This tale takes place in that, sadly very short, interval between the ready availability of the contraceptive pill and the outbreak of HIV and AIDS. It does not involve anyone underage at any point.
I had just left school at the age of nineteen and had a whole summer before starting uni in October. I was off to France for a month and in the 60s that was a big adventure, I couldn't wait. Having been cloistered in a boys boarding school for the last five years I was now off to explore the world, well northern France at least.
We had relatives there and I was going to spend a whole month in a chateau just outside Amiens. Chateau sounds very grand and thanks to TV, if not schoolboy French, it doesn't mean castle. It in fact means a gentleman's residence, substantial for sure, but no portcullis or draw bridge.
I had never met Tante Marise, nor stayed in a chateau, draw bridge or no draw bridge. France was a very formal place in the 60's, actually it still is, so Aunt Marise was always addressed as Tante, or Tante Marise: never, ever as Marise, way too sloppy for the linguistically pedantic French. Although, interestingly enough, we did use the familiar tu, rather than the more formal vous form. One of those interesting vagaries of latin languages.
Actually Tante Marise now lived in one wing of the chateau as the place was enormous and, even in the 60's, quite unmanageable for a single family, so it had been divided into three, still substantial, homes.
The building was massively imposing. A classic Somme chateau with a hugely impressive double staircase to the centre section and two wings. Tante Marise lived in one of the wings and the rest had been sold off, but the land, an apple farm, had remained in the family, largely for the private production of Calvados.
As I recall, in those days, you were allowed to make a certain amount of Calvados without a permit, as long as it was for private consumption, but definitely not for sale. My late lamented uncle had applied a certain gallic flexibility to the rules and there were stashes of this magic potion all over the farm.
The interest of the authorities had been distracted by his throwing of lavish boozing sessions with the local gendarmerie. Alas Uncle was no more and I surmised that my board and lodging was something of a quid pro quo for helping with the harvest. I was only nineteen, so hard work didn't worry me and besides they had one of those magnificent French bicycles I could use in my spare time.
It was a Solex or something similar. It had a simple motor that you lowered with a lever onto the front tyre and no longer had to pedal. I could use it to go to the village or wherever I liked. It would never have crossed my mind to borrow the car any more than it would have crossed hers to offer it. That was not the way things happened then.
The great day came and the details of how I got to Tante Marise's chateau are lost to the mists of time but arrive I did. My first introduction to her was of her grasping me by the shoulders, pulling me towards her and planting several kisses on each cheek, an uncommon greeting in England at the time, but very pleasant.
She was petite, with short dark hair and very square glasses. She was also younger than I expected. I never knew her age but I calculated it to be late thirties and I remember being surprised at how neat and trim her figure was, but most of all, how obvious her breasts were. They had actually contacted my chest during her enthusiastic greeting, which had been a delight.
They had never had children and always enjoyed the visits from their nephews and nieces. Why it had taken so long for the English side of the family to visit is uncertain, but the recent visit was probably prompted by my impending university course studying French literature
I settled in and tried speaking French, probably with mixed success. Tante Marise herself was French, spoke pretty good English, but with that delightfully sexy French accent made famous many years later by the TV programme 'Allo 'Allo.
Post script. Tante Marise spoke English with slightly eccentric grammar as well as the wonderful accent. I tried to write this with out the use of direct speech but it was nearly impossible. I decided not to try to write with 'ze French accent' because it doesn't work so please just imagine it for yourself. The grammar though, is more or less authentic, as are some of the rather blunt French expressions.
However, part of the reason for my stay was to get my conversational French fluent, so she only allowed us to speak English after supper and, as no-one else on the farm spoke English, it was going to be a valuable experience.
It was a typically hot summer and Tante Marise liked to wear very light clothing, so my young eyes could hardly avert my gaze from her very obvious breasts. They were made all the more noticeable because of her habit of not wearing a bra.
This was a completely new trend at that time and usually only observed on the Côte d'Azure. Not so with Tante Marise, whenever she bent over in the orchards or the kitchen her pendulous breasts undulated in the most delightful fashion and, I have to confess, featured heavily in my nocturnal fantasies.
Occasionally the farm foreman would come to supper and, after finishing off their meal with a glass of calvados, they would head to the 'Bureau' to discuss business. Antoine was a giant of a man with huge hands, a great shock of white hair and a magnificent moustache, the kind you only ever see now in caricatures of French moustaches.
