The Virgin and the Courtesan

When I asked Jill for a date, she laughed at me. That was in high school. She said, she didn't date jerky nerds and was going to marry the team's quarterback. And she did.

Ten years later, I bumped into her at Target. I recognized her immediately. A girl like Jill is unforgettable. Her blond hair was cut shorter than I remember, and her body had filled out, but she was still the gorgeous creature I had fantasized about when I was eighteen.

She didn't know me from Adam when I introduced myself as a classmate.

"So, you were in my graduating class?" she asked.

"Yes. I was one of the nerdy guys you didn't date. You wouldn't give us the time of day."

She laughed, the same laugh I remembered from high school, and said, "You sound bitter, Hank."

"I was back then but that was a long time ago. Things have changed since then."

"How is that?"

"Oh, I got lucky. The computer company I developed in college was in the right niche and bought out by a technology company last year. How about you?"

"I got married out of high school. Do you remember, Dan?"

"You mean our quarterback?"

"Yes, but it didn't last. We got divorced two years ago. I moved in with my parents this year. They added a small apartment onto our house for my grandma until she died. So, that's where I am these days."

"Look, Jill, how about catching up at lunch?"

She didn't react for a long minute. "I guess so. They don't have my size here, so I am going to Dillard's this afternoon. Lunch would be a nice break."

"Let's go in my car. After lunch, I'll drop you back here."

"That would be very nice, Hank," and we walked out to my Bugatti in the parking lot.

"Wow, Hank, I've never imagined riding in a car like this. It must have been very expensive."

"Only when I bought it." I quipped.

She gave me a blank stare for a brief moment, then giggled. "You're funny," she said.

I asked, "Would the La Porte Virte be all right for lunch?"

"You mean the French restaurant near the Hilton? I'd love it, but I'm not dressed for a fancy restaurant like that."

"Don't worry. I know the staff there. They are very understanding. Just give them your radiant smile and we're in."

Maurice, the maître d, knew me to bring new acquaintances to lunch. Only the most favored women were with me for dinner. He privately referred to them as virgins for lunch, courtesans for dinner.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Henri, Madame," he said before leading us to a quiet table with a view of the lake. "Will you have the usual wine before ordering?"

"Yes, Maurice, and bring us shrimp cocktails."

"Of course, Monsieur Henri. Do you wish the flutes to be chilled?"

"No, Maurice. Room temperature will be fine."

"Chilled glasses lose some of the aromas and dilutes the Champagne," I told Jill. "The truth is that Maurice doesn't need to ask. It's his way of discreetly approving of my guest and giving me a chance to impress them."

She smiled and said, "Well, count me as impressed."

We ordered the day's special etched on a 'Menu du jour' chalkboard. Along with the bottle of Dom Perignon, and the shrimp appetizer, we had filet of sole à la meunière. As usual, it was cooked to perfection.

I was interested in her life but tried not to pry. It wasn't necessary because it was apparent that she was an open book. Jill said she had done some modeling but liked her job as a music agent better. "I booked shows for bands and met a lot of really great people doing that," she said.

Eventually, we got around to her marriage. "It was great for two years," Jill reflected, "then he started sleeping around. When he did it with my best friend, well I decided to get revenge and have some affairs of my own."

"Jill, with your beauty, every man would love to be with you." What I really wanted to say was "would love to jump in bed with you," but held back.

"At first, I didn't think that was true," she remarked. "The first guy was a friend of Pamela's, a girl I worked with. We had an office party, and he was there with Pam. I don't remember how it started, but I gave him my e-mail address, and the next thing I knew we were together at a motel."

"How was it? I mean, were you nervous or did you think you were cheating?

"Nervous, yes; cheating, no."

I sipped some Champagne and waited for her to say more. She was silent looking into her wine glass, searching for the right words. Finally she said, "You know Hank, it was kind of exciting. After that first time, I kind of made myself available, you know, less guarded. I began to enjoy the hunt, the excitement, the challenge. It became like a game of chance when I realized that men are like moths to a flame."

"So, I'm a moth and you're the flame?" I joked.

"No, Hank. Don't joke about it. Maybe I'm the moth today taking advantage of you with this beautiful lunch. Anyway, that's enough about me. So, Hank, where are you living?"

