It was July 1974, and I was hitchhiking in France—from Calais to Venice, specifically. I spent the first night in a half-finished house in Moulins and was woken by the workers arriving at 7:30. They laughed and waved goodbye as I guiltily rose, pulled on my jeans and scrambled away.
I hailed a ride in a truck, and the driver dropped me on the outskirts of Lyon alongside the Rhone River. Busting to use the toilet and needing to wash, I entered a small Bistro across the road and asked to use their bathroom. Using gestures and the few English words he knew, the proprietor behind the counter explained that I needed to buy something to use the toilet. So I ordered a salad, pastrami bagel, and coffee and was directed to a cubicle at the back of the shop.
He’d made me sit in the most undesirable booth at the rear because of my unkempt appearance. I had a partial view of the front door, but all the other booths lining the walls were hidden from me by a bloody big pillar supporting the level above.
Knowing the coffee and bagel would take a few minutes to make, I entered the bathroom, stripped to my underpants, and washed myself thoroughly in the hand basin. Ten minutes later, having completed my ablutions and donned a clean T-shirt, I returned to my booth to find the bagel and a glass of water on the table.
I was stopped mid-mouthful by two women entering the Bistro. What caught my attention more than their looks was that they were such an unlikely pair. The taller of the two was an attractive, vivacious redhead who steered the other woman to the front counter. That she was in charge was undeniable. She oozed confidence and playful sexuality.
The other woman was a petite blonde in her thirties. By her modest attire, she looked like she had spent her life attending to the needs of the local monastery. She tried to hang back and blend into the background, embarrassed by her friend’s blatant sexuality.
I lost sight of them after they ordered, but I heard footsteps stop at the booth in front of mine and assumed it was the two women. It was confirmed moments later when the proprietor brought my coffee. The redhead hailed him and asked a question in heavily accented English.
“My friend does not speak French. She forgot to say she does not want onion in her bagel.”
The proprietor responded in excellent English that he would leave the onion out – the bastard. I’d found this a lot. If they could get away with it, the French would make out they didn’t speak English to force you to learn some of their language.
I half listened to the women, as I had nothing else to do. From what little I bothered to take in, the English woman was staying with a friend of a friend for a week, and the redhead was going to be her guide and companion during her stay.
When the proprietor returned with their order, I heard him say for them to call out if they needed anything, and then he headed back to the front. Now seemingly alone, their conversation became more intimate, and I quickly realised they had no idea I was sitting just across from them. The pillar blocked their booth almost entirely.
“What are you going to wear tonight, Anne?” asked the redhead.
“I thought I would just wear what I have on,” replied her conservative companion.
“Oh no. I want you to wear something sexy.”
My ears pricked up, and I leaned forward to see if I could watch them without them noticing me. I was safe. They were sitting side by side, facing the front. The redhead was closest to me and only partially blocked my view of Anne.
The redhead’s sexy French accent had me mesmerised, and I felt myself becoming aroused just listening to her. Then she whispered, “You are not to wear any underwear.”
My cock throbbed and sprang to attention.
A gasp from Miss Conservative, “I can’t mingle with all those people without underwear.”
“I’ll strip them off you at the event if I find you have any on. And I want you to wear that short dress you showed me.”
“Ooooh nooo… I couldn’t.”
“You will. And I think you should take those panties off now so that you become accustomed to not having any on.”
This conversation was suddenly becoming fascinating. I leaned around the pillar and saw that the redhead had her arm around Anne’s shoulders and was talking in her ear. As I watched, she slid her tongue into Anne’s ear and hugged her tight.
“Not here,” admonished Anne. “Someone will see.”
“Good! I want the old fuddy-duddies to see your beautiful body. In fact, I’m going to get your tit’s out too and make you cum.”
A quiet moan of, “Nooo… You wouldn’t,” burst from Anne’s mouth.
“Well, get those panties off then. Now!”
And I leaned forward again, and my cock twitched and throbbed as I watched Anne lift and work her panties down her legs. Then Red raised the lace panties to her face and sniffed them.
“Wonderful, they smell of your cunt. Are you getting wet?”
“No!”
“I don’t believe you.”
I ducked back as Red stuck her head out and looked towards the front to ensure no one was watching. But she never looked behind her. And holding Anne with one hand, the other dropped into Anne’s lap. The movement of her shoulder told me she was working her fingers between Anne’s legs.
“Ooooh, you dirty little slut, you’re as wet as a fish. You like the idea of someone catching you. I will have to consider other situations to expose you this week.”
I leaned around the pillar, trying to get a better view. The redhead’s arm and shoulder movements told me Anne was getting a thorough fingering.
The conservative, mild woman was trying to resist. But her actions were no match for the redhead’s assault. And with much delight, I watched the redhead open Anne’s blouse to expose her tits.
“Let’s get these tits out then. Stop resisting, or I’ll speak loud enough that the other customers will know what I am doing.”
Anne stopped all resistance and let the redhead unbutton her blouse. She had gone beetroot red and clamped her eyes closed. Red turned side-on so she was facing away from where I was sitting and removed Anne’s bra. I got a perfect silhouette of Anne’s left breast, and I almost came. I was now ramrod hard and struggled to adjust my cock as It was beginning to hurt. I wanted to get it out and wank the shit out of it, but I did not dare.
I’ve always been a tit man, and even that limited vision of the side of Anne’s left tit had put my imagination in overdrive. I was only a meter away from a pretty woman in a booth, naked to the waist.
I watched Red dip her hand down between Anne’s legs and start to frig her again.
“Concentrate, I want you to cum. Twist your nipples and get yourself off before someone comes to use the toilet. God, your cunt is wet. I need to get some extra napkins and clean the seat before we leave.”
“Please, I can’t come here. We’ll get caught,” whispered Anne.
“Of course you can. Twist those nipples. God, they’re hard as. Don’t tell me this isn’t turning you on; your body is telling me a very different story. That’s good. Clench my fingers with your cunt. You’re getting me wet now. You can get me off back in the car.”
I leaned forward and had another good look. Anne’s face was screwed up in concentration, and she was rocking her body on the seat. As Red leaned forward to get a better angle for her thrusting fingers, I got another glimpse of Anne’s tit and saw her twisting the fuck out of a nipple that was standing out like an acorn. Unfortunately, my view was impeded again as Red bent forward and caught Anne’s nipple between her teeth, and she shook her head, making Anne whimper and moan.
“Oh fuck. I am going to come. Bite the other one, pleeeaase?” moaned Anne.
I came in my shorts. Fuck, I was going to have to use the bathroom again. I gripped my cock through my shorts and gave it a few hard strokes as I came. The muted sounds of Anne climaxing will last in my memory forever.
Momentarily, all was silent except for the rustled sounds as Anne covered herself again. Then I heard Red say she wasn’t giving Anne back her panties. I knew one of them would use the bathroom and find out I was there.
I rose quickly, grabbed my rucksack, and shot into the bathroom first. Red and Anne had to hear me, but I figured I was better locked in there than sitting in my cubicle with a stupid, guilty look on my face. I’d made a hell of a mess. It looked like I had ejaculated half a cup of spunk into my shorts. I took my time washing my aching cock, and soiled underwear. Then, I searched my rucksack for some clean underpants.
When I finally exited the bathroom, I saw that the two women had left—in a hurry. There was a wet mess on the seat, which I was sorely tempted to scoop up and smell.
I gulped down the remainder of my coffee, grabbed my half-eaten bagel, and exited the bistro to thumb another ride.
