When I was 15, I went to Chateauroux, France, on an exchange program. I had two French brothers who came to stay with me that summer.
I met a friend of theirs, Bernard Pelasse, and it was love at first sight. He was six foot four to my five four. I could rest my chin comfortably on his muscled chest, and he could set his chin easily on the top of my head.
He had the deepest brown eyes, straight, longish brown hair, and a huge dimple to the left of that beautiful mouth. He was irresistible. I was totally a virgin - had never even been kissed.
We met on the Jour Du Roi festival - Day of the King. I danced with him several times that day. God, but they were (and are) so into disco! I had to learn to dance that way in a hurry too.
The next weekend, we went back to a disco we had visited the weekend before (in the USA, at that time, you had to be 18 to get into a club. Not in France!) This time, Bernard came with us.
They played a slow song, and he took me into his arms. We really didn't dance - just sort of rocked back and forth. And suddenly it happened.
He took my chin in his big hand, angled it upward, and laid his lips gently on mine.
The world spun around me, and I almost couldn't control a gasp. I was being kissed, by a romantic Frenchman, in France - for the first time!
He kissed the edges of my lips, my upper lip, my lower lip - and then he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I went frantic with not knowing what to do. My best friend Marne was sitting on one of the couches, but I couldn't just stop and ask her.
I gently rubbed his tongue with my own, and hoped I was doing it right. Meanwhile, my pulse was going wild. I could hear my heart in my ears, even over the music. And it just kept getting better. He slipped his other hand down my back to my ass, and gave it a gentle squeeze. I ran my hands into that thick, warm, brown hair. I also played lightly with his ears. I was in such heaven. So many firsts.
The next day, my French Maman took Dany (my French brother,) Bernard, and I shopping. She left Bernard and I in the back of the car. As if the night before hadn't happened, it took him forever to put his arm around me. Inch by inch it slid toward my left shoulder - and finally he held me clasped to him tightly. I could feel his heart beating madly. I know my own was.
Then he leaned over and rubbed his lips gently on mine. This time he nibbled on them, and I felt a strange heat in the depths of my belly. I ran my tongue over his teeth, and he inhaled deeply. "I love how you smell," he told me in French. He spoke no English.
"I love how you taste," I returned, breathing rapidly.
"What perfume do you wear?" He asked.
"Charley," I responded. I would wear it for years, because of this moment. I had to tell him. "You smell divine too." And he did. A musky, lemony scent - all male. I forget what he said it was.
He went for one last kiss, and Maman and Dany came back to the car, laden with bags. All Maman said was "Sois gentil avec Cathy." (Be nice to Cathy.) Bernard grinned and blushed.
We then drove to his father's patisserie - bakery. They wrapped me up something divine in white paper and red ribbon. I sat in the car and ate that apple tart, and thought about my first boyfriend. Would I ever see him after I left France? He didn't have an American sister, so he wouldn't be coming to the States.
I never saw him again, but I never forgot him, either. You never do, your first love.
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