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Linda and Jason (and Vice Versa)


My name is Jason, and I was a bit nerdy. What can you say about a Sophomore in a conservative religious college in the midwest who is taking (and doing poorly) in French class? Linda, on the other hand, was a Senior and is quite good in French class. Linda’s a cool Senior, popular, at the top of her game, blond, buxom, of a curvy and generous build. Some may consider her heavy, but others would consider her built. I was smart and considered “nice” and a “friend” by many, but no one would consider me “cool.” Where is this story going?

France. I may not be the ideal French student, but when a spring break school excursion to France comes up, I’m game. So is Linda, the Senior hotty who wouldn’t know me in real life. Winners and losers. Linda and Jason.

But France is different. That is, in France, your college class doesn’t count for much. A small group is thrown together, the circles of friends and lovers re-circle and settle in a new orbit. So it was with Linda and me.

I was aware of her from the beginning. I may be a lowly Sophomore, but I wasn’t naive, and I started moving closer to her orbit whenever I could.

The perfect catastrophe was the perfect introduction. While crossing a French public garden in Paris, Linda and I were engaged in conversation. My intent was not innocent, but who knows whether she was picking up on it. And then the pigeon shit on us. Seriously. Some fucking French pigeon flew overhead and shit on both of us. Pigeon shit in our hair. A weird situation. Embarrassing to admit to even themselves, but even more embarrassing to admit to the others in the class. We have pigeon shit in our hair. Both of us. What a bonding moment. And what an opportunity to legitimately claim a reason to separate ourselves from the group. Only a true horn dog would take advantage of a situation like this, so I did. I suggested we go back to the hotel the group was staying at and get cleaned up.

Escape. Linda and me on the subway, escaping from the group, no notice, no apologies. Back at the hotel, we showered separately, but arranged to meet. We spent the afternoon together, walking, talking, getting coffee at a cafe. We must have been getting somewhat intimate because we started talking about our boyfriend/girlfriend back at college. And that’s it: her boyfriend was named Jason, as was I. My girlfriend was Linda, as was she. That might have been it, but we now had the perfect excuse. We couldn’t exclaim our girl/boy friend’s name without it being us! Weird, but destiny.

We reconnected with the group for dinner, and then to evening’s entertainment: the Folies Bergere. This traditional French semi-exotic dance was a bit over the top in the ’70s, especially as something to take a group of American students to. Our French teacher chaperon made us all promise not to tell our parents, and we excitedly did.

That night, as we watched the dancers, with bare breasts and stocking legs, Linda was in front of me, I behind her but not touching. We had not actually touched until that point, although the flirting had begun. Midway through the show, she stepped backward, and into me. I was a bit surprised, but welcomed the move. As she moved back into me, I hesitatingly put my hand on her waist. It was welcomed, and she snuggled into me and pulled my arm fully around her.

(Only later did I learn the full story: a French guy in front of her had reached behind and was trying to fondle her. To avoid him, she moved back into me. My response was at least more welcome, and she pulled my arm around her to demonstrate to the French guy that she was “taken.” He backed off. Not knowing any of this at the time, I took it as a come on.)

I was a bit mesmerized throughout the rest of the show. Bare breasted French ladies were dancing in front of me, an unattainable beautiful Senior was snuggling into me as I hugged her close. Life doesn’t get much better for a Sophomore guy and I knew it. I was just wondering where it would go from here.

After the Follies, we all returned to the hotel. Our chaperone/teacher bid us all good night (as in “go to bed, don’t get me into any more trouble.” ). We all said good night, and went to our rooms. But then — game on. The Sophomores, and most Juniors went to their rooms. But now I was playing with a Senior, and Linda invited me to the party.

The Seniors gathered in one of the rooms. Someone had hard alcohol, I can’t remember what. It was mixed with fruit juice and distributed. We watched the French voyeur across the street watch us. I was not used to alcohol much at that point, but Linda was, and she downed three drinks in pretty fast succession. At first there was music and some dancing, but then the drinks set in and people started reclining. On the beds, the couch. Linda and I wound up on the floor. It was a little weird being the only Sophomore in the group. At one point someone called out, “Linda, where are you?” She responded “I’m here, with Jason.” That was my admission ticket. I may be a Sophomore, I was totally out of my league with this lady, but she validated my pass.

And as we lay on the floor, she touched my chest. I’ve always been shy actually, waiting for the woman to make the first move, waiting to make sure she wanted me before I expressed myself. But with that stroke of my chest, I knew we were good. I kissed her. Warm, soft, deep, wet lips and mouth. We kissed deeply, but the hands started roaming immediately. As soon as I touched her breasts I felt what I had previously only seen: I knew her breasts were large, and now I felt how very soft they were. I started unbuttoning the buttons. No resistance, just a sucking on my tongue. II pushed her bra up and grasped her full breast. Her nipples were not prominent given the amount of flesh in her breasts, but as I found and tweaked them, I knew she wanted that.

She touched my cock, on the outside of my pants, before I could get to her pussy. Wow. That doesn’t happen to Sophomore guys at my school, at least not from Senior girls, and not that fast. But here I was. On the floor of a French hotel room, and I was trying to snake my hand down into her pants. Very frustrating. Tight jeans. And when I got through that, tight pantyhose. I know she was a little big in the hips, but all these tight things were frustrating. I finally got a hand down her pants, into her nylons, and finally into her panties.

I touched pussy. Okay people, reality check. This was only the second pussy I had ever touched. But a Senior’s pussy? Not possible. Until now. I felt her silky smooth pussy hair. Then her slit. I didn’t know much about pussy at that point in my life, didn’t really know anything about clits, but I did know about slits and fingering. As I slid my finger up and down her slit, and then into her pussy, she was not stopping me. I could feel that.

I’m sorry to end the story without climax, but that’s the story of young sex. I was in heaven feeling her wet pussy and grasping her full, soft breasts. She had a good hold on my cock, but never went into my pants. Neither of us came, but both of us had a memory to last a life time.

We sat together on the plane on the way home to America. Everyone knew, no one said anything. We never spoke again. When we saw each other in the library or hallway, there was a smile and knowing acknowledgment. But we knew the score: she was a cool Senior, I was a nerdy Sophomore. But we also knew that I knew the inner folds of her pussy and she had felt my cock. If she ever called my name it would be her boyfriend’s, and if I ever slipped and called “Linda,” everyone would know it was my girlfriend. Our secret.