, but this was the first time I formally met her.
“Adèle, this is Daniel Lévesque, my junior brother-in-law. Daniel, this is Adèle,” said Blanche, visibly doing her best not to burst out in laughter.
Adèle smiled at me as I gently kissed her hand, saying the usual, “Nice meeting you, Ma’am!”
I noticed she puffed up her chest a little, as if she wanted me to notice she had the bosom of a woman under her housewife’s dress, which offered a warm brown that looked swell with her pale complexion, and it matched the colour of her eyes. I loved the way her straight nose made her look a little like the antique statue of a goddess.
“You look swell, Adèle!” I said, smiling. She blushed as Blanche introduced Maude, Adèle’s two-and-a-half year daughter, who had the same chestnut hair as her respectable mother.
“Maude was born when her father was fighting in France”, Blanche said. “He was in the Régiment Chaudière and landed in Normandy on D-Day.”
“I’m glad he came back all right. I myself only saw action in 1945 as I got drafted in November ’44.”
“You’re lucky,” Adèle replied. “My husband came back physically okay, but not mentally. He’s just not the same man anymore. He no longer jokes around. There’s always that deep sorrow in his eyes, and he’s having nightmares, horrible nightmares! Sometimes, he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. He’s less affectionate too. But he’ll pull through. I love him, and I’ll always be there for him no matter what. I promised as much when I married him before God.”
Adèle signed herself as she finished her sentence. I admired her sense of duty. She was nonetheless looking at me a lot and fidgeting with loose strands of her delightful hair. She was reaching that age when a wife started worrying about being still pretty enough to please men. Blanche didn’t seem to worry. She had an uncanny ability to keep her slim waist, no matter what she ate.
Jean and Marcel were all over me, trying to fit their tiny hands around my upper arms and going nuts as they failed to do so. My upper arms were still a good eighteen inches around, even though my weight was down to a bit less than two-thirty-five.
“You lost weight, Daniel. It suits you fine! Wow! I have a very handsome brother-in-law, don’t you think, Adèle?”
Adèle blushed as she helped her little daughter drinking her glass of milk without making a mess.
“How’s your training going? How’s your wife?” Blanche asked.
Not waiting for my answer, she turned to her neighbour and added, “Daniel represented Canada at the world championships in Paris last year. He finished fourth!”
There was pride in Blanche’s voice. She began talking about my lifting prowess while I ate a large piece of her wonderful maple-syrup pie. Adèle kept looking at me as she heard Blanche’s full account of how I finished with an 869-pound total in the three lifts, only two pounds less than the bronze winner from Egypt.
“You got me curious, Blanche!” she said after Blanche told her I held three Canadian records as a heavyweight lifter—for Press, Snatch and Total. “May I feel our champion’s biceps? I wonder what it would feel like to hold the arm of such a man!”
Adèle rose from her seat, looking at me like a kid in a candy store as she moved on me and took hold of my right arm.
Her housewife’s hands had firm strength in them. It was fascinating to feel her small hands squeezing my arm so tightly through the white sleeve of my shirt as I flexed my meat to give her something to remember.
As she squeezed my arm, her face was inches from mine. Her brown eyes were wonderful to look into. They were bright with delight. I saw something animalistic in the way she looked into my eyes.
“Do you want some more coffee, Adèle?” Blanche cut in, with a subtle note of jealousy in her voice. “And you, Daniel, I’m certain you won’t say no to a second cup of Maxwell House and a second piece of pie. When a big boy like you had a delight once, he does seem to have the appetite for a second helping. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Oh, Blanche, can I borrow your brother-in-law for a few minutes? There’s a big piece of furniture in the basement that I want to have moved to the living room to replace our sofa. Gérald, my husband, is too proud to admit he can’t do it by himself or ask for someone’s help. Maude, stay here with Madam Blanche. Mom won’t be long.”
There was a sudden flash of jealousy in Blanche’s water-blue eyes. It was only there for a fleeting moment. What could she do? As for me, I realised there was no way to refuse without being uncivil. It was only moving some furniture, right? I rose from my seat and thanked my hostess.
“Thank you, Blanche. You are a lovely, lovely hostess! I look forward to my next visit! As for you, Jean and Marcel, be nice to your mother and eat your vegetables! Say hi to Denis for me, Blanche!”
As I took my leave, Blanche held my wrist and pressed it amorously. I felt Adèle’s gaze on us.
I picked up my brown fedora, which I found lying on the floor in the hall.
“It must be the wind!” I jokingly said to Adèle as we went out of the front door together while I put my jacket back on.
Adèle and her husband Gérald lived in the same type of bungalow as their neighbours. It was a recently built row of houses, none older than ten years. Each house was worth around nine or ten thousand dollars as prices were up. Several war veterans lived on that street.
As we walked to her door, Adèle told me her husband, a college graduate, had served as an infantry officer. He was now working as a federal inspector for weights and scales.
I knew what was coming next, just from the way Adèle walked close to me, her shoulder brushing mine. As soon as she had locked the front door behind us, she pressed herself against me as if I were the first man she’d seen in years. She kissed me with fiery passion and I ran my hand through her hair. I loved to fondle the glamorous twirls of her chestnut hair as we kissed each other.
