The art of picking up girls without trying ought to be developed without much effort.
There we were at the Montreal Coach Terminal, on Wednesday morning. Elizabeth had tears welling in her eyes as she saw me off to my intercity coach that was to depart at 9 A.M., bound for Quebec City.
She wore the same outfit as when we met, four days earlier in that park near the equestrian statue of Joan of Arc at the edge of Plaines d’Abraham—a dark wine-red greatcoat adorned with a fancy golden brooch; except she had that same glamorous headscarf she wore on Easter in that quaint country church near Sainte-Anne-de-la-Pérade.
Sophie had said good-bye in the apartment on Parthenais Street; she hugged me and told me she didn’t want to cry in public, so she stayed home. When Elizabeth got outside to go start her rental Chevrolet, Sophie called me back in the kitchen, where she gave me a long, passionate French kiss with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I’m going to miss you, Gaston… I never felt for anyone what I feel for you. Come back soon. I love you!”
“Gaston! Come on, handsome! It’s time to go!”
“Love you too, Sophie! Be a good girl until I’m back. Ciao!”
Then, Elizabeth drove me to the Coach Terminal, a brand-new building in the streamline modern style, three stories high, that overlooked the intersection of Berri and De Montigny Streets with its round corners.
“I’m going to miss these lovely white-gloved hands of yours; I’m going to miss seeing you drive and…”
“Please, lover! Don’t say anything and don’t look at me like this! It’s already hard enough as it is!”
The poor girl was on the verge of tears as she parked. I wanted to comfort her and call her my sweet girl, knowing how much she loved this, but I remembered what she just said and remained silent as I stepped out of the black Chevy.
There weren’t that many people at the Terminal since this was a weekday, but there are always passengers to take from one city to another. Montreal is a city with 1.5 millions of people. People come and go in impressive numbers in such a big city.
Oblivious to what people nearby would think upon seeing a woman in her thirties kissing a teenage lad, she flings herself into my arms and passionately smooches me.
Kissing Elizabeth is a trip to Sensual Dreamland, each and every time! Girls come and go, but Elizabeth is the real thing.
I can feel the gazes of shocked people as my hands tenderly brush down the sides of her greatcoat and I take hold of her slim waist, reaching even a bit further down, scandalously close to her wonderful buttocks.
There’s heaviness and female warmth in her breathing as she keeps kissing me and feels my touch all the way through her coat and dress. She’s positively irresistible when she’s wearing that pale headscarf embroidered with bright blues and sienna.
“I love you, handsome! Remember that this is for the best. I’ll send you money so you can come back and see me next month for a weekend. You need to finish college, handsome. I’ll be thinking of you all the time. Goodbye, darling!”
She didn’t care what people would think upon hearing a glamorous woman like her calling a lad “darling”. I didn’t look older than my age in spite of wearing my brown tweed suit under my trench coat, complete with my favourite fedora hat. My apple cheeks proclaimed that I was born as late as 1937.
Our love transcended and defied social boundaries.
She waved at me and blew me a kiss as I gave my suitcase to the grumpy driver, who looked at me with plain disapproval—and perhaps a bit of envy—as he took my luggage after checking my ticket.
As I was about to climb on board of the Voyageur bus, a pretty brunette caught my eyes; she was speaking at the phone while looking into a little black book. She was gently smiling with a spotless face, a straight nose and neat eyebrows. There was no rouge on her lips and her dark hair was separated on her right side in a neat bob style that was worn straight with girly waves smoothing the bottom, just touching the collar of her striped shirt in the back of her neck.
Her shirt was white with seafoam stripes and completed by a teal skirt with her waistline underscored by a thin belt as usual. As if it wasn’t apparent enough that she was between sixteen and eighteen years old, she wore saddle shoes and bobby socks that made the statement as plain as day.
My male gaze took in all that information in a flash as I climbed inside the coach.
I took a seat toward the rear, not exactly wanting to get stuck in a conversation with that driver who had seen me kissing Elizabeth, who now stood near the bus, under my window and held hands with me.
“Good-bye, handsome! I have to go. I don’t want to cry in public. Good-bye, darling. I love you!”
“I love you too, Eliza. Look, if we are meant to be together, then life will make it work. We must be strong, and you know as well as I that I must go back to my folks.”
“Yes, I know, darling…”
She started to cry and took a handkerchief to wipe her tears.
“You see, darling, once again I’m the headless girl and you’re the grown man…”
“Your eyes are giving me diamonds; how fitting for such a glamorous lady as you are, my love!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! You… You know exactly what to tell a girl. I… I better go. So long, darling!”
“So long, my sweet girl!”
She presently walks away and keeps blowing kisses until she’s past the corner of that streamline modern building, where a surf-green 1950 Studebaker is parked with that peculiar bull’s eye in its chromed front.
As the bus is filling up with passengers, I think of all that happened over the last few days. I lean against the window, which I just closed. It’s a chilly April day.
