A Thanksgiving Story 1

By Friday evening, I was sick of people. I mean, I love my family, but some of them are loud. And two Thanksgiving dinners is pushing it. I had gotten up hours before dawn three days in a row to make sure everything got done. I made all the traditional favorites plus a couple of new kinds of pie. I was exhausted.

Just like everyone else's, my inbox had been inundated with Black Friday deals. Wayfair wanted to sell me furniture. Talbots wanted me to buy their clothes. Calendars and planners. Electric gadgets. Fruitcake, for crying out loud. But two emails had caught my eye. The first was for a cheap flight to France, good for Friday only. The second was for a tiny boutique hotel in Saint-Nom-la-Bretèche.

I thought back to the tiny room I had had there while studying at the Sorbonne. My French windows--French windows in France!--had looked out over a field of grazing sheep whose lowing woke me gently each morning. I would love to revisit the village; walk the streets I had known so long ago.

I shooed everyone out the door around 6:00, grabbed my passport and a change of clothes, hopped in an Uber, and booked the flight on the way to O'Hare. Waiting at my gate, I made the hotel reservation. Juste à temps, as they say. There had only been one room left.

For once I was able to sleep on the plane. It might have been from the overload of food. It might have been from all the activity. But before I knew it, the plane was touching down at Orly Airport. From the Uber in Illinois, to the plane, to the metro, to the bus that would take me to the auberge, I felt the only mode of transportation I hadn't taken was a boat. Who knew--maybe tomorrow I could take a tour of Paris on the Seine.

I reached St-Nom mid-morning with my fingers crossed that they'd let me check in. The room wasn't ready, but the owner promised to hurry while I had something to eat at the crêperie around the corner.

Sometimes you think foods that are associated with a city or country are nothing more than cliches. Do people in Chicago actually eat deep-dish pizza? Is it just the tourists who order beignets in New Orleans? In Frankfurt do they gobble up giant wursts? Are crêpes popular in France? You bet your beret they are! I counted over thirty varieties and that was before I saw the meals. I chose the crêpes that were filled with smoked salmon, cream, and a touch of lemon zest.

It was the perfect start to my French holiday. When I got back to the inn, the owner said my room was ready and gave me the key.

I schlepped my bag up to my room, got undressed and into bed. Even though I had slept for almost seven hours on the plane, my internal clock was off. A nap and then I'd explore my old haunts.

I woke up a few hours later and went to shower. The damn French are so short. The showerhead was below my shoulders which made washing my hair a contortionist act. I got out and found... one towel. I dripped over to the phone and called down to the front desk for more towels. I said I'd leave the door unlocked and whoever brought them up could leave them on the bed.

A few minutes later, I heard the door to the room open and then close again. Great. I padded out of the bathroom and gave a small cry. There was a man in my bed.

"Relax, Cass," he said. "It's me." You! I didn't bother to ask what you were doing in tiny Saint-Nom-la-Bretèche, France. There would be plenty of time for that later. First I needed your mouth on mine.

I slid beneath the covers and found that you had brought up what seemed like all the towels the inn had. There was one on my pillow for my wet hair, two spread out on the bottom sheet, and two on the bedside table.

We had never started out naked before. Would this change the dynamic? Would you move things along more quickly? As we kissed, I felt your cock stiffen. You could slide right in. I was getting hungrier and hungrier for you by the second. I was definitely wet enough for you to slide right in.

You brought your hand up to my right nipple and touched it lightly. A tiny gasp escaped me. With that, you moved down and took my left nipple into your mouth. My brain started giving me suggestions like how about if we fuck now and then play? What's the opposite of foreplay? Not aft-play--that would be something different. There are times when I'm content to have you touch me all over and others when my pussy calls out so loudly for you I'm surprised it doesn't get the attention of the people in the adjoining rooms. I needed you in me immediately.

But, as always, you had other plans. You ran your fingers lightly up my thighs. You traced small circles on the insides of my wrists and elbows. You kissed the corner of my neck where it meets my shoulder. You put your hand between my legs and teased me.

"Enough!" my brain said. "Now!" my pussy screamed. "We're kinda digging this," my breasts said. They were outranked, if not outnumbered.

I quickly moved out from under you and flipped you onto your back before you could protest. I took your cock into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the tip. As it got wetter and wetter, I pulled more of you into my mouth, guiding you with my hand. I felt you get harder and bigger until I knew you were close.

I moved up and straddled you, putting you in millimeter by millimeter. I wanted to take you hard and fast, but I also wanted it to last. I wanted you to last. I wanted to make you as crazy as you make me.

I looked into your eyes. Then I let my breasts hover right above your mouth. Would you lick a nipple? Or were you too far inside your own experience?

I started seeing colors, an electric blue that pulsed with emerald green. Then I felt an orgasm starting in my toes. This was going to be the full-body freight train that could not be stopped. I squeezed my pussy tight so that I could feel you all the better.

The runaway train feeling was up past my knees now. You had your head thrown back and your mouth open. I was just a few thrusts away. I could feel you were, too.

"Aaaahhhhh!" I cried out. I didn't care who heard me.

"Uuuuunnnngggghhhh," was your reply, wave after wave washing over us until we fell back, panting.

I fell asleep and you were gone when I woke up. I had a wonderful time in Paris and can't wait to see you again next month.