"I bought the Reynold's old property. They sold it when they moved to their place in Florida."

"Oh my God. You bought the Reynold's place! Everyone knows Reynold's place. It's the Taj Mahal of our town."

"Yeah, well I mowed their lawn as a kid and always thought it would be a nice place to call home. It needed some renovations and new landscaping, but it looks pretty good now."

"Oh, I'd love to see what you've done with it."

"Look, Jill, I have a meeting in an hour. Let's get together tomorrow night and I'll give you a tour of the place. Give me your address and I'll pick you up at seven for dinner."

"Thanks, Hank, but tomorrow is my parents' thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. We're going out somewhere to celebrate. Maybe some other time."

I was disappointed that our mini reunion was over so soon. I found consolation that night with Nicole. She was, as Maurice characterized her, a courtesan although I didn't take her to the La Porte Verte for dinner that night. I threw two lobsters in a pot of boiling water, warmed some French onion soup, and cut thick slices of baguette that I had baked that morning. The rest of the evening was spent in bed.

Nicole and I met at a bookstore. Each of us was in the historical fiction section. I was hoping for another Philip Kerr novel. Nicole picked a book that looked like a romance novel. My eyes followed her tight ass and voluptuous tits to the checkout counter, We checked out our books and walked to the parking lot. Our cars were parked side by side.

"My God, what a fabulous car!" she said admiring my Bugatti. "I sure would like meet the guy who owns it."

"Well, you've just met him."

"It's yours? Really? What is it called?" she asked.

"It's a Bugatti, French. Would you like to take a spin?"

"Of course, I'd love to! I'm Nicole and you are?"

"Henry Decampere but call me Hank."

"Okay, Hank, take me away in that lovely chariot of yours."

I drove her around town for fifteen minutes, then asked, "Would you like to see what she can do on the highway?"

"I've got all day. Let's go," she answered with effusive enthusiasm.

I didn't ask if she was married, her job, or where she lived. Nicole didn't ask questions either until after we made love that afternoon. I wasn't interested in her life, only her magnificent body. She was only interested in my money. Of course, that is the norm with most women I meet.

I told her a little about the technology company I started and how it was bought out by a large multinational corporation. I kept it short and to the point, enough to satisfy her curiosity and to satisfy my eager lust for her pussy. Nicole was a perfect match for my desires. She wanted my cock as much as I wanted her cunt.

We agreed to meet the next night for dinner. Of course, it was at the La Porte Verte where Maurice greeted me with a knowing smile. We left the restaurant at ten-thirty and Nicole stayed the night as she did most nights afterward.

I learned that Nicole was twenty-two and working on a master's degree in sociology. When she wasn't in bed with me, Nicole was researching how primates lure their partners. If I was among her case studies, the answer was obvious. I craved her tits, her pussy, her ass, and her sweet face. It's the body, stupid.

So, my time was spent with Nicole with little thought about Jill until, well, until something happened that was unexpected. A Ford Escort parked in front of my house. It sat there for five minutes without anyone leaving the car. There are no homes near me, so it seemed strange having a car parked outside. So, I decided to find out what was going on and walked over to talk with the driver. It was Jill.

She rolled down the window and gave me her electric smile. I tried to be upbeat and cheerful. "Jill! I wasn't expecting you. How nice of you to visit."

"Hi Hank. You didn't call for the house tour that you promised so I came here to get a look at the place after all these years. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all. I just was afraid someone was doing a tax survey. It made me a little nervous. It's so great to see you. Come on in."

"Are you sure? Can you spare the time?"

"Of course."

We took a short tour of the house although there was some incriminating evidence that I wasn't living alone. Nicole had left makeup in the bathroom and a bra was left outside the shower door.

"I didn't know you were married, Hank," she said.

"Well, I'm not. An out of town friend has been visiting this week." It was only a white lie since Nicole lived in the next county. "Look, let's get together here tomorrow night for dinner."

"Oh, I'd love that, but tomorrow is girls' night out," Jill said. "A group of us get together once a month and do something special. This month we are giving my friend a bachelorette party. She's getting married for the third time. I think she keeps getting married just for the wild parties we give. The last time was crazy. We hired a male stripper, and she did everything with him but have, well, you know."

