Author: Pebbles

Author bio (new author):
Pebbles’ is the pseudonym of a now retired English training manager. Born in the late 1940’s, he dabbled in eroticism as a hobby but Dans-le-Murs is his first attempt at anything approaching publishable. If it’s successful then there is the possibility of a sequel, if not then there is always gardening!

A fairly shy and retiring person, he allows his desires free rein throughout the story. It really is a case of setting down on paper the missed opportunities and regrets of his life in an entertaining fashion.

Now they have both retired, ‘Pebbles’ and his wife spend much of their leisure time in northern France except when they are hunting for Bronze Age artefacts.

“Do you want me?” asked Anne-Marie suddenly as she suggestively stroked her lightly covered breasts.
“Uh, ah,” I gurgled, taken completely by surprise, “I’m not sure that would be a sensible idea.”
“Why not?” she ran her tongue sexily around her lips, “The boat will drift by itself for hours and I have a packet of condoms with me, unless you would like something different.” She put her finger in her mouth and sucked it very suggestively.
“That will do, Anne-Marie,” I said disapprovingly, “I know what you are suggesting. Yes, I’d love to have you, with or without a condom, but first, exactly how old are you?”
“I am eighteen,” she replied simply, “Why do you ask; does my age bother you?”
“Of course your age bothers me!” I yelped, “I am much older and it could be seen as not proper.”
“But nobody will know,” she said seductively, “Oh, do not be such a boring Englishman, make love to me now.”
“How can I refuse such a request,” I smiled sweetly at her, “from such an attractive little lady.”
During this conversation I had been gauging our drift and estimated that we were moving gently towards the boathouse shore but would take at least an hour to get within good visual range so, assuming that we were not spied on from a high vantage point with a telescope; we had a good hour in which to debauch ourselves. I shuffled to the centre of the boat noting that it was very stable. I beckoned her over and she sat on the bottom resting her head on my knee. Bending down I kissed her auburn hair that was warm and fragrant in the spring sunshine. My hand stroked her smooth neck and ventured over the striped tee shirt until it encountered the firm but malleable swelling of her right breast. I stroked it and explored the pert shape, caressing the tiny nipple as I passed.