What a journey! I went from a virgin boy to the dubious state of exhausted young lover with two girlfriends.
***
On Monday, the first morning I was with Elizabeth in her pied-à-terre on Rue Parthenais, we made love again as soon as she woke up.
She had slept spooned in my lap, with her girly feet against my lower legs and my left hand resting just under her breasts. She began driving her butt against me; then, she took my hand and placed it on her boobs.
Next thing I knew, her strawberry-pink pajama pants were pulled down and the wonderful expanse of her naked butt was between my hands and I was as hard as a revolted slave about to deflower his ex-master’s daughter.
The sex came naturally. It was inevitable, rugged and silent. We grunted and groaned together and her vaginal contractions brought me past my edge, along with the soft cushions of her feet on my lower legs and her yielding boobs under my hand.
I powerfully ejaculated while burying my head in the dark, wavy mass of her dishevelled hair.
“I love it, darling, when you fill me up! I want you back inside me as soon as you’ll be replenished. Come, let’s have breakfast! But kiss me first, my young buck!”
Sophie was already up and she was making pancakes. She said the milkman passed and left a crate of four bottles for us. Armande, our landlady, had seen us arrive yesterday evening and she had put the cardboard sign in place for us, so the milkman brought us fresh milk, hurray!
As she cooked the pancakes using the cast-iron frying pan, Sophie said she was surprised to see that even in Montreal, milkmen still made their runs using horse-drawn wagons, just like in the country. She had heard the hoofs resonate on the street when she woke up a little past five o’clock.
After breakfast, I helped Sophie with cleaning the dishes while Elizabeth was getting dressed and arranged in full makeup for a stroll in the neighbourhood.
As soon as she was alone with me, Sophie leaned against me and giggled like a little girl as she washed the dishes while I was wiping them dry.
Elizabeth wanted to take a walk and look for a park nearby where we could sit on a bench and watch the trees while perhaps giving peanuts to squirrels.
Since my shirt, t-shirt and underwear were smelly and needed to be washed, Elizabeth knocked at Armande’s door and managed to borrow a man’s shirt that was about my size. It was a plaid shirt that looked a bit odd with my jacket, but there was no other choice. At least, the checkered pattern of black and white didn’t look too much off against the light brown of my tweed jacket.
When we got out, I suddenly said I forgot my hat, which was true. I went back to the apartment.
“Don’t shake Sophie too hard on the kitchen table, lover; she just ate four pancakes with plenty of butter and maple syrup! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Elizabeth said and laughed, quite amused.
She seemed to be fine with a ménage à trois. I went on and climbed the steep flight of stairs leading to our number 66B.
I found Sophie in the living room, reading a book with her cat Lancelot on her lap while the laundry appliance was running near the bathroom.
My eyes met hers and I took her hand. I led her in the kitchen. Elizabeth knew me well, already. Indeed, I was going to fuck Sophie on the kitchen table.
Oh God! She was wearing the same clothes as the day before in the presbytery—a golden and green plaid shirt, a thin leather belt and a rather long dress offering a warm mud brown, and she was barefoot.
My surmises were right. She probably had watched us having sex the night before, and most definitely felt horny.
Sophie immediately became submissive and let me do everything I wanted. With unspeakable joy, I took off her plaid shirt and ordered her to remove her bra, which she did like an obedient girl.
“Do you want me to take you in my mouth? This is what Robert and Father Sam usually asked of me. They both liked to shoot their icing on my boobs. I’m in my safest time of the month, and I’d rather take you all the way inside me.”
She said all that matter-of-factly, looking at me with big blue eyes while her black cat was purring at her feet. She was dancing a little bit on her legs, out of nervousness, as she stood topless in front of me.
“You… You’re very beautiful, Sophie,” I said as I kissed her and cupped one of her breasts. It yielded with a magic firmness only a true teenage girl offers to the boy she loves. Sophie was offering me her spring.
Sophie became active, very active. As I was caressing her hair, she took one of my hands and kissed the inside of my wrist with great gentleness, in a way that felt surprisingly pleasurable.
Her small hands unbuttoned the checkered shirt I had borrowed from the landlady. Before long, I was also bare-chested and she ran a flurry of kisses all over my torso. She was avidly kissing and touching and exploring my body.
As she did so, her rouge-less mouth was gaping with that same pouting lower lip I had seen the day before when she was dozing off in the car.
I remembered our conversation from the evening before. This was her very first time with a boy of her age. It was a very important moment for her.
She was silently caressing and kissing my torso, presently moving down on her knees and undoing my belt. She made me step out of my trousers. I looked a bit ridiculous, naked except for my brown socks and shoes! It put a touch of grotesque and daily-life reality in that sexual fairy tale come true.
My cock was grabbed by her little hand and she engulfed it in her loving mouth while looking up at me with her cornflower-blue eyes.
