My First French Lesson

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I had been polishing my skateboard on the front porch when my best friend Stevie came by on his mountain bike. He had just finished his paper round. I was gingerly positioning an image of the Cuban flag across the base of the board.”Fancy riding downtown? There’s something I want to show you in Jake’s deli.””Sure, as soon as I’ve finished this transfer.”I fetched my bike from the garage and called out to tell Mom I was going off with Stevie. “So what’s up?””Wait and see, Lawrence. But I’ll give you a clue: I’ve been taking French lessons.”I nearly crashed my bike into the side of Mom’s car. “You’ve been WHAT?”But he didn’t respond. Just gave me a big grin. “Come on, dude!”~ ~ ~ ~ ~Jake’s Deli was an institution in our town. It had been there forever, as its faded 1950s decor made plain. There was even a framed poster of the movie ‘Mogambo’ on the wall behind the counter. How old is that? Clark Gable, Ava Gardner, Grace Kelly, all dead long ago. But the milkshakes were the best for miles around. An added bonus was that on Saturday mornings, most of the local college girls would be huddled together at the big round table in the corner, where we would discreetly ogle their slim legs, clad with virginal white ankle socks, from our bar stools.I’d finished my banana and mango mush by the time my curiosity got the better of me, and in a low conspiratorial whisper I asked, “So what’s with this French lessons business? French happens to be my most unfavourite subject – and travesti istanbul Miss Dempsey has got halitosis!” “There’s French lessons and French lessons, buddy,” Stevie replied enigmatically, making a slurping noise with his straw and grinning at one of the girls.”Durgh?””OK, just stroll over to the back of the shop. Take a look at that glass display panel to the left of the door out to the car park. Right?””Got it. And what am I looking for?”Mumbling as if were a couple of would-be terrorists in an airport terminal, my friend said, “Pale blue card, bottom right, red printing saying ‘French Lessons Given. Beginners Welcome. Reasonable Rates.'””I still don’t get it.””Just check it out and quit moaning. And bring us back a couple of beers to take out, while you’re about it.”There was the advertising card, just as Stevie had described it, with a cell phone number shown in luminous text. I put the cans on the counter.”You see, my friend,” he said with a smirk, “that little announcement over there is a signal to all guys that there’s a young lady in this town who is, shall we say, ‘available’ to offer sexual services. It’s an old euphemism, invented by English prostitutes, I believe, when street walkers were banned in London.””I see. How come you know this local woman?””’cause I’ve been there and done it. And she’s smokin’ hot, I can tell you. South American. Calls herself Bianca.””And did you err… you know…””Fuck her? Nope. I’m afraid that’s off istanbul travestileri limits to teenagers. She made that very clear. Seems she’s worried that the local worthies would have her run out of town, if they thought she was corrupting us youngsters.” His voice went quieter. “But she gives a hand job to die for!””I see. How much?””Forget the money side, kiddo. I just got paid for my paper round. The treat’s on me. Want me to give her a call?””What NOW?””Hell, why not? She’ll be home and probably very frisky. I expect several guys gave her a good seeing-to last night. If you ask her nicely, she might even describe the action while she’s jerking you off.””No kidding?””Believe me, Lawrence, she’s red hot. And her dirty talk is delicious.””Mmm, I must say I’m tempted.”That was all the reassurance Stevie needed. He pulled his i-Phone from his back pocket and tapped in a number. “Hi Bianca! It’s Stevie – remember me?” He gave me a wink. “Yeah, that’s right. So did I, baby. Listen, I was wondering, would it be OK if I came over this morning for another lesson and brought a friend?” Big grin and a thumbs up. “Brilliant. We’ll be there in about half-an-hour. Hasta la vista!” He switched the phone off and slapped me heartily on the back. “We’re in buddy!”As we cycled across town, wild sexual thoughts about my first private French lesson started crowding in. I realised that, for two 18-year-olds, this was an opportunity not to be missed.Bianca’s bungalow istanbul travesti was surrounded by a pretty wooded garden, well spaced away from the neighbouring properties. As the garage door was raised, we cycled in and parked our bikes at the back.Stevie slicked his hair straight and pulled my Che Guevara T-shirt down over my jeans. I could hear South American music coming from inside the house. “Let me do the talking, OK?” I readily agreed, as I stood apprehensively on the front step after we’d rung the door chime.The door was swung open to reveal a truly stunning apparition. Biana was almost six feet all, although this was in a pair of perilously high scarlet patent stilettos. Her slender tanned legs were clad with black fishnets, which were attached by scarlet silk ribbons, to a tiny black suspender belt worn over the scantiest of black lace panties. Otherwise, the lady’s only other covering was a black push-up half-bra, from which her generously-sized boobs were showing, with their nipples peeping enticingly over the edge of the scarlet lace rims. Her long straight black hair fell onto her slim shoulders.She gave us a big warm welcoming smile. “Stevie sweetie – how lovely to see you again. Come on in.””This is my friend Lawrence I told you about.” He pushed me towards the rangy goddess and it was all I could do not to bury my face in that glorious cleavage. “Hi Lawrence. Come on through, both of you. I was just getting dressed to go out.”Bianca led the way into her kitchen and I marvelled at the shape of her trim posterior. She called back to me: “So you’re thinking of studying French too are you, baby?” She gestured for us to sit at the kitchen table and she poured us all some iced water from a large jug.”Err…

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