When I was young, I did a bit of housework...

So long ago now. It was 1982 and I'd just finished my A Levels, it was still mid-June and I had a whole summer ahead of me with nothing to do. I'd got a place at Leeds University waiting for me (with a bit of luck) and I had really itchy feet.

I needed to get away from home - being the eldest of four kids in a three bedroom terrace was a strain. I went to an agency and got myself a position as an au pair for a family in Nice. My mother didn't seem to mind too much, probably glad to get me off her hands for a bit. I have to admit that I'd become fairly difficult to live with, but looking back, I put it down to exam stress and hormones. Going to an all girls school in Stratford meant FAR too many hormones and no boys to unleash them on. Well, not for me anyway.

I didn't really have much of a social life at school. The West Indian girls that ruled the roost almost accepted me, except my father was Nigerian, not West Indian, and my mother was (is) Scottish. I didn't put up a post when it was 'Gingers' as the whole subject is far too painful for me. The fact that I had to share a small room with my half-sister meant I had an excuse not to have a mirror in our room - my wiry dark hair with a red tinge, my almost black eyes, flat nose and freckles. I used to cry myself to sleep and hide my developing body under loose blouses and long coats.

So, back to the story. It was time for me to get out of East London, stretch my wings, leave behind the hurt and the pain. I bought my train ticket to Nice, packed a few things and set off. Each mile the train got from London towards the south coast; each mile the ferry got from those white cliffs, each mile of track the train ate up as it headed to, then out of Paris - with each of those miles, my heart grew lighter. At first I was quiet and kept to myself, but after a couple of lager and limes on the ferry I felt more relaxed and began to chat to fellow travellers. By the time the train was nearing Nice, I was chatting happily with the others in the compartment (French was one of my A Levels) and feeling like a new girl - or was that woman?

The heat of the South had been building all day in the train, but stepping out of the station at Nice into the full sun was like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was like stepping through a cinema screen - the heat, the shade, the bustle of that busy French street, the tourists and back-packers milling around looking for taxis or buses. M. and Mme Boudet met me at the station as planned and I was soon being flung around in the back of their Citroen, as M. Boudet alternately slammed the accelerator to the floor or hit the brakes and the horn at the same time while waving his arm out of the window and letting forth a string of words that weren't on the A Level syllabus. Soon, we were heading out of the centre of town up into the surrounding hills. Round hair-pin bends I got my first view of the sea and the rest of Nice spread out below like an Henri Matisse landscape.

Their house was amazing. A solid metal gate and a high wall protected the garden of palm trees, lemon trees and rosemary. The house over-looked the amazing view back down the valley to the city and the sea. It was beautifully cool inside, white plaster and red floor tiles, dark furniture and shutters at the windows. I met the children: Jean-Luc, Monique and Therese who were thirteen, ten and five and could properly meet M and Mme Boudet who seemed ancient to me, but must have been in their late thirties. She was elegant: slim, wavy bobbed hair, wide skirt, white blouse, high heels; he was all charm: tall, tanned, a small beard around his mouth, open necked shirt and a jumper over his shoulders, pale trousers, deck shoes.

My room was pure heaven - just mine. A little bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers, a chair and a full length mirror. They left me alone to unpack and I opened the windows, threw back the shutters and breathed deeply, then laughed aloud and fell onto the bed.

Reality bit after dinner, when madame showed me what I'd be doing: cleaning, washing, ironing, getting the children ready for school, taking and picking the little ones up from school, supervising their homework. Madame would do the shopping and cooking, but I would help her. Sundays - after I'd got the children ready for church, was my day off and I could do what I liked - if I wasn't exhausted by all the cleaning. I found that the work wasn't really that bad. It was an easy house to keep clean as all the floors were tiled, and once I'd given everything a good clean, it was fairly simple to maintain. Washing wasn't too bad either, as they had a decent washing machine and hanging the clothes out on the line to dry was actually really nice compared with stringing stuff along radiators or hanging it up in front of a two-bar electric fire.

I was pretty naive for an 18 year old, but I knew what the sticky tissues under Jean-Luc's bed were and he wasn't that good at hiding his dog-eared porn mags under the mattress either. He was a bit full of himself and a messy boy, but dropping hints about his nocturnal habits kept him in line. The girls were lovely and helped me out when they weren't playing or at school. It was hilarious to me how this five year old could have such a good command of French and a perfect accent, while my French was - I quickly realised - really, very poor.

M. Boudet was an architect and Mme Boudet was a lady of leisure. She spent most mornings with friends or shopping or getting her hair done while I got on with the chores. On Sundays, I'd go into town or wander along the Promenade des Anglais, occasionally climbing down to the beach to sit on the cobbles or paddle in the waves lazily breaking on the beach. I wasn't confident enough to put on the one-piece bathing suit I'd bought back home, but the heat had forced me to abandon my coat and wear my coolest clothes. Surrounded by sun-bathers - many topless - I began to loosen up a little and relax. I was eating well, sitting in the sun, working hard, walking a lot and I suppose I started to bloom.

Mme 'took me in hand' after a couple of weeks. She treated me to a haircut and bought me some summer clothes - a light cotton dress, a skirt, some tee-shirts. She boosted my confidence and made me look not too bad. I started looking at myself in the mirror - when the house was empty - naked, and clothed. I began to think that there was potential there, and when the boys hooted the horns on their silly little scooters at me as I walked the kids to school, I'd sashay a little (or that's what I thought I was doing). Yes, I began to notice boys everywhere and, I discovered, they thought I had a delightful English accent when I spoke French. Soon, I became a regular at the local bar, popping in for a Coke after dinner when the kids were spending time with their parents or doing homework.

