Whores Make Great Wives Pt 05

PT. 5 FRENCH WHORES MAKE THE BEST WIVES

(OUR USA VACATION, MEETING WITH PUBLISHER, JEAN'S TRYST WITH PRESIDENT JFK, OMISSIONS FROM THE WARREN REPORT, NEWLY RELEASED DOCUMENTS)

FRENCH WHORES MAKE THE BEST WIVES

INTRODUCTION

{The teller of this tale, Gaspardo Del Tornet, talks of his life experiences. Gaspardo is a French citizen born in Aix-en-Provence of a father who was very strict, being a Sergeant in the French military and born of a French Moroccan mother, who was a baker, specializing in chocolate filled beignets. Gaspardo is now 94 years old and has continued to recounted his life's adventures as herein dictated to the writer known as Erectus. The interview starts with Gaspardo speaking.}

My first wife Jean, God rest her soul, was, and I'm not ashamed to say it, she was a French Street whore. At the worst she may have been the most common of a common street whore who plied her trade among common men. For every man who has a cock, there comes a time when he has need to find a willing chamber in which he can discharge those poisons that the almighty has insinuated in the very spleen of mankind. Above all, my dear wife, Jean De Tormet was a fine person who was not only honest but treated people in the most Christian manner, and God knows, she alleviated the poisons in many a man's spleen.

Jean used to work the streets back in the 1960s', that surround the huge Flea Market in Paris, which is still found there on the Rue des Rosiers. Famous the world over for its fine antiques and unique offerings, many of the peddlers and antique dealers who displayed there were her regular customers, and many tourists found her beauty, charms and professional skills most irresistible.

In her day she was one of the most beautiful whores to work the streets. She no doubt would have earned more in a bordello but she didn't want to work under a pimp or boss, both figuratively or literally. She loved her freedom and always remained independent. Of course, she always dyed her brown hair to a honey blonde, she had big natural breasts with full perky nipples, probably bigger than the ever popular Bardot but with a narrow waist just like Brigitte who she resembled. In the evening she was often mistaken for the starlet, which is ridiculous, what would Bardot be doing whoring on the street under a night lamp? But men live in a fantasy world and Jean had every right to take advantage of their sexual stupidity. But the truth was she was a near look alike, it was uncanny, I must say that whenever we went places together, people would point and often come up to us to ask for her autograph.

Jean was extremely intelligent, she spoke a little of several languages. When approached by foreigners she could get by in sex banter with the Chinese in Mandarin, with Indians in Urdu and with the blackest of Africans in Swahili, she could even trade Brooklyn slang with the Yanks and if she could not communicate with words, she would use sign language. And for those clients who preferred quiet, her face could communicate all the necessary emotions while her mouth did all the work or the preparation for what comes next.

PART 5. JEAN'S SEXUAL TRYST WITH JOHN F. KENNEDY, THE MISSING WHISKEY GLASS AND JEAN'S INTERROGATION AFTER JFK'S ASSASSINATION

Back in 1961, in the month of November, Jean and I decided to go for a bit of a rest and to take advantage of the offer of a vacation in New York City. Jean had several regulars there whom she had promised to visit; so we figured, what the hell, let's go, "Se La Vi."

Dr. Fenton, a noted heart surgeon and his wife Martha were two friends/clients who were crazy about Jean. The Doctor had a New York apartment in the East 70's that was vacant most of the time. He usually lived in Texas where he practiced medicine at Dallas Methodist Hospital. His heart transplant successes had frequently made the news and stunned the medical world. He kept his New York apartment available for frequent trips to medical conventions or to facilitate his wife's shopping excursions along the 5th Avenue corridor of luxury stores.

Of course his success permitted him to also have a beautiful apartment in Paris where he and his wife would vacation twice a year. Martha, his wife, a former fashion model, tall, blond, tanned with large boobs and a thirsty pussy had participated in threesomes in Paris with the Doctor and Jean. Their luxurious art deco apartment on Square René le Gall, also known as the Jardin des Gobelins, was built over the underground River Bièvre, and was designed by the famous architect Jean-Charles Moreux in 1937-38. This was the truly fabulous setting for their romantic nocturnal trysts with Jean.