The warm wetness of her mouth tightened its moving glove and built a wicked pressure as she worked my full, growing length, coating it with her girly spit.
She looked comically tiny as she knelt in front of me and gave me that mouth job; she stood only four feet eleven while I was a bit more than six feet tall.
I gently stroked her chestnut hair as I let the pressure build up to a point where I gave her my precum to lick.
I stopped her and nudged her into standing up.
As she stood up in front of me, I wanted to kiss and suck her breasts, but she was so short relative to me that it was utterly impractical. I wanted to say something, but I caught a glimpse of Elizabeth. She had silently come back and she was watching in silence; one of her hands was busy under her dress.
The obvious, best option for me was to say nothing. Elizabeth was indeed turned on from watching me with another girl. I was under the impression that there were two distinct versions of her—one Elizabeth was the giggling teen who loved having fun and experimenting stuff; the other one was a grown woman who tended to be jealous and possessive.
I felt that as long as I didn’t speak, I ran no risk of saying something that could make grown-Elizabeth angry, so teenage-Elizabeth could have her light-headed thrill and watch me fuck Sophie. Win-win!
Taking off Sophie’s skirt and getting rid of her panties was an unfathomable, life-altering pleasure.
I took the time to kiss and lick her beyond-firm butt and appreciate the contour of her curves, which offered girly softness while being overall thin and slim. She looked a lot like a ballerina; she seamlessly combined thinness and grace. There was nothing womanly yet in Sophie; she was all girly from head to toe. The only womanly feature in her was her age—seventeen.
After kissing her butt and fingering her wet pussy, and making her impatient to feel me inside her, I lifted Sophie off her feet and laid her down on the kitchen table.
From the very moment I saw her barefoot in the presbytery, I knew that if I ever got fortunate enough to have sex with her, the first time would be like this, with her legs propped up and her tiny feet right against my face where I can worship them.
“Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Careful with my feet; I’m ticklish!”
The next few minutes were true heaven beyond the scope of descriptive words. I looked into her eyes the entire time the sex lasted. I began with a gentle rhythm and asked her if she was okay, and she told me I could push the gas pedal down and go to town, so I began to roughly pound her and the table started creaking.
I held her dainty ankles and kissed her feet the whole time I fucked Sophie. Now and then, she exploded in laughter because my kissing was tickling her feet; her bright, girly laughter added to the innocent charm that emanated from her diminutive size and the pure whiteness of her graceful figure.
The final explosion came without warning. I erupted and screamed like a savage as I spewed throbbing bolts of hot seed, one massive shot after another, and each one left me breathless.
Loud moans were heard from the kitchen entrance. Elizabeth was intensely masturbating.
There was no doubt, Sophie was aware of Elizabeth’s presence. I saw the worry in her eyes, but she was in such an altered state that she took her index and middle fingers and sunk them inside her paradise.
I stood there, naked in my shoes and socks, heavily panting and holding on to the kitchen table while both girls were masturbating as if their very life depended on it.
They climaxed almost at the same time. They weren’t that loud, but the intensity of their fireworks was overwhelmingly deafening.
Then, Sophie realized what she just did in front of her hostess and began to apologize as she got off from the table and began looking for her discarded clothes, but Elizabeth rushed at her and took her in her arms.
“It’s OK, my dear! Don’t be scared. I’m not angry with you. I’m a bit jealous, I’ll admit, but I… Oh, you’re such a sweet, wonderful girl, Sophie…”
Elizabeth kissed her. Sophie looked at me with saucer eyes, then at the older girl who was presently kissing her and caressing her butt. The teen girl tensed up, unable to decide what to do.
“I love this! You’re both wonderful girls! I really love watching you do this! I’m getting hard again!” I bellowed, hoping to encourage Sophie.
Elizabeth went full throttle. I saw her tongue mingling with Sophie’s. Sophie’s mouth was now all smeared with Elizabeth’s rouge.
“Take my clothes off, Sophie! I want to feel your teenage hands all over me!”
Sophie did as she was told. Elizabeth’s forest-green dress top, with its galaxy of tiny polka dots, was unbuttoned and dropped down her torso by Sophie’s small hands. Soon enough, Elizabeth was Eve-nude while Sophie was tentatively kissing and caressing her hostess, who guided her hands where she wanted them the most—mainly on her breasts.
Sophie looked at me the whole time as she pleasured Elizabeth. Indeed, the grown woman took the girl’s little hand down south and placed it on the blackness of her Scottish carpet.
I regained a respectable size and hardness as I watched Sophie fingering Elizabeth as we stood naked in the kitchen. Thankfully, no one could see in the kitchen from outside.
“Hmmm… That feels nice. Now, let’s make our man happy!” Elizabeth said with a leading voice. Elizabeth was submissive to me, but she was clearly dominating Sophie.
Both naked girls came to kneel at my feet, and they began to worship my dick. Elizabeth was at my left, while Sophie was at my right. Both girls began to lick my dick…
