This is a continuation of my Holiday Romance episode with Guy and Roget, it might be worthwhile reading that first. This does though stand on its own feet as story.
Let me know what you think
Cat
*
I'd kept in touch with Guy and Roget following my amazing holiday in France. That holiday when I'd met the two most beautiful young men I'd ever seen. That holiday when I'd ended up sharing their bed and they had so totally shared me. That holiday when I'd learned that Roget was gay and Guy was bisexual. That holiday when I'd broken Roget's virginity with women. That holiday when I was so completely unfaithful to my husband, but I didn't feel a moment's guilt. But then that is what holiday romances are like; you leave them and your guilt behind you.
As the three of us had cried ourselves to sleep laying naked in each others arms on the last night we had agreed that it had been simply one of those episodes in life that just happen. A one off, a not to be repeated adventure. There could be no future, we all knew that. I mean what future can there be between a forty plus year old married mother of two living just outside London and two twenty five year old young men living in Normandy? As I drove home, though, my mind was soaring and my imagination was running wild. Maybe they could come to Hertfordshire, live in a cottage and start a restaurant? I could help them financially. Or perhaps I could have them as 'kept men.' A bit like an Italian or French man's mistress. The lover pays the bills and the mistress delivers the sex, only in my case it would be a two way delivery. Perhaps I could pop over there or they could pop over here every couple of weeks or so, for surely that not totally satisfactory fuck on the last night when we all got a little pissed couldn't be the end, could it? Back in the sanctity and sanity of St Albans, my marriage of over twenty years, my family life, my social pursuits my feet came back to ground very quickly. It was behind me, not part of my real life and certainly no part of my future. Sure we kept in loose touch, the exchange of Christmas cards, the odd e-mail and the, very, infrequent phone call. That was how it should be. They had their young lives running the restaurant to get on with and I had my life to continue and my children to bring up, although with both at university I had littler involvement with that. They were adults now, they had flown the nest, they were no longer mine, they had their own lives to lead. There was no future, no involvement for two twenty five year old, sexuality wise rather mixed up men and an over forty woman. No matter how well we'd got on, no matter how amazing the sex had been and no matter at the sheer love we'd shown to each other it was in the past.
That is until Guy came on the phone and said they would be in London for a few days next month.
"Can we meet Cat please?" he asked.
In a couple of our e-mails we'd discussed meeting and I'd said I thought it best if was left in the past. They'd agreed so this call came as a bit of a bombshell.
"I thought we'd agreed about that Guy."
"Yes I know Cat but us being in London, so close to you and both of so wanting to see you, please, please say yes. Just a drink or dinner Cat," he, almost, begged, but then French men wouldn't know what begging was would they?
"Let me think about it," I said.
And I thought about little else for that evening and the next morning. I couldn't stop the memories of being with the two of them from flooding through me making me almost permanently aroused even as I cooked dinner for my two children who were home from uni. They were with me continually as we watched TV and they were still with me when I had sex with my husband that night for it wasn't Richard who was fucking me, but Guy and Roget.
Their youthful, tanned, lean bodies. Their brooding eyes and curly black hair. The tenderness and affection they showed me. The way that we all moved from being friends to lovers. I could see their two naked bodies in acute detail as without even knowing what was on I watched the TV screen or lay back and let Richard shag me. The slim, beautifully sculpted muscles of their chests and upper bodies, the sprinkling of dark hair on their chests, their flat stomachs and lean, taught thighs. And of course their long slim and so hard manhoods. The manhoods that had, in the end, given me so many thrills and such pleasure.
The next night, when the children were back at college and Richard was god knows where entertaining clients of the corporate law practice of which e was a star, as I got ready for bed I couldn't stop myself from recalling them together undressing me, laying me on their bed and then both gently massaging me. Of their hands running up and down my back and over my bottom. Of them touching the sides of my breasts, just as I found myself doing as I got into bed. Of them turning me over and making love to my breasts for such a long time. Squeezing and cupping my large boobs exactly as I found myself doing now. Pinching the hardened nipples, "just like this," I said to myself mimicking Tommy Cooper, as my fingers found those rubbery tips. And of course I recalled their fingers, hands, mouths, tongues and erections doing to my pussy precisely what I was doing to it now, and that was orally, fingerwise and every other way, fucking it.
"Just for dinner." I said to Guy when he called the next day.
The next two weeks seemed to drag by. I continually wavered from really wanting to see them to wishing I'd said no. From thinking that I would let them take me to bed, for I had do doubt whatsoever that they'd try, to telling myself that was daft. From my body crying out to repeat that wonderful sex with them to my mind telling me no. From wanting desperately to rekindle the passion and affection we had in France to recognising that one can't go back. I just didn't want the complications, but I wanted them.
They were staying in one of those modern tourist hotels near Russell Square so we met at an Italian Restaurant in Southampton Row. The meal was very average by my standards so what it was by theirs I couldn't imagine. But it didn't matter. The food was irrelevant, the surroundings meaningless and the wine inconsequential. It was us that mattered. The three of us. The three of us being together was the focus of everything. The mood and atmosphere almost as soon as we sat down was as it had been in France. Loving, warm, tender and so heavily sexually charged that I found myself being amazed that the diners around us couldn't feel it. The sanctity and sanity of my 'normal' life, which had helped me overcome my need for them on returning from France, simply evaporated. All thoughts of my husband, my two grown up children and my social life disappeared. My entire being and world seemed to be sitting round that table in that rather poor restaurant.
We sat close together bent forward our faces almost touching as we whispered things about that holiday. We touched. Fingers on wrists, arms around my chair, shoulders brushing and knees pressed together. Their Gallic charm accompanied by the memories we all had worked. There was no way that this was 'just dinner.' There was no need for any discussion or persuasion on their part. They didn't need to cajole me into going back to their hotel for after no more than ten minutes or so together it became an inevitability. It became the most natural thing to do and it didn't need talking about.
"How long can you stay Cat?" Roget asked as we stood close together in their quite small bedroom that had, I noticed just one double bed.
"Richard is in New York so it doesn't matter."
"Ah marvellous," one of them said as they both put their arms round me.