“Oh! Kiss me! Kiss me! And kiss me again! My husband no longer kisses me, and I miss that so much! So much!”
“Is it okay if I strip you naked, Adèle?” I said, knowing that asking such a question was probably going to stir her fires.
“Yes! Yes! Strip me and use me here, right here in the living room! I’ll close the curtains, but we have very little time! Oh, my! I can’t believe I’m going to… Do you know how old I am? I’m not telling you! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! You won’t want to have an old hag like me! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
She closed the curtains as she spoke while I took off my hat and my jacket. I also undid my bow tie and proceeded to remove my shirt and the camisole under it. I stood shirtless in front of Adèle, whose jaw dropped as she contemplated my thickly muscled torso.
“Do you know you could make money for modelling in photos?” Adèle said, purring as she started kissing me all over my chest.
“Lie down, my sweet sorceress! Lie down and let me undress you. Do you have any special fantasy? Would you enjoy being a young passenger on a ship that just got captured by sex-hungry pirates?”
“Well, I… I…” she hesitated as she got down on her knees and undid my belt. “I’d like you to pretend you’re a German soldier and I’m a French wife you find home alone. I’d like this very much! I once asked this of my husband and he flew into a rage. Is… Is it okay with you? I know you fought in Germany and…”
“Lie down, woman! Let the soldier of Hitler take his pleasure inside your conquered flesh! Lie down, Frau! You’re a lowly peasant serving the Reich! Lie down and let me take off your clothes!”
Adèle kicked off her half-heel shoes and laid herself down on the rug. She wore no stockings. I swiftly got rid of her brown summer dress, uncovering a chaste set of white bra and panties, which I soon slid down along her teenage-looking legs, and past her small feet. She stood a bit taller than Blanche, perhaps five-four, but her feet were just as small. Only Marie had smaller feet.
“Your legs are good enough for the Reich, woman! Spread them out! There’s a German train headed for the Black Forest!”
Adèle laughed out loud and spread her legs, giving me the full show of her beaver, a furry triangle at the low point of which her paradise was wet and waiting.
I got down on all fours and kissed her muff, before kissing my way up to the smoothness of her navel and meeting her bra-encased hills, assets that I readily freed of their encumbrances.
“Ah, ya! Ya!” I said in my basic German as I began to gently kiss Adèle’s brownish and puffy nipples, circling the wideness of her areolas. She had pale boobs with unusually wide areolas. I loved fucking a complete stranger. I had done that a few times in Germany. I remembered a housewife who bent herself over her table and tucked up her own dress after I gave her a pack of cigarettes.
I licked her cleavage. It was ungodly delightful. Fucking someone else’s wife was so outrageous! I was taking advantage of her predicament. Adèle was sex-starved. She couldn’t help it. I couldn’t either. After getting back at Denis by taking his wife, I was now further getting back at Marie by cheating on her again; twice in the same afternoon.
Adèle was naked under me.
“I surrender, German soldier! I surrender to the Wehrmacht! You’re too strong!”
“Shut up, French woman! I’m not a Private! I’m a Gefreiter! A Lance Corporal, and now I will take possession!”
“Oh, oui! Prends-moi! Prends-moi comme un taureau! Monte-moi, caporal! J’en ai tellement envie!” (Oh, yes! Take me! Take me like a bull! Mount me, Corporal! I’m dying to get this!”
“Ya sofort! Achtung!” (Right away! Look out!)
In what felt like a dream, I guided myself between her wide-open legs and inside her. She quickly wrapped herself, arms and legs tight around me as I began to savagely drill her for oil, soon finding a rhythm and picturing myself as a soldier in a conquered country, mounting a young wife to assert my dominance over the losing side.
Adèle was surprisingly silent and quiet during sex, but she was extremely aroused. I felt it through the tightness of her limbs around me. The strength of her hands felt wonderful against my upper back. She was probably a girl who grew up on a farm and did lots of physical chores. Only farm girls had such strong hands.
I loved to bury my face in her hair as I took my pleasure. She smelled like a fresh forest breeze, unlike Blanche and her flowery perfume. Her straight, ageless nose was lovely to watch from up close along with the perfection of her profile as her head kept gently bobbing from my repeated thrusts.
Adèle was exhaling loudly, perhaps on the verge of climaxing. My own jackpot was drawing near. I arched up my torso and supported my weight on extended arms, where I enjoyed a great view of the jiggling dance of her pale breasts and wide areolas. Her boobs had a good size, especially now that they were swollen by her arousal.
She smiled at me, with an expression of kindness I had never seen on any girl before. I was suddenly hit by a powerful wave of sorrow. Zabel! Zabel would have smiled at me like that during sex, if only she had lived!
I began to cry and sob, just as I passed the edge. I sobbed while I blissfully shot a massive load inside Adèle, and I shouted, “Aaah! Zabel, my love!”
As I emptied myself inside her, I fell down on her and began to sob bitterly, breaking down in tears. There had been a large ball of sorrow within me, and Adèle’s expression of true kindness had just burst it wide open.
