Andrew was going to be a short term solution. He was into all the boy things like beer, cars, football, and other girls and I came a good way down his list of interests. His Dad lasted a little longer (In more ways than one) but I think I became a nice source of young flesh for a shag, rather than a real relationship. My thoughts were more on A levels and getting good enough grades to get to university. Obviously, my thoughts weren't enough on them as I was forced to apply through the clearing system before I secured a place at a second rate British university, reading social sciences.
As a result of having to go through the clearing system, I was late getting any accommodation and as home was 150 miles from the campus, I had to find some digs urgently. Mum and Dad helped a lot. They booked us all into a hotel for a long weekend and I could spend some time finding a suitable student flat. After a couple of futile days, we found a large 3 story house, or in fact two large houses, which had been converted to a number of large, well appointed self-contained flats. There was one going and we rushed round to see it. It wasn't the best – it lacked light as it was in the basement, but it was certainly spacious and would do me. It consisted of a large lounge/kitchen /diner, a separate bedroom, and a toilet & shower room.
The landlord was a weasly looking middle-aged man who looked mean and grumpy, but he offered me a better flat once one became available. My Dad forked out for the deposit and the first four weeks rent. Just a week later and we made the same journey, this time with a car full of whatever I could beg, steal and borrow from my friends and relatives.
After lugging the stuff into the flat, my Dad emptied his wallet into my grateful hands, gave me a big hug and left me to sort the flat into something I could call home. Three hours later I had put my clothes away, stuck up some arty posters, loaded up my larder and I was just contemplating some food when I was surprised by a knock on the door. My first thought was the "Weasel". I had seen him to pick up the keys when we first arrived, but I thought that he might be sniffing around looking for some way he could reduce my rent!
It wasn't the Weasel. It was a couple from across the hall – living in a mirror image of my flat. He was in his early forties – she was perhaps a little younger. Both looked in good nick – he was dapper, elegant and looking a grey-tinged sort of distinguished. She was attractive – thinner than me but with a nice slim figure.
He was also holding a bottle of champagne in his hand and a smile that would melt a polar ice cap.
"Hello" he said in the most gorgeous French accent. They introduced themselves as Didier and Sandrine. "We saw you moving in and thought we'd welcome you to the mad house". They said.
I was lost for words. I gaped at them, and managed to blurt out a "thanks" for their really sweet gesture.
"Would you like to come to our flat for a drink?" I was more than happy – after only a few hours I was already starting to feel lonely and was contemplating the horrible thought of sloping off to the local pub on my own. I followed them into their flat and they opened the bubbly which they offered with some lovely nibbles. I didn't realise how hungry I was as I tucked into smoked salmon, the most gorgeous cheese and a variety of other bits. We spent the next hour or so in introductions. Didier was a lecturer in the History Faculty, majoring on modern European history. He was a fascinating and eloquent speaker and I really enjoyed his stories and anecdotes. Sandrine was a research assistant working in the university library. The bubbly gave way to wine and at about 7 we all made our way to the local pub.
I don't know what it was, but I seemed to really enjoy their company – he was ebullient and great company – she was more reserved but she began to warm up and was confiding little secrets about the two of them before the evening was out.
At about 10 we made our way back, rather unsteadily to the house. I was ready to say goodnight, but they insisted that I share their meal. A dark, rich stew – beef or some other sort of red meat was accompanied with delicious long grain rice. And a few bottles of wine. We sat on the floor, with our plates on a large wooden coffee table. I finished the delicious meal and made my way rather unsteadily to the toilet. As I made my way back I looked at the contents of the large bookcase as Didier and Sandrine finished their second helping.
The books were mostly French, and a row of videos took my interest. All were home made – they looked like recordings of films taped from the TV. Three videos marked S/D looked more intriguing. Sandrine told me to pick out a video to watch if I wanted and I instinctively took out "SD1". I slipped it into the video player and the tv flicked silently to life.
I returned to my glass of wine and I suddenly realised that Sandrine and Didier had suddenly stopped eating and were looking intently past my shoulder at the large tv screen. There was a look of horror on Sandrine's face and I turned to look at the video. It was a quite intimate video of the two of them making love. No, that was too mild. It was a quite explicit, very close up view of Sandrine giving a blow job to, I assumed, Didier. My face went bright red. I opened my mouth to apologise but Didier and then Sandrine started laughing.
