My mother was from the upper class of the Wolof People in Senegal and my father was a Major in the French Foreign Legion. Lest you be Ill informed, the rank of Major in the Legion corresponds to what is called a Sergeant Major in other Western Armies. Me and my siblings; three older brothers and two younger sisters were known as 'signare,' a term used to describe individuals who had a mixed racial ethnicity. In my case, while my African heritage is obvious, my overall appearance is more European than Senegalese. I have olive rather than dark skin, and my nose and lips are much more narrow and my hair, while black, tends to be straight rather than kinky. I have been told that the combined effect of my appearance is considered 'exotic.'
In Senegal society 'signare' individuals are an exalted class, probably stemming from the fact that the early infusion of European blood came from merchants, officials and soldiers; In short, the 'elite' of pre-colonial and colonial society. As such, my siblings and I received the best education that my small country could provide.
My father could be stern, and as the patriarch of our family, he was, in my eyes, the very epitome of what a man should be; strong, virtuous, a good provider and our protector. He took pains to insure my brothers grew into men with those self same virtues. As his first girl child, I received no such discipline and I found that, like my mother. I could make him do things that my Brothers couldn't, and I learned how to wield my female weakness with considerable strength.
After my father retired from the Legion, he was appointed to be the chief of staff to the Mayor of Dakar and so was able to finance a higher education for all of his children, including me. A short time after my eighteenth birthday I was enrolled in the Aix-Marseille University located in that beautiful French city on the Mediterranean, and I began my studies in Political Science and Government with the intention to return to Senegal and get a job in public service, which my father's position virtually guaranteed. Little did I know at the time that my life journey would lead me elsewhere.
While I did not lack for money, all of the friends I made at the university held at least part-time jobs and to avoid looking conspicuous I decided to seek one as well, so after a very brief search, I quickly found one that appealed to me.
It was in a small camera store not far from the campus. In addition to selling cameras, film and all manner of photographic supplies; its owner also provided services such as passport or family photos and would photograph weddings or social events of all kinds. I was originally hired just to work the cash register and unload merchandise and stock shelves, but unlike some of his previous hires, I asked to do more. So, to his happy surprise, Victor started teaching me the ins and outs of photography.
In my last couple of years in Senegal, I had begun to experience the attraction that girls blossoming into womanhood feel regarding the opposite sex. Oh, I knew boys were different, and since I had three brothers, I wasn't ignorant of the fact that males and females weren't only physically different but that we looked at the world differently as well. What surprised me though, was a rising desire to touch them and have them touch me.
As much as the changes in my own psyche affected me, I was wholly unprepared for the discovery of what the onset of puberty was doing in the bodies of my male friends and acquaintances. Suddenly, I seemed to have moved to their center of attention almost overnight and I found myself being asked out on dates by multiple boys who were finding me as attractive as bees find flowers in the Spring.
I not only loved their attention, but the feeling of their muscles and hairy arms and chests and the sometimes stubble on their cheeks. All features that were different from my soft skin and developing curves. The feeling of that first romantic kiss is still burned in my memory. As much as I might have desired to have explored further, my own reticence combined with the strictures of Senegalese Society doomed those early girlish fantasies. So later, as I found myself in Victor's Camera Shop, I was still basically a virgin in thoughts and definitely one in fact.
I had been working in the store for about three months and Victor had taught me enough about photography and the art of picture taking that I felt confident in handling questions about the features of the various camera's we stocked, so when David walked in with the intent of purchasing a large format replacement for one that had broken, I felt qualified to help him choose.
I had met David before, as he came in occasionally to purchase film and darkroom chemicals. Victor had told me that he was a professional fashion photographer who worked for some of the chic designers in the city. He was mid-thirties with dark brown hair that always looked windblown and the ruddy good looks of a laborer rather than what I thought photographer's should look like.
We almost zipped through the choices, since it became obvious to me that what he needed was the new Hasselblad 410-D that had just been released. When he reached the same conclusion some minutes after I did, I could see that he looked at me with an enhanced degree of respect. In American Dollars it would be expensive. The Hasselblad's price was about $15,000, and I watched with some amazement as he pulled out a pen and casually wrote out a check for the full amount. When he handed it to me, he said, "What's your name?" When I replied, "Kyree," he asked if I'd ever modeled, and when I said no, he replied, "You should. You're beautiful. I'm in need of attractive models right now, so if you're interested give me a call." With that he pulled a card from his jacket pocket and passed it across the counter. I looked at it and smiled that I would think about it. Two days later I picked up the phone, and unbeknownst to me at the time, my life took a hard right turn from the path that I thought that I had plotted out.
I met David at his second floor studio off Avenue du Martin, and while he answered the door, it was obvious that he was in the middle of a shoot. I sat down in a chair by the wall as he worked behind lights that were illuminating an attractive blonde wearing a gorgeous red dress that was adopting various poses, some at David's direction and some of what appeared to be her own. Soon she disappeared behind the shot's backdrop to reemerge a minute or so later clad in a brown skirt and a white blouse and the shooting continued. While David was setting up the shoot, he turned and pointed to a rack of dresses next to where I was sitting and said, "Do you mind trying on that black dress for me?" and then quickly pointed to the area where his model had disappeared. The question I wanted to ask died on my lips as he turned his back. I paused in total confusion for a moment, but picked out the dress he'd ordered and walked behind the backdrop. I was surprised that it was my size and it only took a moment to change. Just as I finished, the model reappeared and started undressing. She looked in my direction and just said, "Monique." I responded, "Kyree," just as I heard David call out that very name.