"I don't know but I can imagine. Let's make it another time."

"Great. Send me an e-mail or text. I'm generally available but unfortunately, not tomorrow."

At that point, I felt the same rejection as in high school. It was time for me to forget, Jill, the girl of my dreams. I didn't totally forget about her but then, I didn't contact her either. I was moving forward in another direction. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I took the one less traveled by."

That road led me to Paris and a culinary school called La Cuisine Paris. I had adequate knowledge of French since my dad, as a military attaché, married a French girl. We lived in Paris until I was six. Besides teaching me French, Mom encouraged me to help in the kitchen giving me an interest in French cuisine. So, I learned the basics about French cooking.

The house was mostly closed except for Nicole checking it once a month. I hired a landscaping company to look after the garden. My thought was to be gone six months which was how long the cooking course was to last. I stayed for a year.

Parisian way of life was a paradise for me. Danielle made it heaven. She was nineteen from Libourne, a town southwest of Paris. We met at school where I had sampled several girls before hooking up with Danielle. She was sexy with a funky sense of humor. I soon learned that French girls knew more about love than French kissing. She liked to say getting me hard for bed was like baking baguettes: let la pâte rise, touch gently with fingertips, roll to size, then put it in the oven. Her oven was always hot and ready for another loaf. When she said, "Laissez nous faire le pain," let's bake bread, she didn't mean in the kitchen. Our breadbasket was always full.

We moved in together at Mme. Benoit's boarding house on the Left Bank of the Seine after my third month in Paris. Life was perfect until Danielle found a job in a two-star Michelin restaurant leaving me alone many nights. Eventually, I took a job at a family-owned tourist restaurant on a side street from the Champs-Elysees. As their cook, I learned things that La Cuisine Paris didn't teach, like taking shortcuts to make the restaurant profitable.

After a year away and like many expatriates, I began to long for my home in the United States, leaving Paris and Danielle with tears in our eyes. She couldn't leave France now that she had a good job and of course, her family was less than three hours away via TGV. I was heartbroken.

Nicole had written that her masters' thesis had been accepted and she had taken a job in a state hundreds of miles away. I returned home to an empty house with no virgin, no courtesan. I was miserable for the next three weeks.

The mayor called and said he was running for reelection and hoped he could count on my support. As a major contributor to Mayor Fitzgerald in the past, I was always invited to his private fundraisers. They were elegant parties for those of us supporting him with large donations. The best food and drink were hosted by the mayor's beautiful wife, Claire. Claire Fitzgerald, a dozen years younger than her fifty-one old husband, was both beautiful and charming. The standard joke in town was that people were voting for Claire, not her husband. The party was my chance to get back into a social life that I had left behind over a year before.

I knew almost everyone at the gathering and as usual, the food was catered by the best restaurant in town. Claire and the mayor worked the crowd greeting everyone with a warm smile and a firm handshake as politicians are known to do.

It was a good evening reconnecting with friends. The Paris cooking school, but not Danielle, was beginning to fade from my memory. Life was finally returning to normal until Claire took me by the arm and guided me to the kitchen. "Hank, I need to talk with you. It's an emergency. Tonight isn't the best time. Can we meet for lunch this week?"

"Of course," I said wondering what could be so urgent. "How about tomorrow at La Porte Verte, say twelve-thirty?"

"That will work, and lunch is on me."

I smiled at her and said, "Of course not. Maurice would be embarrassed if a woman paid for my lunch. So would I."

Maurice took us to my usual table overlooking the lake and brought two room temperature flutes to go with the chilled Champagne. This time he was discreet and didn't ask about chilling the glasses. The 'déjeuner du jour,' lunch of the day, was 'chapon farci aux marrons.' We touched glasses wishing for a successful campaign and enjoyed the meal.

"So, Claire, what's on your mind? You seemed upset last night. It couldn't have been about the party. Everything was perfect."

"It's about the campaign, Hank. The person running against my husband is getting a lot of favorable press and strong financial support from her party."

"Claire, you can count on my support."

"I was hoping you would say that but under the circumstances, well, we'd like to do whatever it takes to get your help."