Although I would accompany Jean to her love affairs, driving her and picking her up, I would as a rule, never participate in her private sexual performances. Although I was well endowed with an attractive and adequate sexual organ, Jean had made it clear at the start of our relationship that I was to remain her husband and was not to enter into her sexual/financial labors. Of course if I wished to have sex with an occasional lover or a woman who interested me, that was fine, as long as it was never rubbed in her face. I love Jean and I realized I had no head for figures, if not for Jean's earning I'd have ended up a "sans-abri". (a homeless person)

Like most men, occasionally I had the need for release, the need to shoot my sperm like all of Jean's clients were doing, especially during those periods of Jean's rigorous sexual workouts, when she was too exhausted to entertain me. Then I had no choice but to snuff my wick into an old or new acquaintance, this was the exception rather than the rule, but I am a man, "Nes pa." Jerking off never gave me more than momentary relief.

Even when Jean's pussy was too sore or stretched to the point of irritation, her fine ass was always open to me, with the exception of when she entertained a famous black American basketball player, the 2.2 meters [seven foot, two inch] tall Louis for two days in his hotel room. Louis preferred anal but because his penis was so very long, most women would refuse him entry of any kind. Jean of course was up for anything but that was one time she regretted her experiment. After 48 hours with Louis, she was too sore, ripped and bloody to allow me entrance for the 12 days during which time she slowly healed.

During their Parisian love making sessions, Jean had learned that Martha, once she got sexually excited after a few drinks or a nose full of cocaine, was more of a lesbian than a heterosexual. Martha never seemed to get enough pussy in her mouth and delighted in performing cunnalingus on Jean, whose legs were spread wide while reclining on several red taffeta pillows.

While the doctor stood feeding his long thin cock into Jean's lips, his balls pressed against her chin so she might every now and then, without ever removing his cock from her mouth, swoop out with her long tongue and lick his prominent testicles, whose blood vessels were as rigid as the seams on a Haitian hand sewn baseball. On other occasions, the doctor preferred that Jean would wear a strap-on to satisfy Martha. While Jean was fucking Martha, he would vaginally enter Jean from behind, between her ripe buttocks and thus save his spunk for these encounters. There is a French expression, "Nouvelle chatte est toujours excitant [a new cunt is always exciting]."

All the while Jean was giving oral to the Doctor, Martha would lick and tongue Jean's clit. At a precise moment when her tongue told her that Jean was at her climactic peak, Martha would step back, pull away, and the Doctor having quickly withdraw from Jean's mouth, positioned himself and thrust his cock into Jean's well lubricated saliva filled vagina. At that moment, Jean would wrap her long thin legs around his waist, one foot interlocked with the other, as if holding him captive. Those legs tight around any man's waist would guarantee a full load of cum was in the offing. When the Doctor would arrive at the moment when he was about to cum, he would stop pumping and remain motionless inside her tight wet pussy and then like a tsunami, his cock would belch forth his massive ropy cum. Followed by his objective scientific assessment,

"Ah, that human growth hormone gives me a good thick ejaculate and a great orgasm."

When these Parisian trysts were over, Jean would excuse herself to wash up. Before she showered, she had to spend several minutes on the bidet flushing her vaginal cavity with soap and hot water to flush the Doctor's persistent cum load that acted as if it were glued inside her. Those millions of swimming sperms refusing to be washed away before the act of fecundation. Once free of the Doctors copious exudate, she would shower off and blow dry her long straight blond hair.

Then, as if by a miracle she would find a red envelope with a generous amount of bills lying on the marble covered table where she had originally disrobed. She would then dress, place the unopened envelope into her LV purse and leave without further confrontation. This way, the Doctor and his wife still involved in whatever pleasure they pursued in each other's company, might remain undisturbed.

We were now on our way to New York. Jean and I arrived that first week of November 1961. We had embarked on the Ocean Liner Queen Elizabeth I. The seas were a bit rough and the weather cool. I was sea sick for the first two days but adapted thereafter to the rocking of the vessel. Of course, nothing bothered my spouse who had the constitution of a gymnast. Fortunately we had some moments of intimacy that made the trip seem as if we were on a honeymoon. I knew once we arrived on land the element of mutual fidelity would be quickly lost.

