Summer Abroad

I was working for my Masters degree back home in Japan and dreaming of discovering the world. My professor had arranged an internship in Africa to get me some field experience, but first I needed to brush up on my French. So I spent the summer in Paris to learn French, I never expected it to change my life. My previous boyfriend had never said "I love you" and would get angry and tell me what a stupid worthless girl I was. He even hit me sometimes. After years of dating him I finally broke-up with him just before I left for my summer break.

My first day in class, I met him -- tall, blond, blue eyes and American. His blue eyes were so exotic for me. He asked me to lunch after class and we must have spent four hours finishing our sandwiches. Then we went for a walk in the park and talked about our lives, our plans, and what it was like to live abroad. As we were walking to the metro he asked me to go with him to Versailles the next day and I agreed.

The next morning we were getting off a train and walking to the most beautiful palace I have ever seen. We toured the house and he was my tour guide. He told me about all the rooms, the art, and the history of Versailles. Then we went for a walk in the grounds and had our first kiss in the colonnade on the King's mistress's house.

He made me dinner at his apartment and then we sat on his bed and looked at the pictures we had taken earlier in the day. He put his hand on the small of my back and kissed me and I kissed him. Then slid his hand up and around my body, pulling me to him and grasping by breast. We shared a long kiss and he began unbuttoning my blouse. Then I twisted around and pushed him onto his back. Straddling him I began grinding against him as I pulled his shirt off and kissed him. He ran his fingertips up along my sides and I started giggling, then he pushed his hands under my bra and pushed it up exposing my breasts. He pulled himself up, unhooked my bra and then he began sucking my left breast. He took my nipple in his mouth and teased me with his tongue as he suckled me. Then he rolled be over, unzipped my jeans and dropped his own pants. Our bodies locked together: kissing, caressing, grinding. In the midst of this his hand slid under my panties and his finger penetrated me, just little at first and then deeper -- and I started to moan. He pulled off what was left of my clothes and pulled me to the edge of the bed, dropped to his knees and spread my legs.

The orgasm was wonderful; I hadn't been given an orgasm in over six months. I was moaning and telling him not to stop in Japanese, he was massaging my legs, fondling my breasts, and sometimes tickling me. Then he stood up and climbed on top of me. He rubbed his penis against my vulva and we both moaned. Then he reached into a bag and pulled out a condom. He gave it to me and I opened it. Then I laid him on his back, and instead of putting the condom on, I took his penis on my mouth and gave him a little tease. But before he went over the edge into an orgasm, I pulled back and slid the condom onto him. He sat up against the wall, I straddled him and he guided me onto his penis. Then we I pressed down and took him inside me. It didn't last long for either of us after that. We grinded, we kissed, and he sometimes sucked my breasts until he let out a moan and shot into the condom. We kept at it for a few more seconds while he was coming until I let out a scream and collapsed onto him. Thirty four hours, one date, and two orgasms: a good start.

We were inseperable after that night. We met for breakfast before class, had lunch afterward and then we would go off to an adventure somewhere in Paris. Most of the time, it would end with us making love. We talked about our lives, about France, politics, literature, and our families. He was studying to be a professor and I studied ethnic reconciliation so we had a lot in common. He was sweat and brilliant.

As we laid naked together one night and began to make love again, he told me that he loved me and asked if we could make love without a condom tonight. I didn't know what to do, he thought I was on the pill, but I wasn't. I was too embarrassed to tell the truth and rather than say no and insist that he needed to wear a condom, I told him that it was okay -- but only if he promised to pull out. I figured that if we didn't have unprotected sex during my fertile period and he pull out the rest of the time I would still be safe. After all we only had two months until we left Paris.

He promised me to pull out and kissed me. Then he put his hands under my hips and raised me up toward him. I felt him press his head against me. I was terrified and exihilerated. I'd never let a boy fuck me unprotected before. He was already wet and he pressed into me. I was surprised how smooth it felt to have his skin against my vagina and I let out a long moan. He paused a moment and then he began to rock back and forth and his penis started to swell. His face tightened and he let out a low groan.

He ran his hand along my thigh and started finger my clit while all I could do was to say " . . . so good . . . so good . . .." As he rocked back and forth inside me and fingered me I could feel the warmth of my orgasm building. I couldn't reach him with my hands, but I was rutting against him as he rocked and I kept saying "yes, yes, yes" as I felt my body tense. It was like it was my first time all over again. It felt different from every other time when my boyfriends used condoms, the excitement of doing something new combined with the thrill of taking a risk to push me into an orgasm faster that I had experienced since I was a teenager putting out in my boyfriends dorm room.

Drunk with excitement I felt my pelvis tighten and then the waves of pleasure began as my vagina lapped against the bare cock inside me. I gasped, rutted harder against my lover, closed my eyes, and arched my back to wallow in my orgasm. Then I felt a jerking motion and I a warm liquid hit my stomach as he let out a long low moan before he push me down against the bed and squirmed against me as his penis jerked between his body and mine.