When David saw me, he said, "You're beautiful." Then I was besieged by directions; turn a little to your right, hand on hip, chin up, face me, look down, 'click.' Then one after another, he posed me in different positions until he was satisfied. Then just as Monique reappeared he pointed to the rack and said, "the blue skirt and polka dot blouse." Then with no further words passing between us, he turned his attention to Monique. An hour and four changes of clothes later, he announced that we were done.
David wrote out a check and gave it to Monique who blew him a kiss as she headed to the door, and then he wrote another and handed it to me. I looked and saw it was made out in the amount of f3,000 (about $700). He had just given me the same money that I would earn in the camera shop for the next seven months! I just stared in open mouthed amazement with what had just transpired. "What... what... uh..." was about all that I was able to get out, before David just raised one eyebrow. When I finally put together a coherent sentence, I blurted, "You said to come and we'd 'talk about' whether I would consider modeling, I didn't..."
David cut me off with, "Apparently you did consider it, are you free tomorrow? Say 10 a.m." and he handed me a piece of paper that said 'Model Release' and he ordered, "sign this before you leave." Later, people asked how I got into modeling. I had to confess it was pretty easy.
I did return to David's studio the next day, and the next, and the next. Every session was exactly like the first one. David shouting instructions and two and sometimes three of us redressing as fast as we could so that he could maintain the staccato pace that I learned was David just being David. The work wasn't continuous. There would be dry spells of a few weeks, then three or four days of frantic activity.
By the end of my first year, I had made more money than I ever dreamed possible and certainly more than most public servants in Senegal. Almost all of it was safely tucked away in a Marseille bank. I didn't tell my friends about my modeling and I didn't even quit my job at Victor's Camera Shop. As far as they knew I was just as penniless as they.
Between my studies, my job, and my new modeling career, my social life was a mess. Oh, I was certainly asked out on a few dates, and I enjoyed the make out sessions that always ended with a wet spot in my panties and an unfilled yearning in my pussy that fingers were no longer satisfying. I needed to find a man, but not just any man, to relieve me of my burdensome virginity. In my circle of female friends, I was sure that I was the only one left.
When I returned from Senegal to begin my second year at the university, I was sure that I would be a 'woman' soon. It took a couple of months longer than I expected, but one day I met Nicolás.
He was an exchange student from Barcelona and his French was terrible and his native tongue wasn't even Spanish, it was Catalonian. He was in some of my classes and to be honest, I felt sorry for him. He was really struggling. I decided to try and help, so over the succeeding weeks I became a kind of surrogate tutor and we would study together and with my assistance, his French improved and he began to succeed.
One day he asked me out. That was when our relationship changed. As I dated him, I became aware of his understated masculinity that had been obscured by his academic struggles and I found that I was feeling aroused by this discovery. By our fourth date, I decided that I would offer Nicolás the honor of taking my virginity.
He took me to a restaurant on the harbor. L'Hippocampe specialized in seafood but was also famous for classic bouillabaisse soups. We had a wonderful meal and I made it a point to overindulge in their delicious Pinot Noir all the while fantasizing about what I hoped would happen later.
I wasn't anxious - there, with him, with his arm around me, I was effortlessly riding a wave of happiness, a radiant glow surging in my heart. We'd eaten by candlelight, outside on the terrace. I'd worn on my little black dress and some subtle makeup - just as I planned. He looked so handsome, eyes sparkling as he sat opposite me - blue shirt, light chinos, tousled curly hair. We talked, we joked, we laughed together - now time was standing still.
I wanted one thing, more than anything else. My body cried out for his, My core ached for him. I needed to tell him, but I wasn't sure how. I just needed to do it, make my intentions clear, be direct - not be shy about it.
I looked up at him. The request formed on my lips...
"Nicolás," I was about to say, "I want to have sex with you - tonight."
But just then, he turned and looked into my eyes illuminated by the candle and whispered in my ear. "Make love to me."
"What?... How?.... I was speechless. My mind couldn't fathom what Nicolás had just said. Tears formed in my eyes and I reached for his hand and squeezed while my head nodded once and then several times more.
His beautiful face lit up with a radiant smile of surprise at my girlish reaction.
I felt a slight tension within me - I was gripping his hand so hard. There was something more to say - I started, but fumbled my words. Should I tell him now or wait until later? I didn't know what was best, so I just said it.
"Nicolás," I began again. "I have not done this before. This is my first time. I am a virgin." I felt myself blush, and I thought not a little.
Another radiant smile lit up his face.
"You are? I too am a virgin," he said. "It is my first time also!"
It felt such a relief to hear those words. We'd saved ourselves for each other - this was our destiny. We hugged tightly. We kissed. I melted in his arms as the stars looked down on us. This was so right!
