A warm day in late summer. September. Annie and I were in Quebec for our annual Get Away Weekend, our twelfth year. It was a blending of leaving all your worries behind and having the free time to fuck like teen-agers. That morning we had a leisurely breakfast at an outdoor cafe on Rue St. Jean and then visited a sculptor friend of ours in Sainte-Foy. We then went for a walk in a heavily wooded forest adjacent to the Plains of Abraham. Annie had packed a poet's lunch of a just out of the oven baguette, a local cheese and sparkling cider. Also a thermos full of an unbelievable French Roast coffee.
We followed a gravel path deeper into the park. Tall oaks, maples and elms acted like a canopy, making us feel that we were the only people left on the planet. A senior citizens' Hansel und Gretel.
"What do you think?" I said. "Are you getting hungry?"
Annie nodded. "Over there," she said. "There seems to be little clearing in those trees." She took my hand and we left the path.
There was a clearing. Bushes formed a child sized door. Inside, the clearing was like a small, secret garden in our private forest.
"Shhhhh," Annie whispered. "Listen- it sounds like people over there."
I pushed apart some dense foliage apart and peered out. We were on the edge of a large soccer field but hidden from anybody out on the pitch. It was like having a little home, a fairy's lair, where we could see but not be seen.
When I turned around Annie had arranged the blanket under a small fruit tree and was lying down. She smiled seductively and spread her legs. She was wearing a diaphanous red miniskirt with a modest black half slip underneath. She brought a knee up, giving me a view of her slutty, red, satin panties and, then languidly undid the top three buttons of her blouse, a scandalous see through number that showed off her near translucent bra. The bra was so sheer I could make out her protruding nipples and the dark circles of her aureoles through the two layers of fabric. A white sweater for the sake of emergency modesty, if necessary, was draped over her shoulders.
"Your whore is very hungry," she whispered.
I pulled down my zipper and started to take off my pants. Annie grabbed my hand and stopped me. "Whoa, cowboy. Let's eat before we fuck."
"Sounds reasonable." I zipped myself up, and took the sparkling cider out of the picnic bag. Annie sat up and got a baguette and a block of cheese out. She tore two pieces off the baguette and sliced some of the cheese, a very sharp cheddar. I poured us two glass of the cider and we toasted each other,
"Amour," we said in unison.
As we ate I looked at my wife of twenty-five years and got an erection.
I rearranged my cock and balls, trying to be inconspicuous. Annie looked at me and grinned. "You naughty boy," she said. She took off her sweater and lied back on the blanket. She spread her legs and let her skirt slide down her thighs almost to the tops of her stockings. Her satin panties glowed in a patch of sunlight.
"Why don't you take your bra off? No-one is around." I said. Annie is very petite, under five feet, but for such a little woman she was very busty. I loved it when I saw other men appreciate her substantial breasts. Sometimes she was reticent about showing off; other times she would wear dresses or tops that displayed her cleavage or let her hard nipples show through. "No one can see in here. Those 36 DD darlings are begging to be free and run wild."
Annie sat up and drew her bra straps through her armholes. In a few swift moves her bra fell off her breasts and she pulled it out of an armhole like a stripper. Her breasts swung free, totally visible through her skimpy blouse. She shook her shoulders and they swayed, bounced and jiggled. "You like my tits?"
"Hmmmm," I murmured and pushed her back on the blanket, kissing and fondling her large breasts, puddling on her chest. Annie darted her tongue in and out of my mouth. I slipped my hand between her thighs and gently stroked her nylons.
She grabbed my hand and placed it on her cunt. "Harder," she growled. I prodded her clitoris through the satin of her panties. "That feels good," she said. I increased the pressure and pulled her face closer to mine.
"I love my slut," I whispered and stroked her neck.
"And your big titted cum slut loves you." she replied and slipped her arms around my neck, pulling me close. We made out like a couple of over-sexed teen-agers. Annie pulled my cock out of my pants. I plunged three fingers deep inside her moist cunt. We feasted on each other. It was hard to eat our lunch.
After a few minutes Annie broke off. "I need a sip of cider," she said and sat up.
She was reaching for her glass when a black and white soccer ball exploded through the bushes that formed a wall with the athletic field, hitting her solidly on the forehead. The ball dropped to the ground in front of her. Annie looked at me with a dazed half smile; her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell back on the blanket in a faint.
I froze in shock for what seemed an endless parade of motionless seconds- until my senses returned and I realized I needed to do some thing.
A middle age man in a soccer uniform burst through the bushes where the ball had just come from. He was middle aged and stocky with a neatly trimmed beard.
"Bonjour," he said. "Parlez-vous Français? En Anglais?"
"English," I replied, as he surveyed our little cave. He looked at Annie and then at me, taking my hand for a firm handshake.
"My name is Jean-Luc Goddard. I'm so sorry. One of my men got carried away with a goalie kick. His aim was terrible." He apologized profusely but I interrupted his amend. I accepted his apology and motioned to Annie, lying supine on the blanket, "What should I do?" I asked.
"Would you mind if I examined your wife? I'm a Doctor of Sports Medicine at Laval."
I nodded and explained what had happened. As I talked, three more soccer players came into the hide-away and gathered around us. Jean-Luc asked what I thought were reasonable questions and started taking vitals. He took Annie's pulse, put two fingers on her carotid artery, examined her eyes, did a series of what I imagined were neurological status exams.
He smiled at me and said, "Looks good," and then reached in a pocket and brought out a stethoscope. "I was a boy scout." he said.
As my anxiety level receded, I became aware that Annie's breasts were prominently displayed. She was wearing only the thin blouse that was more provocative than no blouse at all. Her skirt and slip were bunched up to her upper thigh. I thought I caught a glimpse of red satin again. And I became aware that the soccer players were also aware of Annie's near nudity. The atmosphere in the little grotto had changed abruptly,
Jean-Luc took off one of her high heels. Annie almost never wore heels unless it was a special occasion- and usually with my having to plead and beg. These were strappy, open toed, real "fuck me" heels. My cock stiffened as he stroked the sole of her dainty foot. He muttered, "downward response. Negative for Babinski." He skirt slid a fraction of an inch up her legs. A patch of red satin came into view.
He returned to Annie's chest, a faint smile crossed his face as he gazed at Annie's aureola and hard nipples'. He finished unbuttoning her blouse and, moving the stethoscope around, listened intently. Annie coughed twice but her eyes remained closed. He cupped each flattened breast and prodded her nipples. Annie stirred. I exhaled all the pent up tension and anxiety. "What do you think, Doctor?", I asked.
"Please, mon ami. Jean-Luc if you will." He cleared his throat and turned to the other soccer players, obviously his students. "What we have here is a mild case of Sarkofk's Syndrome. When the ball hit..." He looked at me.
"Annie", I said.
"Bien. When the ball hit Annie it affected the transverse lateral occipital fold's position on a temporary basis causing a neural transfer gap. The limbic cortex has become compensatory in the mean time. Annie might experience a short term amnesia coupled with distinct behavioral changes, Its like finding a hidden animal nature you never thought you had." He sighed. "The limbic system is like that."
Jean-Luc turned to me. "Mon ami, if she does show a different personality, just accept it and it will phase out very quickly. Try not to argue with her or dissuade her from her actions. In the literature it has shown that some people then become locked in the new persona for days, weeks, months. I don't know why. To make sure she will be all right, we will stay with her until her level of prior functioning returns."