"Who is the mayor running against, Claire?"

"Her name is Jill Stratford. She's from here. People know her. They like her youthful exuberance, and she is beautiful. I think you might know her."

"Yes, we went to high school together, but I don't know her very well."

"But you know her well enough to take her here. You don't take just any woman to an elegant restaurant like La Porte Verte," and she rested her hand firmly on my thigh. Claire got the rise she expected. The bulge in my lap was hard to disguise. "If there is anything you want or anything I can do to keep your support, don't hesitate to ask," and she moved her hand close but not quite touching my aroused cock.

I took a deep breath wondering how to respond. Maurice saved me by coming to our table to pour more wine and ask how we liked the chapon farci. Claire answered for both of us, "Merveilleuse, Maurice. Remercions le chef.'"

"Merci beaucoup, Madam," he said and hurried off.

Delighted that she spoke French I said, "I didn't know you knew French,"

"Oh, I only have high school French and spent a month in Paris taking art classes before I got married."

"Then we both love Paris! I brought home several paintings and would be honored if you would give me your opinion about them. If you have time this afternoon, we could look at them after lunch."

"I have until five-thirty when we have a rally at the courthouse. I'll meet you at your place in half an hour."

It was two-thirty when she rang the bell. She looked even more alluring than at lunch, as if she had stopped at home to freshen up. I led her into the living room where I had hung several paintings. "Can I get you a glass of wine while you browse?"

"Yes, any white wine would be fine."

Claire looked carefully at each of a half dozen expensive pieces and laughed when she said, "Hank, you probably should keep them. They are very nice. Do have more?"

"Well, yes, in the bedroom. They are very different from these."

"What do you mean?"

"They are the erotic paintings of a nineteenth Century Viennese painter by the name of Johann Nepomuk Geiger. They might embarrass you."

"Oh, let me decide about that." Claire wasn't shocked at the pornographic images. "I like them, Henry. Do you have a favorite?"

"Oh, I guess I like the one where the woman is laying on her back spreading he legs on top of her lover."

"You mean holding his erection between her legs? Maybe I shouldn't admit this, Hank, but it gets me aroused. How about you?"

"The truth is I don't need these paintings to get aroused when you are around. You are gorgeous and the most beautiful woman in town."

At that, Claire threw her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. "Let's not play this game any longer, Hank. I want you and I think you want me." Without a word from me, she unfastened her blouse and lowered her skirt to the floor. She wore a pink bra and thong. "Help me out of this, Hank," and she turned so I could unfasten her bra. Then she turned back as if to model herself. "So, what do you think, Monsieur?"

"Dazzling!" I mumbled with a frog in my throat. She might have been forty but had the breasts of a woman in her twenties.

"So, you like what you see? Let me show you one more thing, then I'll help you out of your clothes." Claire slipped off her thong showing me a completely shaved pussy.

She didn't have to help with my clothes. I nearly ripped them off.

"Do you mind Hank if we could pose like your favorite picture? That might be fun." She laid back on top of me, legs apart, and holding my hard cock below her slit. "Oh, you are so big, Henry, much bigger than the guy in the painting. Maybe we need to move to the next scene where I kneel on top. I like being on top." In one quick movement, she turned over and pushed me into her slippery cunt."

It was over much too soon. "Jeez, Hank, that was quick. "I don't have time for more this afternoon but there is a mayor's conference this weekend. I'll have some free alone time if you would like to join me."

We set seven on Saturday at her place. Claire said there was a lot of food left from the party and if I didn't mind leftovers, that's what we'd have for dinner. I promised to bring the wine. We were in bed together before eight that night. I performed better this time and Claire tried to remember each of Geiger's paintings for us to duplicate. We rested for an intermission.

"If you are going to stay, Hank, you better put your car in the garage. It's a pretty good clue who is spending the night with me. The press would love it."

I moved the Bugatti. When I got back into bed, Claire was ready to continue by using her own imagination this time. I fell asleep exhausted.

On the way home the next morning, I passed a crowd of people listening to a woman speaking from a megaphone. It was Jill rallying the crowd to vote for her. I parked and listened. Apparently, she caught a glimpse of me hiding in the back of the crowd.