the Fontan women. I finally agreed to go with Fontan directly to his house in Boulevard Houssmann.
And so my first meeting with the Fontan women occurred on the day M. Fontan and I arrived in Paris. A fateful day. One never knows the really important days until they are long gone.
Madame Fontan looked exactly as she had in her photograph. Older by ten years or so, but the beauty was still there. The daughters were twenty and sixteen. The older was Claire and the younger one Julie. They were as beautiful as their mother. M. Fontan and his photographs had not lied. He had also been truthful about the liking of his daughters for England and Englishmen. I was quickly overwhelmed by the warm hospitality of the Fontan family. It wasn't something to be trifled with. Chance had thrust me into the bosom of a Parisian family and I told myself I had certain responsibilities as an ambassador. But of course I wasn't that naive about the business. Fontan had two marriageable daughters and I was yet unmarried and apparently with a decent income. I understood the situation perfectly. I told myself a few days in the Fontan house would be an intriguing diversion and nothing more. I had no intentions to marry a French woman. I could never imagine such a thing and the idea of it seemed ridiculous. It wasn't very clever of me. It's an amusement now, but I certainly wasn't the cleverest bachelor in England.
I found the guest room comfortable. The furnishings were ordinary. The Fontans were obviously not aristocrats, but there were signs of a former elegance in the house. Perhaps Fontan expected his daughters would restore the family's fortune. At the moment, the girl to be married off was Claire. She was slender and tall, with a haughty look that I found intriguing. The younger girl seemed more gay and vibrant. Two lovely girls. There were also two maids that shared a small room off the pantry. Five women in the small house with Fontan. I thought at times he must feel bedeviled. Did he rule the household? Or was it Madame Fontan that ruled? I suspected it was Madame Fontan, the dark-eyed mother, the one with the sensuous mouth. She seemed in total possession of herself, confirmed and comfortable. Yes, it was Madame Fontan that ruled. She ordered the maids to put fresh flowers in my room. I was to be treated like an honored guest.
At dinner that first evening, Fontan talked of his travels in Spain and Portugal. There was also some discussion of a farm in Normandy that Fontan had recently inherited from his parents. Then I was questioned about my life in England. The fact that I was a marriageable bachelor was of obvious interest to Hector and Odette. The youngest girl blushed when Madame Fontan pointedly asked if I intended to marry soon. The older girl remained aloof. She said nothing. She seemed totally disinterested in me. If her manner belied her inner feelings, I had no way to know it.
After dinner we moved to the drawing room and continued talking. Fontan offered a cigar and I accepted. Once again I was charmed by the beauty of the women. Or was it the effects of the table wine? I decided there was something to be said for the sparkle of French women. The girls were animated as we discussed the differences between Shakespeare and Moliere. Fontan looked on with a smile. He seemed content with his family.
We had coffee and brandy. I hadn't had any female contact in some time, and before long I began to look at the Fontan women more closely. There is always something to look at. An ankle, the curve of a breast in a tight bodice, the smooth skin of a throat, the play of slender fingers as they turn a wine glass. I was amused because it was Madame Fontan who actually appealed to me more than the daughters. Her face and figure promised an abundance of passion. I envied Fontan such a wife. Then I told myself that appearances were often deceptive. Madame Fontan might indeed be cold. One never knows. One never knows a woman until a degree of intimacy occurs.
During the next few days, I was constantly in the presence of the family. They dined with me several times in the Odeon district as my guests. They seemed pleased. I suspected the restaurants were more lavish than those familiar to them. I bought presents for Madame Fontan and her two daughters, a necklace of pearls for each, and a new hat for each of the girls. The Fontans seemed delighted by it all. In the beginning the idea that I might be a suitor to one of the girls was nothing more than a game. After four days it was an idea I decided to consider seriously. Why not? I wanted a wife. I had always found French women sexually appealing. I had no family of my own, and here was a family that seemed eager to welcome me into its arms. Claire seemed more and more interested in looking upon me as a suitor. When Fontan spoke to me privately, I said yes, I would consider the possibility of marriage to Claire. He was quite happy. He insisted we drink a toast. He was so French. I had a sudden feeling that I'd gone completely mad.
He told Madame Fontan, of course. I could see it in her eyes that evening. I don't think Claire was told, or at least she showed no sign of it. Claire and I hadn't talked much at all. Whatever courtship there would be hadn't yet occurred. There was still a chance I would change my mind and return to England. Was this the explanation for subsequent events?
The next morning my breakfast was brought by Madame Fontan instead of one of the maids. She said something about the maids being at the market.
Claire and Julie had gone off with their father to visit Hector's sister in Saint-Denis.
Madame Fontan bustled about the room, opening the shutters, fussing with my breakfast tray. She asked if I would like her company while I had my morning tea. She seemed pleased when I accepted the offer. She seemed delighted. She sat on the edge of the bed and we talked about Paris. One can always talk about Paris. She was a true Parisian. She asked me to call her Odette. I said it was one of the more charming French names. Before long I realized we were flirting with each other. Madame Fontan and myself. It seemed impossible, but it was true. Her fingers occasionally touched my hand as she spoke. Her eyes were the eyes of a woman responding to a male presence. I was amused. Then the amusement changed to a definite excitement. It was Madame Fontan, after all, who had charmed me all along.
We talked about national customs. About French customs. Odette recited an amusing story about the custom of kissing a woman's hand. Her eyes danced as she talked. She touched my hand. I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. She laughed. I continued holding her hand and kissed her wrist. The laughing stopped. A flush came to her face. When I pulled her towards me, she yielded completely.
One always wonders about things. Was I completing her intent or did she decide to yield only at that moment? We kissed. Odette pretended to be flustered. She pulled away. She muttered something. Then she leaned towards me and kissed my mouth again. When our lips finally parted, she helped me moved the breakfast tray to the far side of the bed. Then once again we kissed. This time I slipped a hand inside her dressing gown to fondle her large breasts. She made a sound of pleasure as I lifted the weight of a breast in my hand. I rubbed her firm nipples. She kissed me more forcefully. Her hand searched the sheet that covered me until she found what she wanted. The evidence of my arousal. She gripped it fiercely. Then her grip relaxed and she fondled it more casually. Her eyes were bright. She said she wanted to look and soon the sheet was thrown to the foot of the bed. Her fingers worked at the front of my pajamas. She knew precisely what she wanted. In a moment she had me exposed, cock and balls in the air, her eyes feasting.
I was in fierce erection. Odette's face flushed with excitement, she cooed over it, complimented my dimensions. “Oh, how nice. How swollen you are. What a nice one it is. And the eggs.” She touched my balls, lifted them with her fingers. “You don't mind? I like to touch. Certain things must be touched. Well, you're vigorous, aren't you? When we first met, I said to myself now there's a vigorous man. And look how right I was.” Her fingers moved to my shaft, squeezed it to test its firmness. “Such strength. He's impatient, isn't he? Like a soldier impatient to do battle. I want to stroke him a bit. Just like this. Really, it's like a cannon. The two balls are the wheels of the cannon mount, aren't they? It always makes me think of a cannon. I suppose you think I'm awful. Do you think I'm awful, Edward?”
“I think you're ravishing.”
“A married woman…”
“Completely ravishing.”
“And the mother of two daughters…”
“You have the most beautiful eyes.”
“Tell me truthfully, what do you think of me?”
“I adore you.”
“You're a darling.” She smiled at my cock again. “And this is a darling, too. An apparatus, isn't it? Something made for procreation.”
“And pleasure.”
“Yes, for pleasure. You mustn't think badly of me. Do you really have an interest in Claire? Is it true?”
“Yes.”