It was the best sex every, and he kept his promise. At that moment I was more in love with him and any guy I had ever known. After laying there in his arms for twenty minutes I got him up and into the shower - we were sweaty and he had covered us both with his semen. It was the first time, but not the last time. After that, withdrawal was our new form of birth control. I was grateful when my period started- right on time- six days later. Part of me was disappointed, I had imaged getting pregnant and marrying my lover. Having a family with this caring, intelligent, and funny man who loved me so much.

When my period ended we went back to making love. I like to be on top, but he loved to hump me doggy-style, and it sure felt good. After my period ended we only had a couple of days before I would enter my dangerous period. After he took me on the ninth day of my cycle I decided that the next time I would have to tell him that we needed a rubber if we wanted to fuck in the next week.

The next night we went to party at Sarah's apartment. A bunch of us got together and we laughed, talked, ate, and drank into the night. By the time we left I was feeling the wine. We went back to his place and while I was getting undressed he lifted by dress above my waist and pulled down my panties. Before I knew it I felt he cock pressing against me as he lifted my dress above my head and unhooked my bra.

He pushed me down against the bed and caressed by breasts with his hands while I turned around and I kissed him. Then I rolled over and took his penis in my mouth. I don't like to give oral -- but that doesn't mean I'm not good at it. His penis hardened in my mouth while I massaged his balls with my hand. Then he started to get up and said "not yet." He got out of bed turned me to the side so my legs were hanging off of the bed and dropped to his knees in front of me. Then he started to give me oral. I was still a little foggy, but it felt wonderful. He licked and lapped against me and I started to squirm. While we went down on me, his hands explored my body. He fondled my breasts, sometimes he ran his hands in my pubic hair, and every once in a while he ran his finger down the middle of my thigh. Sometime in the middle of this I came.

Then he turned me over and pushed his body against mine. He pressed his wet penis into me. As he pressed he lifted my body a little and pulled me toward him and moaned "Je t'aime." As soon as he was inside me he started to rock back and forth inside me. I felt him getting harder by the second and as we rutted against each other but he wasn't wearing a condom. <

> I knew it, but I didn't know what to do. It felt so good. I knew it was risky, but it was still early in the fertile period and I probably wouldn't ovulate yet and he was already wet and in me so I was already taking the risk. I felt myself burning up again. I felt powerless, and I loved it. He kept pumping and I felt him tense-up when his strokes became shorter and sharper. I was saying "yes . . . yes . . .yes" and rutting against him, hoping against hope to hit a third orgasm before he had to pull out. As my legs began to tense I started gasping and yelled "I want it!" Then he slammed into me, I grunted, rutted -- he gasped and grabbed by pelvis as I squirmed, rutted against his static body, and I erupted in an orgasm, my third of the night. As I wallowed in pleasure, I felt him slump and pull his shrunken, slick member out of me and I knew he had come inside me.. I had his sperm inside me searching for my egg. He lay down next to me and I didn't know what to do. My mind was blank -- I just kept thing "oh fuck . . . oh fuck . . . we fucked . . . he fucked me . . .I'm fucked . . . oh fuck . . . fucking knocked-up."

Despite my fear I was still buzzed, tired, and my body was full of sex. I fell asleep in my lovers arms. The next morning we woke up and I knew what he had done. In the shower I asked him why he didn't wear a rubber and he asked why it was a big deal since "your on the pill." I tried to rationalize it . . . day ten isn't that fertile . . . if we were careful I should be fine. But of course we weren't fine, because I could never muster the courage to tell him that I wasn't on the pill. Instead I just kept making love with the man I loved and now that he had fucked me unprotected and kept doing it and I said nothing.

What didn't come was my period. I didn't take a test -- but I could put two and two together. I didn't tell him because I didn't know what to do and I didn't know what I would say when he asked how it could happen if I was on the pill. Instead I cried alone and hugged him tighter. I loved him more than I have ever loved anybody.

When he left to go back to the US I watched the father of my unborn child, a man who loved me, walk away and I cried because I loved him and because I lied to him. I cried be he had lied to me, violated me, almost raped me and left me pregnant, alone, and half way around the world from home all by myself. Mainly though I cried because of the life we could have had together. I left three weeks later, but not before I spent a full day weeping when after the long delayed pregnancy test said I was knocked up.

In Africa I got sick with malaria and spent most of September and October in the hospital while my baby grew inside me. By late October even the UN doctors noticed. By early November I was out of hospital and the doctors had told me that the baby was fine. By now I had decided to have my baby, so I e-mailed my Andrew, arranged a time to talk and called the one friend of his I knew to ask how to deal with the discussion -- before I told her I was pregnant, she told me that he was seeing a new girl -- younger than me and that they seemed happy. She told me that I should let him go. When I talked to him he told me he was seeing somebody new. All I could do was hang-up and cry while I starred at my growing belly. Before I left for home I arranged an abortion with my friends in the hospital. I cried before it happened and I cried after I did it. My daughter, my Japanese and American daughter, conceived in France and buried in Africa. Natsuko.

He ended up with some nice pictures, some fucking amazing pictures, good memories, and a respectable white wife. I ended up shamed and depressed -- the mother of a dead child in a far away place. But I loved him, and he loved me. I often wonder what would have happened if I had told him the truth that summer about not being on the pill or about being pregnant. I think if I had done things different we would have had a dekichatta kekkon wedding in the summer and we would be living with our daughter today.