Saddled 1

It all started with a chance meeting. One of those times where your life can continue to the good or bad. If you had asked me before that meeting I would have surely answered that it would all be bad; but, as I stand here today, I suppose that I could consider that it went well.

At the time of the meeting I was with a few mates in Paris, to see the last day of the Tour de France. We had cycled over from England with our backpacks on and, in my case, a full pair of leather pannier bags. I had made these, along with the rack support, in High School as part of my final years in the craft classes and I was quite proud of them. I had finished school now, my ‘A’ levels behind me. I had done well enough to be happy but not well enough to enter university so was now having a couple of months off to find my place in the world. I had saved up quite a bit of money by having worked summer jobs for some years and being very frugal with my pocket money so I had a little leeway, as long as I did not go silly.

We were camped in one of the small camping areas that spring up around Paris on those few crazy days at the end of the Tour. Our food was all cheap street food from various vendors and our drink was tap water in bottles that we had brought with us. Now, I have to say I was not a fan of road racing but it was a desire to be part of the excitement that took me there. My own bike was a fat-tyre mountain bike with lots of gears that I had found in an op-shop and had to repair. As I said, I used my limited skills to add a frame for the pannier bags and that had enhanced my load carrying ability by over a hundred percent. I had already done a couple of camping trips on it and was now sure that a couple of weeks touring France after my mates had left would not be a problem.

After the race had finished and the drinking began, I left my mates to imbibe and wandered slowly back to the campsite where our bikes were chained to a tree. As I approached I saw a blonde girl standing next to mine and looking intently at it. Suspecting that she was about to steal it I stood beside her and said, in my school-boy French, “See something you like?” She turned to me and said “Oui, un bon maroquinerie”. This stumped me as I had not heard maroquinerie, the French word for leatherworker before and she laughed and said “How you English say, worker of cowhide?” I told her that it was my work on my bike and we continued the conversation in a mixture of Franglish and charades.

I will not say we hit it off instantly but I found that she was easy to talk with, much easier than the girls I had gone out with from school, and I didn’t mind looking like an idiot trying to get my meaning across. She told me that her father had been a leatherworker but she thought my work was as good as his. I told her that I was thinking of spending a couple of weeks just cycling in France and she told me that she was going to be cycling home herself, to a small village just outside the city of Tours. When I looked on the map it would be perfect if I could go with her as I could then loop back through Le Mans to Le Havre to get a ferry or even carry on north to Calais.

The chance of riding along with a pretty girl was a wish that came true when she said that I would be welcome to ride with her and that she would come here in the morning at six, so we could get out of the city early and get some breakfast on the southern outskirts at a little café she knew. When she walked away I realised that we had not even exchanged names so I called to her. “Pardon” I called “J’appele Anthony.” She looked back and smiled, saying “J’appele Louisa.”

I wrote a note for my family to say that I would be in touch but was going south down to the Loire Valley and, when my mates staggered back to the camp site, asked one to give it to my parents when he got home. I set an alarm for the very early hours and next morning excitedly packed away my small tent and my, now deflated, air bed. I tried to make myself presentable and was ready when she cycled up on a road bike. My mates were still snoring when we set off and I was finding it hard to believe that I was cycling into rural France with a pretty girl by my side.

We made our way out of the city and stopped at a little bakery which you could smell as we approached. When we chained our bikes to a lamp-post and went inside, the lady behind the counter called out “Louisa, so lovely to see you. Do you have a boyfriend now?” Louisa laughed and told her that we were just cycling in the same general direction and the lady looked at me and winked. We sat at a table and Louisa explained that the lady was an aunt and that there was another three aunts, all who were brilliant bakers. “Just like my sister Giselle, there must be a gene that runs in the family.”

I said that my three sisters were all gifted cooks and that two of them were brilliant mothers, alas though, living without the fathers of their babies. She asked me if I had held the babies and I told her that I had been pulled into baby-sitting when my sisters wanted to go out so I was quite well versed in looking after little ones. As we went to leave, her aunt brought out a couple of bags of goodies for us to help us get through the day. I put them into one of my pannier bags and she remarked that they were very well made and Louisa told her that they were my own work. “Better and better” the aunt said as she winked at me again.

Once out of the city the pace was gentler and we had time to chat. We were avoiding the
major highway and riding along country roads a little to the west of it. I asked her about her father and she said that he had been killed when his little Citroen van came off second best in an argument with a large truck between Tours and Orleans. She said that he had been a very good leatherworker and there was a workshop at home where he used to turn out items for the tourists and that it had not been touched since that day. When I asked where these items were sold she told me that there was an historic church and connected castle at Saint Aignan and that there was a gift shop where her mother, Odette, still worked.

We rode slowly but steadily, stopping at the villages we went through to stretch our legs. At Limours she took my hand while we strolled and at Malassis we kissed for the first time. By the time we reached Bonelles, a little over forty miles from Paris, I felt that I had known her all my life. At Bonelles we found a little camping spot away from the road and I set about getting my tent up. When it was ready I turned to see her sitting on her towel with a smile on her face. She then admitted that she and her friends had taken the TGV from Tours to Paris and were only using the cycles to get around the city. Her friends had gone back on the TGV and would be sitting down to their dinner by now.

This meant that she did not have a tent and that we would have to be very friendly to share mine. When I made that observation she said that she was willing to try being that friendly and my heart almost stopped. I helped her up and we kissed, holding each other closely. This became more and more passionate and we helped each other undress. Naked we crawled into my tent and onto my, now inflated, airbed. I kissed her lips, eyes, neck and then worked down to her magnificent breasts.

She put a hand under my chin and made me look straight into her eyes, saying “Anthony, What we do tonight will be the thing that keeps us together for life. If you trust me, would you do some things I ask?” I whispered that I would do anything she wanted and her first request was that I use my tongue on her for as long as she wanted. This was easy; however she did need to guide me in my endeavours as it was a first for me. I did catch on and she orgasmed with a huge shudder and wrapped her legs around my head. I drank her sweet nectar and held my breath until she let me go. We then kissed and cuddled and she rolled me on my back and straddled me with her head touching the tent roof. She rubbed her breasts on my chest and kissed me as she impaled herself on my member.

She did not bounce on me as I expected but squeezed me with her muscles until I could stand it no more and came harder and longer than any time I could remember. After that we lay kissing until she told me she wanted my tongue again. Once there I realised that I was licking some of my own cum but followed through with the request until she had a series of rolling orgasms that nearly pushed me out of the tent. I looked at her from my lower vantage point and she told me that she wanted me in her again but to do it the missionary way. I was well aroused again by this time but it was nearly ten minutes of plunging into her before we both came again, in unison.

Marianne G 2021