Author's note:
My apologies for any errors in the French and cultural inaccuracies. Corrections welcome.
~~~~
I kept sneaking glances at her as she sat at her little table, scowling at the menu. I couldn't help it—she was stunning. She was also darker than anyone I had ever seen in my life.
When I checked in, Mrs. James said there was only one other guest. That wasn't a surprise for a country inn in October, almost an hour from the nearest town. I only picked the place because it was near the gypsum plant I had to inspect that week.
"And what would you like for dinner, dear?" Mrs. James was hovering over me. "I do all my own cooking, so if there's something in particular you want, I might be able to manage."
I ordered something quick. Sometimes at home, I'd cook myself something interesting, but I was too hungry to be fussy.
When Mrs. James asked the woman, it became a long back-and-forth about the food and then the choice of wines. The woman had a thick French accent and Mrs. James was struggling to understand. I could understand it a little better—in high school one of my genius plans to impress girls was to learn Spanish and then French. I quit both after one semester.
When our meals arrived, I caught the woman's eye and raised my beer in greeting. She looked at me blankly and focused on her food.
She had to be a couple years older than me. Her face was feminine and regal, her frizzy hair cropped close. Her eyes were compelling: dark and oval-shaped, unlike any I had ever seen.
More captivating, though, was how dark she was. I'd been all over North America for my job and thought I'd seen every variety of person. Not so. This woman was darker than a moonless night.
In contrast, I was terribly pale—light blond hair, pasty white skin, and light-colored eyes. My great-grandparents came from Scandinavia somewhere, so I was told. Even my eyelashes were light. I hated it.
When she finished eating, the woman stood and left without a glance.
The food was excellent, so I took my time and chatted with Mrs. James.
"You really run this place by yourself?" I asked.
"Only this time of year, dear. My sons come help in the summer. All the tourists, you see. But now in the fall I only get one or two people a week. I can handle that myself just fine."
"And this was your home?"
"We converted it to an inn when my sons left home. It does well in the summer. Now dear, I know our rooms are a little small, but there's our sunroom addition in back and downstairs is the gym and sauna. Use them any time."
When I finished, I thanked her and helped carry dishes to the kitchen. As I walked up the narrow staircase back to my room, I ran head-to-stomach into the woman coming down.
"Ooof!
Regardez où vous allez!"
"Sorry!" I said. "I didn't see you."
She gave a chiding look and slipped past me down the stairs.
In my room, I set up my laptop to prepare for the week. I did pre-sales surveys for industrial machinery. There would be interviews, measurements, and blueprints to study. The first day was always the worst.
Thoughts of the woman distracted me. Was she visiting from France? Why was she alone?
It had taken hours of driving the West Virginia roads to get to the inn. I was stiff and full of restless energy. I decided to see if the gym was any good.
The basement gym had a good set of machines and free weights. A large bathroom at the end of the room had a shower stall and a supply of towels and guest robes. It was all I needed.
After an hour of working out, I felt better so went to find the sauna. I'd read how they were popular in places like Sweden. With my Nordic heritage, I figured it was time to try one.
Pulling off my sweaty shirt but leaving on my shorts, I grabbed a guest towel and found the sauna's wooden door down the back hallway.
Hot, wood-smelling air blasted me when I heaved open the heavy door. A single dim bulb lit bare pine walls and benches.
Only after I closed the door did I realize I wasn't alone. The dark woman sat on a towel on the far side of the room. She was naked, her dark skin gleaming.
She sat leaning forward, palms on the bench at her sides, her full breasts jutting out proudly between her arms. The whites of her eyes flashed as she peered at me in the gloom.
"Crap! Excuse me. I thought I was alone down here."
I turned to flee, but in that French accent she said, "It is okay. There is room."
"No, no," I said, "I'll come back when you're done."
"Ridiculous. It is for all."
When I turned she looked back with a blank expression, not seeming to mind her nakedness.
I sat on the opposite side. The woman gave a curt nod, and then drooped her head, ignoring me.
The room was shockingly hot. I concentrated on getting used to it and fought to keep my eyes off the woman.
That was impossible. As I adjusted to the gloom, I could make her out more clearly. Her breasts were full and capped by midnight-black areolas. Her legs were smooth and toned and her entire body shone with perspiration.
She must have felt me looking. She lifted her head and observed me. I looked away quickly like a guilty child.
"It is not sanitary," she said.
I met her eyes, confused. "Uh, pardon me?"
She indicated my shorts. "Clothes in the sauna. It is unhealthy.
Les bactéries pousseront
."
"Bacteria?" I said.
"Oui. Enleve-les
. Take them off."
I remember reading that in Sweden everyone used saunas naked. Men and women together. Something about nudity not being a big deal with them, but I had also read it wasn't that way in other places like France. In fact, I didn't think saunas were a Nordic thing, not French at all. I explained my confusion to the woman.
"Je ne suis pas de la France,"
she said in beautiful, rolling French.
"Mais de la suisse.
I am Swiss.
Comprennez?
There we sauna correctly."
Well, okay. I wasn't going to let this very correct Swiss lady think I was breeding bacteria in my shorts, so after a hesitation I stood and slid them off. She eyed my crotch quizzically, then nodded in curt satisfaction and focused on the floor again. I sat on my towel and tried to ignore her too, concentrating on the penetrating heat.
After ten minutes, she stood. I had a brief view of her hourglass figure, firm jutting breasts and incredible round ass. She was stunning. She wrapped herself in her towel and left without a word.
Ten minutes later, I had all I could stand of the heat. I went back to the gym, a towel around my waist.
The woman sat in a corner chair, wearing a white robe and reading a novel. She didn't look up.
I showered in the bathroom. The cool water felt wonderful after baking like a potato.
Donning a robe, I went out to the gym where the woman still sat. I decided to introduce myself.
I extended a hand. "Hi. I'm Travis."
She regarded me, then shook my hand primly and said, "Charlotte."
"Nice to meet you, Charlotte. Staying here long?"
"Until Friday."
"Me too."
"Okay," she said and turned her attention back to her book.
I had planned to return for another session in the sauna, but after Charlotte's frosty reception, I just went up to my room.
~~~~
That night, I tossed trying to get used to the too soft mattress. It curved like a salad bowl, a big central depression formed, I guessed, by years of couples fucking. I could only think of Charlotte. What a puzzle: from Switzerland but French? I thought they spoke German. And black? To me, Switzerland was one of the whitest countries imaginable.
Images of her lush, dark body blazed in my mind. Her beautiful face, her eyes, her breasts, that shapely ass, that smooth gleaming skin.
I had many questions. Too bad she was so damn unfriendly.
~~~~