That is not to say that men on the ship were not attracted to Jean. The night we had dinner at the Captain's table, he surreptitiously placed a chilled bottle of champagne not on the table but under the table out of sight, under her short skirt right between her legs. I must admit I drank too much that night and I only have a vague recollection of her re-entering the cabin after I'd fallen asleep. In the morning she confessed to having gone to the casino where she won over a thousand francs. Then she winked at me and said no more. Who knows what went on? But we drank the Captain's gifted Champagne bottle with dinner the next night.

We didn't know if the Doctor and his wife would be meeting us in New York but we brought them two rare fine bottles of Cristal Champagne. We had expected that they would want to be entertained by Jean. As it turned out they were engaged at the other end of the country and they had most generously left the apartment to ourselves. Naturally, we left the gift and generously tipped the maid at the end of our trip.

Just a word about their apartment, it was a lovely 5th floor apartment on Park Avenue in the East 70's and looked out over Central Park. We were provided by the manager's office with a special key. The apartment was entered directly from the elevator. We took the elevator, all mirrored with gilt trim and walnut paneled doors and arrived quickly and silently on the 5th floor. We inserted the entry key and opened the door. As the door swung open, we were amazed to see a vast sunken living room filled with light from the picture windows. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Once we passed through the living room, there were three bedrooms. Our guest bedroom was sizable. It had its own bathroom tiled with blue delft tiles included a special delft tub and matching sink. Naturally there was a bidet for female hygiene but also handy for a male wishing to freshen up his genitals or cleanse his rear. A maid could be summoned by a bell from the apartment housekeeping service and did everything to make our trip most pleasant and work free.

The Doctor's wife Martha was always fascinated with Jean's sexual experiences and when they were in Paris, the two of them would often lunch together. Martha was always titillated by Jean's career and would ask her to recount the hottest sexual stories. Jean, who had a knack for making sexual encounters humorous would oblige her without identifying the names of her clients.

During that period of time, the 1960s' there was an awakening of interest in all things sexual which led to the birth what was called the "Sexual Revolution." There were many new magazines and books being published about sex. Deviant activity and prostitution were all the rage for the consumers. Martha knew the publisher of Scribner's and made an appointment for Jean to discuss the possibility of a book, tentatively to be called "Memoirs of a French Whore."

Scribner's had a hard time competing in the 1970s' book market as literary tastes had begun to change. Hemingway who had been the rage for 20 years was no longer the "bear" he had once been. Only a few month prior, in July, the famous writer had taken his own life with a shotgun. This sad ending must have been Hemingway's refusal to live with the onset of dementia. A new wave of sexual authors, such as Henry Miller, whose works had been banned in the United States for years, were being published to great acclaim.

Filbert Coffin, the grandson of the civil war journalist hero Charles Carleton Coffin, had taken over the new author's department at Scribner's. Martha had arranged for Jean to meet with him at Scribner's' 5th Avenue Art Deco offices. ( the Brentano's Book Store was sadly decommissioned into a Sephora cosmetic store in the 2004) Back in the 1960s', it was a busy bookstore. In the rear of the store were elevators with uniformed attendants to take you to the publishing offices upstairs.

When Jean was announced, she was escorted into Coffin's office on the 5th floor. When she remarked on the big picture window, Filbert said, "It provides a lovely view of the Macy day Parade," and he grinned while ogling her tits beautifully housed in her french laced Demi bra visible through her near transparent silk blouse.

Filbert apologized that he could only give Jean a brief audience, as there was an important surprise visit scheduled for that afternoon. John F. Kennedy, the President of the United States was set to meet with Coffin to discus a "tell-all" book that might have answered many questions about Kennedy's health and the many starlet's beds he had occupied.

Jean was dressed most attractively although perhaps her transparent blouse was a bit too blatant. As she answered Coffin's questions he became increasingly sexually excited, so much so that at one point he lost all control and took her in his arms and pushed her back over his desk, ripped off her lace panties and attacked her pussy with his mouth. As he sported a full goatee, his bristly facial hair made her feel as if she was being cleansed with a Brillo pad or as she said, "Une chèvre de montagne [a mountain goat]."