“It’s all right! It’s all right, my lad! The war is over! You’re safe! You’re in Canada, in Village Sainte-Thérèse. It’s all right! It’s all right! Cry on and get this off your chest. You’ll be as good as new after…”
She held me in her arms for a few minutes, comforting me with a motherly tone. I told her about my trip to France, the world championships and how I helped a Soviet woman to migrate to Canada, and how I had to marry that woman. The arrangement was only temporary, but it broke Zabel’s heart and she took her own life. It was all my fault!
“Why couldn’t I just go to Paris, do my lifting and fly back home? Why? Why did I have to be a hero?”
“Because you’re a hero, Daniel! You’re a different brand of man. This is why I did what I just did with you! A woman can’t help it when she sees a truly heroic man. She wants him inside her. I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am. If that’s any consolation, you’re young, and you’ll build something wonderful with your wife.”
Adèle’s kindness was the most comforting thing I had experienced after losing Zabel. I saw her again. I saw Blanche again too. Blanche complained about my brother’s recent habit of spending nights at the office. I had an idea why this was so, but I spared Blanche and told her nothing about Denis’s frequent visits to Marie.
Adèle got her furniture moved around the house. She also got knocked and her clock reset while sitting on that same furniture. Having sex with Adèle while she hugged me was absolute paradise. More than her womanly charms, her kindness had me melting in her arms.
Blanche’s boobs were immaculate with that special gold-tinged whiteness that was peculiar to some blondes, and her nipples were wonderfully pale. Delightful! Only blondes had breasts like that. Marie’s boobs were the closest to such alluring paleness. I had a full show of Blanche’s bosom one day as she rode me in Denis’s study while her kids were with her parents. Later that day, I drove her in the country and enjoyed the wonders of her nakedness in the forest under a June sky.
Back home, I told Marie I was going to take a training trip to New York in order to meet John Davis, my idol and the defending world champion in my own weight division.
The next time I was with Blanche, she told me Denis was going off on a business trip. I had to really make an effort not to laugh myself to death.
On a fine day in June, I walked on Rue Parthenais wearing a false beard, glasses and a rental three-piece suit and pretended to limp using a cane. Only my height and size could betray me. I spotted Denis’s car. The black 1942 Ford was parked right in front of my door!
After a delightful meal at a local delicatessen, I took a long walk on Sherbrooke Street. I had to wait until it was late at night. When I came back on Rue Parthenais, that same black Ford was still right there. There was one light still alive in my apartment. It was our bedroom.
With a Kodak in my hand, I stealthily climbed the stairs up to the second store and very carefully unlocked the door to my own home. I silently closed the door and summoned back my infantry training to walk without making a noise. I was wearing proper shoes for the job; the same kind of leather shoes detectives wore.
There were giggling sounds coming from my bedroom. My heart sank. I was going to miss Marie’s giggles. I had a tear welling in my right eye as I silently made my advance along the hallway. My mother-in-law was on a sofa in the living room. She was sound asleep while the radio was still playing. On air was the most famous song by Rina Ketty, J’attendrai. I had heard that song many times in Europe. It brought me to tears.
I moved on and pushed the bedroom door. Through the veil of my tears, I found a scene I would never forget. Denis was stark naked and in the very act of copulating with Marie from behind. Marie uttered one ultimate giggle as she took him deep inside her, displaying her innocent-looking nakedness, looking like a virgin who was getting broken in.
Then, she saw me and her lovely face became the very mask of terror. My flash went off and my Kodak immortalised the moment.
Denis was looking at me, in the same state of shock as I had seen on a German soldier facing the sights of my submachine gun. No words were spoken. I put a new flash on the Kodak.
Marie’s virginal beauty was immortalised again, this time sitting with her legs folded under her, with the hair of her cunt partly visible and both hands on her mouth as she looked back at me with an expression that said it all. Caught red-handed!
Denis was as white as a ghost. I turned back and passed by my lovely mother-in-law.
“So long, Madame! It was nice knowing you,” I said as I reached the front door and got out into the night.
I drove to a motel where I slept alone. Next day, I was at my usual lifting club and went through a session of heavy presses. I felt strong, but most of all, I felt free.
One week later, Marie and her mother sat in a plane for a sixteen-hour long flight that would take them back to Paris via the Azores. Denis had been given two choices. If he didn’t convince the little tramp to agree to a divorce, I was going to show the pictures to Blanche. Denis had been so scared that I have no doubt he was very convincing. After such a fright, he was probably going to behave better with Blanche too.
I gave Marie her birthday present. A one-way ticket to France.
When I retook possession of my now-empty apartment, I never slept better. The broken furniture and trophies only showed how petty-minded the mother and her daughter really were. Next time I would get married, I would choose my wife more wisely.
A trip to New York to train with the world champion would be a great idea. I went to a restaurant in the Italian part of Montreal and ate a full pizza with a mountain of spaghetti and a full bottle of vino nero! Learning Italian would be swell too.
Zabel kept haunting my mind and my fantasies. Closing that gaping wound inside me would take time. I was grieving, but I already felt better.