One Sunday evening in early August, I was sitting at a bar with a couple of friends after a day at the beach, when a group of English lads came in and sat at a nearby table. They clearly thought everyone else in the place was French, as the people I was with were pretty noisy and very French. I suppose it was a bit naughty of me, but it was actually ages since I'd spoken English and I felt like listening in. Oh boy - there were four of them and three were trying to egg the other one on to ask me out. I casually looked over at them and held the gaze of the boy that apparently fancied me, before turning back to my friends and letting forth with a burst of high-speed French. My trap was set, and the 'victim' was actually pretty good looking and seemed nice enough from what I could hear. I got up and walked right over to him and, in my best French-accented English asked him:

"Wezzer e ad un piece de cinqe Franc pour le juke-box?"

"Errr. Wee. Je ave un cinque Franc. Ici, dons mon poche."

That wasn't all he had in his pocket as I could see as he half rose to fish around in his jeans. He pulled out a handful of change and held it out. I gently took his fingertips and extracted a 5 Franc piece. "Merci. Tu es tres gentil". He re-pocketed his change as I walked away, I paused, turned and beckoned to him: "Viens"

* * *

Ten minutes later we were walking hand-in-hand along a rapidly darkening beach, heading for a spot I knew.

"Shall we go for a bathe?" I asked.

"OK."

We were in a secluded spot, well away from prying eyes and I flung myself at him and landed a kiss hard on his lips. He clasped me round my waist and we stayed glued to each other for ages. I could feel his hard cock pressing against me and I moved gently to agitate it. He reached lower and stroked my bum, grabbing it gently in his hands and pressing me to him. I broke our kiss and whispered in his ear: "Do you have a...you know?" He knew alright. In seconds we were grabbing at each others clothes and pawing at each others bodies. I was fascinated with his cock and knelt down in front of him, exploring it with my hands, rubbing it, feeling his balls, stroking it against my cheek.

"Oh no" he moaned, as I could feel it begin to jerk, then erupt in my hand. He grabbed it and pointed it away from me at the last second and I watched, amazed as a spurt of cum went flying through the air, and another, and another; ten feet it must have flown easily. I gently took his cock again and licked the last drips from the tip, salty and slimy and warm and then his whole cock was in my mouth and I was licking and sucking and it was harder than ever and I was rubbing myself too and I was wet and hot and I lay back on the pile of clothes on the stony beach and beckoned to him once more, "Viens. Viens"

And wow. He licked me until I was screaming before he dug out his johnnie and rolled it on and then we fucked.

After, I lay there, snuggled against him and started giggling. I was so tempted to break the spell and come out with my best East London: "Fuck me that was good." But I didn't. I kept up the pretence, we swapped names and addresses (false in my case) and I never saw him again.

I kept house all summer, staying until the holidaymakers had all gone home then made my way to university, via home, a much wiser and saner woman.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 13:56, 23 replies)

Sex is brilliant.

( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 15:12, closed)

There's an awful lot of people in this thread would like the chance to find out.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 23:46, closed)

Always well-written, your stuff, K...
...and this little tale gets a click from me. There's a lot of posts longer than a page that are not worth the effort, but yours don't disappoint - keep it up!
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 15:53, closed)

I'll have to surprise you
and do a serious one next time.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 16:04, closed)

You typed that with sweaty hands didn't you?

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 23:25, closed)

Fucking hell
So your story is "I had sex once"?
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 16:26, closed)

Er, yes.
It's the way I tell 'em??
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 16:39, closed)

*checks profile and previous QOTW answers*
Jesus Christ, you're not wrong.

I think I'll save us both a lot of time and add you to ignore.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 17:02, closed)

well, I liked it.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 18:23, closed)

Oh don't be such a curmedgeon.
At least they're well-written stories.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Tue 30 Mar 2010, 18:56, closed)

No they're not, they're attention seeking cack-handed amateur porn that would be rejected by the bloke who edits the letters page of Razzle for being 'too fanciful'.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 23:26, closed)

Seriously... It's Mills and Boon with teen porn thrown in.
Anyone running a book on whether this is one of the (male) regulars taking the piss?
( difficultchild, Wed 31 Mar 2010, 3:15, closed)

Not really

( Richard Shitheels, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 18:53, closed)

Every time I see a new post from you
I'm sure you're a professional soft-core porn writer.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Tue 30 Mar 2010, 18:56, closed)

I thought it was pretty hardcore personally

( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 19:29, closed)

Neither of you two see much porn do you?

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 23:33, closed)

While the question of the week is listed as filth it is actually a question about dirty houses not pornographic filth - easy mistake to make though.
(mmm....beer, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 19:47, closed)

Thank goodness you have more self-esteem than to pen ham-fisted amateur porn to gain the attention of some sweaty intervirgins, eh?

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 30 Mar 2010, 23:46, closed)

Well Mr Badger
It certainly seems to have caught YOUR attention!
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 10:11, closed)

Ah, man
I sure do wish I could 'dig out my johnnie' now.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Wed 31 Mar 2010, 0:34, closed)

If you did that back in January
we wouldn't be in this mess.
(The Boy Monders I have ginger bits in my beard., Wed 31 Mar 2010, 11:04, closed)