On these occasions I was left alone in the Séjour to watch TV. French TV back in those days was much more risqué than its English equivalent and I was often treated to pictures of naked ladies, admittedly usually a rear view, but totally naked all the same.
How did the actor facing her cope? He must have seen everything! And everything was beyond my wildest dreams. We must remember that this was the sixties, no internet and certainly no porn or even explicit magazines. I really can't remember what we called female genitalia back then but it probably wasn't as nice as my newly acquired French word, foufoune, so I will use that.
One evening, when Tante Marise and Antoine were in the 'Bureau' discussing business, I got so worked up by a really sexy French film, featuring a totally naked couple, that I made my way to my room to relieve the tension that the characters on screen had induced in my teenage penis or 'ma bitte' as I had heard the actors calling it.
The route to my room took me past the 'Bureau' and whatever they were discussing, it had little or nothing to do with the running of the farm.
Remember, I was only nineteen and had been at a boys' boarding school for the last five years. I had no knowledge of sex whatsoever, except the purely mechanical process from biology lessons. The penis enters the vagina, semen flows, fertilisation takes place, et voilá, reproduction! The detail of what sex might actually be like was still a mystery and, I imagined, still several years in the future. The world was a much more naive place back then: much more.
I had never even seen a picture of a naked woman, let alone seen a real one, and my knowledge of breasts was limited to pictures in Health & Efficiency magazine, which was popular at the time.
Now, for the first time ever in my young life, I was hearing sounds that I only thought I understood. Tante Marise was using French words I hadn't learned yet and so was Antoine! Their breathless exchanges along with the rhythmic squeaking sounds of the 'Bureau's day couch were seriously erotic. Was this what fucking sounded like in real life? Was Antoine actually fucking Tante Marise? My, already eager, cock certainly thought so.
Just the other side of the door I could imagine Tante Marise, blouse open, those magnificent tits on display, lying back on the day couch with her legs spread wide, welcoming Antoine's cock in her foufoune! Antoine for his part, I imagined, was clasping her naked buttocks in his giant hands as he thrust into her with rapidly mounting excitement. Fuck this was sexy!
I stayed as long as I dared, getting more and more excited with this unexpected introduction to the magic sounds of copulation. I could hear their breathing becoming more rapid, their words of encouragement getting louder, the squeaking rhythm accelerating and yes: I came in my pants!
I had hardly touched my cock but the sounds of two people actually fucking only a few feet away, combined with my boyish imagination, was more than I could stand.
I hurried to my room to inspect the damage. Wow, what a lot of cum! It had already soaked through from my pants and there was a large wet patch on the front of my trousers. What to do? I didn't normally go to bed this early and I certainly could not go back to the Séjour in these trousers.
I decided that getting into my pyjamas and going back down would be the best course of action, but first I put on clean under pants to keep my cock firmly locked up.
Back in the TV room Tante Marise reappeared after I heard her show Antoine out with a cheery,
"À la prochaine." Or, until next time.
What? There was going to be a next time? Were they going to do it again? Anyway, she sat down beside me, made some comment about my getting ready for bed early and we watched the TV. I could not stop my mind from wandering.
She didn't look any different! But she'd just been fucking! How could this be? She had just clearly enjoyed having Antoine thrusting between her thighs, an experience that I could only imagine, and here she sat as if nothing had happened.
I am not sure what I expected but certainly not this degree of blasé normality. It was just as well that I had pants on under my PJs because, try as I might, my mind kept wandering back to the scene I had just overheard. My first real encounter with sex. OK so I only overheard them having sex, but the memory was enough to give me another erection: oh the power of recovery of the teenager! As soon as possible I made my excuses and went to my room.
I took off my PJs and pants and lay down on my back, stark naked, with my second erection of the evening. I felt the breeze from the open window playing on my naked body and, as the air wafted over my cock, and armed with a hanky, I set about re-playing the scene over and over in my mind.
Her naked breasts, what were they like to touch? Her foufoune, what did it look like? Antoine's hands on her bum as he thrust into her, what did that feel like? For him? For her? So many questions, so many vivid thoughts and then, as I continued to bring myself to orgasm, as slowly as possible, so as to prolong the enjoyment, the sensations started again and I knew I was about to cum. A few more strokes and I came, not as much as earlier, but a thoroughly good, satisfying, cum none the less.
