I Love Sexy Stories
It was a hot summer day when I met Clara, who worked for an ngo in Paris but was from Luxembourg. She hired me to be an English tutor, with classes in her office in return for lunch and a few euros per hour.
I arrived at her office, a small office above a Thai restaurant, at about noon. She wanted to improve her written English. Her spoken English was pretty good but as often happens in second languages, her writing was a bit off. I was there to fix that.
Clara met me at the door, a nice smile and firm handshake at the ready. Tall with brown hair, lovely green eyes, and in a short blue dress, she welcomed me into her small office, apologizing for the heat and the lack of air conditioning.
We began at a small table, which had a plate of small sandwiches and some crudité - sliced peppers, carrots and cucumbers. She pulled two glasses of cold water from one of those office water things. And we got to work.
We sat side by side, reading from a workbook and doing little exercises, mostly fill in the blank, looking at verbs in future tense. She was smart, a quick and eager learner, and funny, laughing easily when she made an occasional mistake. She had a sweet, subtle perfume that drifted my way. Our eyes met often, and I began to feel that first thrill of something new, something exciting hanging in the air. She touched my arm often, and soon, our legs were side by side.
As she reached across to grab a carrot, my eyes slipped to her light blue bra, visible as her dress dipped before me, little beads of sweat above the lace. She turned and caught me staring,and, with a smile, got up and locked the door.
We have something here, I think, Cherie, she said as she walked back to the table. Or maybe it is the heat, she said, and pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. I am hot, too, I said, and kicked off my shoes and pulled off my khakis, my dark blue boxers failing to hide my hardness. She smiled and said what is the future tense of fuck?
To be continued . . .
I arrived at her office, a small office above a Thai restaurant, at about noon. She wanted to improve her written English. Her spoken English was pretty good but as often happens in second languages, her writing was a bit off. I was there to fix that.
Clara met me at the door, a nice smile and firm handshake at the ready. Tall with brown hair, lovely green eyes, and in a short blue dress, she welcomed me into her small office, apologizing for the heat and the lack of air conditioning.
We began at a small table, which had a plate of small sandwiches and some crudité - sliced peppers, carrots and cucumbers. She pulled two glasses of cold water from one of those office water things. And we got to work.
We sat side by side, reading from a workbook and doing little exercises, mostly fill in the blank, looking at verbs in future tense. She was smart, a quick and eager learner, and funny, laughing easily when she made an occasional mistake. She had a sweet, subtle perfume that drifted my way. Our eyes met often, and I began to feel that first thrill of something new, something exciting hanging in the air. She touched my arm often, and soon, our legs were side by side.
As she reached across to grab a carrot, my eyes slipped to her light blue bra, visible as her dress dipped before me, little beads of sweat above the lace. She turned and caught me staring,and, with a smile, got up and locked the door.
We have something here, I think, Cherie, she said as she walked back to the table. Or maybe it is the heat, she said, and pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. I am hot, too, I said, and kicked off my shoes and pulled off my khakis, my dark blue boxers failing to hide my hardness. She smiled and said what is the future tense of fuck?
To be continued . . .
