Monique

She had earned it: a week in Paris.

I was quite proud of her: 3.65 Grade Point Average throughout her high school career, ranked Number Fourteen in her graduating class, and she had maintained a hectic extracurricular schedule of three plays per year, foreign extemp on the Speech & Debate team, marching band, jazz band, and symphony band, and she had maintained a part-time job through it all and had definitely earned her weeklong trip to Paris.

I was more than happy to accompany her. Having spent some time living in Paris when she was very young and also having visited Paris well before she had even been a thought, I was thrilled to be returning to The City of Love and being able to share the experience with Monique. She and I had always been close, since I was the only member of her extended family who lived in the same town - the rest of the family lived at least four hundred miles away. Monique had never known her father - in fact, none of us ever knew who had sired her - so I had been the default father figure in her life. She had spent so much of her life in my home while her mother struggled with work, and Monique and I had become more than just uncle and niece and more than just friends with our relationship in a most unique realm which I could never adequately describe to anyone.

I watched the screen at the front of our section of the passenger cabin, noting how the altitude slowly dropped as we crossed over the United Kingdom. Monique slept at last, and I wished that I could have done the same given the lengthy flight, but with my arm around her as her head rested on my shoulder, despite my fatigue, I would not have missed this moment for anything in the world.

My niece was awake by the time the Airbus had descended through the thick cloud cover, and her enthusiasm at seeing the buildings below was contagious. I remembered the first time I had come to Europe, during the Gulf Crisis leading to the original Gulf War, and the thrill of seeing homes which looked very different in style from what I had known in the States. Monique exuded the same thrill, the same wonder.

We were both thankful to be off the airplane, even though it meant waiting in one of the many long lines to clear Customs. Her excitement waned as we waited, and fatigue threatened to send me collapsing to the floor, but we finally made it to the Customs agent and then officially into France.

"You didn't use French with him," Monique noted. "I thought you were bilingual?"

"I am, theoretically. It's been almost fifteen years since I last spoke French on a regular basis, so I know I've lost a lot. Besides, I figure it's much safer to stick to my native language when dealing with someone in a position of authority so that I don't inadvertently say the wrong thing."

"Good point."

For the rest of the journey to the hotel, I did speak French with those we encountered: the lady at the Information booth, the ticket agent when buying the RER passes, an elderly couple on the street when we emerged from the Métro and needed directions to the hotel, and finally the hotel staff.

"Only one bed," Monique noted once we were alone in our hotel room.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"No! Not at all. Just a little surprised is all..."

"At least we have a bathroom and bathtub to ourselves and don't have to share with everyone else on this floor."

"Good point."

Just like I remembered, the hotel room had more of a "home" feel than the hotels in the States. I had purposely avoided any chain hotels, and also wanted to avoid going to places we could find in the States such as McDonald's. That was the policy I had used when I lived in Paris, and I wanted to use the same policy on this trip.

Being a Sunday morning in a non-touristy area of the city, I knew that food could be difficult to find. "I'm heading out in search of lunch," I informed her. "I'll bring back something for us."

"Okay, Uncle Stan." She was still looking around the small hotel room in amazement when I closed the door behind me.

*****

Between the lengthy flight itself, the jet lag, and a semi-heavy lunch from a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place, Monique and I were both definitely weary. There was no way that we would both stay awake until dinnertime, and I had a suspicion that even though the sun had yet to set on The City of Love, once we fell asleep, neither of us would awaken before dawn. When Monique stretched out on the bed and placed an arm across her eyes to block out the meager daylight filtering through the thick cloud cover, I decided that it was best to get ready for bed.

When I emerged from the bathroom, my niece groggily rose to her feet. I slipped into the bed, taking the view of the wall so that she could have the view through the thin curtains at the window, and I fell asleep even before Monique returned to me.

*****

To my amazement, I awoke before daybreak. I had no sense of the time, as there were no clocks within my view and I had left both my watch and my cell phone on the small table near the door.

However, I was keenly aware of the arm draped over me beneath the covers and especially of the soft, thinly-covered breasts pressed to my bare back.

I tried to return to sleep, but my fatigue was pushed away by the initial stirrings of arousal. There was a woman sharing a bed with me, and her feminine chest was pressed against me, and her arm was draped over me with her hand not too far from my manly anatomy.

I tried to tell myself that this was innocent, that she did not know what she was doing as she slept, that she would soon awaken and realize the situation and back away from my back. I tried to tell myself that I was imagining things, that I could easily roll over and face her without jostling her from her slumbering position.