Jean was not used to such impromptu exhibitions of lust and had not expected it. What she was expecting, was her monthly period that usually came on like clockwork, but when Coffin started licking her pussy her period seems to take on a life of its own and she began to bleed. Coffin was not at all put off by the onset of menses and mumbled something about iron being a healthy mineral, as he continued to lick and slurp her pussy as if this was his normal lunchtime treat.

At a certain point the secretary began persistent buzzing on the intercom and when Filbert paused and finally hit the listen button he was told that the President had arrived early and was waiting outside. On hearing the news, he immediately stopped gobbling Jean's pussy and looked at himself in the window pane's reflection. His mouth, teeth and beard were now tinged crimson. Realizing his predicament Jean came to his rescue with a handkerchief and began wiping his face and beard.

The buzzer kept sounding, obviously Kennedy was waiting outside, so Coffin thought it best to secrete Jean under the desk, in the open part between the two oak wings where one might slide a chair from both the front and the back. Jean quickly scampered under the desk and at that moment in strode President Kennedy.

Filbert, having forgotten that he was still holding the torn panties, extended his arm to shake JFK's hand. When Kennedy realized Filbert was holding damp black lace panties in his hand he gave him a quizzical look.

"Thanks Phil, I won't need them, I wore mine today."

The they both started laughing. Coffin was a personal friend of JFK. They had been fraternity brothers at Harvard.

"Can I offer you a glass of Scottish whiskey, Jack?"

"As long as it's one of my Dad's brands," grinned Kennedy whose father while the Ambassador to the court of St. James had garnered a war time monopoly for the importation into the US of the finest Scottish whiskeys.

"My God," said Jack, looking into Filbert's face, "Since when did you have a red beard?"

Coffin, realizing he could no longer hide what he'd been doing, replied,

"It's the result of eating red snapper," which was an old fraternity joke meaning to go down on a menstruating woman, and with his second finger he pointed under the desk.

Kennedy sat down, saying, "My back has been acting up," and as he slid into the cushioned oak chair he must have caught a glimpse of Jean's blond hair and a shimmer of her ruby lips there in the shadow under the desk, but JFK said nothing.

The two old friends spent the next half hour rehashing old times and agreeing to this book project that Kennedy thought would further his literary career. Every once in awhile JFK would sniff the air and say,

"I don't know what air freshener you are using but it smells like 'My Sin' which was Jean's favorite perfume."

"Yours and mine both," responded Coffin, subconsciously licking his fingers that that tasted of blood, perfume and mostly french pussy.

Being treated with testosterone and steroids (for his Addison's disease) Kennedy was always randy. At a certain point, never losing a word as they conversed, he unzipped his fly and with his third finger flipped his large prick out, which unfolded from his white underwear and pointed right in the direction of Jean's head.

Realizing she was being beckoned forward from her kneeling position under the desk to suck the president's cock, and realizing her position was no longer a secret she began to gently caress his organ as it swelled to a healthy size and then she quietly began to mouth it with wide spread lips, until she was deep throating JFK's fully extended prick.

Kennedy's penis was, according to her description, a normal sized 6 inches of firm clean thick cock with a fiery red vein running from the edge of his foreskin right to the border of his ball sack. Obviously JFK was in dire need of sexual attention at that moment. Jacqueline Kennedy, was known to be an uptight Catholic who believed in sex for the sole purpose of procreation. Her refusal to permit frequent coitus was perhaps the cause of JFK's need for a marathon sex life with other women. Since he could not get enough sex at home, he was always on the prowl for fresh pussy.

Coffin who had caught on to the presidential blow job from the occasional slurping sounds and the pleased bucolic open mouthed expression on Kennedy's face, lost no time reaching under the table, lifting her skirt and finger fucking Jean while thumbing her ass hole. In about a minute and a half Kennedy was primed and let go, his spunk shot out and filled her cheek. She could hear a pause in the conversation and a long sigh from the president as he finished ejaculating and then drank his glass of whiskey before he chivalrously passed the empty glass below the desk so Jean might expectorate into it. Perhaps he knew from experience that Presidential cum was too precious to be swallowed.