My logical mind screamed at me to just shut up and enjoy the moment in case it did not last very long.

That particular moment did not last very long at all. It was as if Monique sensed that I was awake, for she stirred against me, her breasts pressing more prevalently against my bare back, her gentle hand brushing along the waistband of my sweatpants as her legs slid against mine.

She must have fallen asleep again, for she did not stir beyond that, but I was awake and trying to ignore an erection until the first hint of daylight permeated the thin curtains.

*****

I had forgotten just how strong coffee is in Europe compared to the States, but I definitely needed the stronger brew... and not just because of the residual effects of jet lag.

It was Spring Break season, and Paris was filled with people from all over Europe and many parts of the world. When I had lived in Paris previously, I had experienced Spring Break season, and it was a time when the lines at the tourist traps were longer than usual, and when there were many, many more American tourists than usual.

The latter was still true, and the average American tourist was still easily identifiable by the loud conversations and the seeming refusal to attempt to speak in the city's native language. Just as I had done when I was living in Paris, I tried to purposely avoid Americans, and Monique readily agreed with the strategy as we toured the city.

Throughout the week, we used the Métro, the RER, and our own two feet to make our way around the city. We waited in the long lines to ascend La Tour Eiffel and Sacré-Cœur, visited the grave of Jim Morrison, used the underground entrance to beat the crowds trying to visit La Musée du Louvre, strolled along Les Champs-Élysées visiting the stores I had known quite well from when I lived in the city, and even made the long walk from La Défense to L'Arc de Triomphe and a stroll along much of the length of La Seine within the confines of the city proper.

Each morning began with the hotel's light breakfast. Lunch was always from a café, with the exception of a Quick at La Defense. Dinner was always at a restaurant somewhere -- including two restaurants I had visited over a decade earlier, where the food was just as excellent as I had remembered.

The days were full of adventure. For me, once I was past the initial headache involved with speaking in a foreign language so much after such a long time, it was particularly exhilarating to feel my fluency returning. For Monique, it was a chance to experience the world, and while my previous experiences in Paris were helpful on many levels, her wonder at seeing Paris for the first time allowed me to finally view The City of Love as a tourist instead of as a near-native.

For us both, it was a heartwarming time together, an experience which neither of us wanted to see come to an end.

Each evening in our small hotel room, we would sit and discuss her thoughts and compare them to my previous experiences. We would watch French television and I would try to quickly translate, or at least summarize what was being said.

Midweek, when I emerged from the bathroom ready for bed, the main room was dark save for the light from the street lamps below. Monique stood at the window, wearing her usual thin nightie, her panty quite visible and the swells of her breasts quite remarkable as she gazed out the window. From the expression on her face, I had a sense that something significant was on her mind, so I turned off the bathroom light and went to her, standing behind her and wrapping my arms around her fondly and protectively.

I had held my niece from this position previously, typically when I felt that something was troubling her. As I held her this time, I was instantly aware of something significant:

My forearms brushed against her breasts.

I froze, thinking back to the first night in the same hotel room, when she had pressed her front side against me and draped an arm over me during her slumber. Was there more to that situation than simply not knowing what she was doing as she slept?

Before I could move my arms to another position, Monique took care of the situation for me, turning around in my hold and wrapping her arms around my lower back as she rested her weary head against me. We simply stood there in silence for a long time, holding each other.

...as my manhood made its presence known, slowly lengthening, a silent participant in this moment of what I had hoped would be consolation.

Embarrassment filled me, reddening and heating my face and my neck. My heart beat noticeably faster, but my niece said nothing about it. Her only reaction was to use a single fingertip to draw small circles over my lower spine, just above the waistband of the sweatpants I typically wore for sleeping, her fingertip moving slowly yet seemingly purposefully over a rather sensitive area of my body.

I shuddered against her, pressing my thickening manhood into her involuntarily. And I sensed that the young woman in my arms was indeed becoming less and less distressed by whatever had been troubling her, although she did not yet seem like her usual cheerful self.

"Do you believe in sex without marriage?"

My niece's question shocked me, both because it broke the long silence unexpectedly and because it was one of the last subjects I had ever expected to discuss with her. Other than her mother and I sitting her down and together giving her The Sex Talk when she was just about to enter puberty, Monique and I had never discussed sex beyond my complimenting a few outfits which made her look sexy.

"I suppose so," I finally responded once I was past the shock of her unexpected question, "especially since I never married."

"True... So I guess that means you've had sex?"

"Yes, although it's definitely been a while. Why do you ask?"

Monique took a deep breath, which made me keenly aware of her breasts pressing against me. She still had her head resting against me, so she was not looking up into my eyes, which made the conversation all the more odd to me. "There's someone who I've loved for a long time and I finally have the opportunity to express that to him, but I know that we'll never be able to get married."

All sorts of thoughts went through my mind, and I found those thoughts suddenly gushing from my mouth. "Is he married? Is it someone in prison? Does he have a terminal disease? One of your pen pals overseas?"

She silenced me by shaking her head, then surprised me by finally lifting her head to look up into my eyes.

"You."

It took a moment for that single, simple word to truly sink in, to take root in my brain and begin to grow and flourish. It did not help that throughout the short conversation, her fingertip had continued to draw circles over my lower spine and my erection had maintained its unavoidable presence.

"I see your point," I finally said, and she definitely had a point, for those related by blood cannot marry legally, and society would shun them anyhow.

While one hand remained at my lower back, Monique's other hand drifted downward, caressing me through the sweatpants. Her body shifted, just enough that I knew without question that she was very aware of the male anatomy pressing against her.

For my part, I recognized the opportunity and the love standing in my arms. My hands slowly rose up her back to her shoulders, up her neck to her cheeks, and as her head tilted upward, my lips descended.

We kissed in The City of Love. In a perfect Hollywood film, the curtains and the window would have been open despite the chill in the air, and behind us there would have been a wonderful view of La Tour Eiffel lit in beautiful grandeur against the nighttime Parisian skyline, and probably L'Arc de Triomphe would have been visible just beyond the symbol of the great city.

We were not actors shooting the final scene of a Hollywood film, and we definitely did not have a view of any of the famous landmarks of Paris, but being in The City of Love was enough to make this kiss all the more important and all the more endearing.

She was breathless when our lips finally separated, and she clutched me tightly as I gently stroked the back of her head. "Make me yours," she pleaded softly. "Make love to me."

"Are you sure?"

Monique looked up at me once again. "Yes. Please. I don't care if we're niece and uncle. I don't care if you're more than twice my age. I don't care. I just want to give myself to you and show you how I've felt about you for... for almost forever."

While I wondered how long "almost forever" was to her teenage mind, I recognized the sincerity in her voice and in her eyes, and slowly I lifted the thin nightie from her, leaving her clad in only a white panty. She took the initiative from there, rendering me naked and kneeling before me to explore a man's sex for the first time, her breaths warm and her touches gentle, her mouth wet and her tongue loving as I ensured her hair remained out of the way so that she could better enjoy this exploration and I could more easily gaze upon her sweet face with a sense that I had loved her for a long time but had just not allowed myself to admit it.

When her jaw tired and her knees protested, I helped her to stand, and after removing her panty and rendering my niece completely bare, I positioned her on the bed, perched between her thighs, and feasted on her barren sex, relishing the soft sounds of joy rising from her heart and savoring the tangy nectar flowing from her soul. She peaked easily and quickly, her thighs clamped tightly to either side of my head and unfortunately muting her sounds of delight, but I kept going, holding her open with my fingertips, licking her clitoris and attempting to embed my tongue within her, gently sucking her labia, making her peak again with another surge of love coating my face and anointing the bed, and only then did I pry her thighs away and spread her legs so that I could reposition myself and finally tear her open.

The lovemaking was slow and long, her hands and her thighs and her body clutching at me throughout. Our pace gradually increased, our love filling the air of the small hotel room, the ever-present chill negated by our combined desire.

I kissed her as her orgasm surged through her, ejected as a cry into my lungs and returned as a powerful surge into her core.

In the morning, as Monique readied herself in the bathroom, I sat with the phone book, looking for another hotel in the area for the final few days of our Parisian vacation. The sheets were still stained with my niece's blood, and while the hotel staff would certainly have seen blood on the sheets in the past, neither Monique nor I wanted to deal with the staff's reactions at finding blood on the sheets in the room that she and I had just shared, for we did look rather similar, especially in the eyes and the nose and the forehead. Before we left the hotel room for the final time, I stood with her, just as I had done some twelve hours earlier, holding her from behind as we both looked fondly at the blood she had spilled for me.

"Don't worry," she announced softly. "I took a picture of it."

It seemed like an odd picture to take, but then again, ours was certain to be an odd relationship.