She bites her lip unconsciously but her beautiful olive eyes radiate lust and awe. I am strapped to a hotel room bed, my body offered up to a petite French girl who has her fist in my vagina. In this moment I am complete. I am full, my cup runneth over.

There are three players in this story or perhaps four. It is complicated, like life. I will start at the beginning.

I first saw Claudette two months ago, waitressing at a work function. Although perfectly courteous and very efficient she radiated a faint air of disdain. I watched her glide through the room, shark like, circling tables, anticipating needs, dispensing service. She had gamine looks, short and boyish but with a distinctly feminine figure. I was captivated.

Others in the room noticed her too. Several male colleagues attempted to fraternize, but she respectfully withdrew, never ruffling fragile egos. When she came close to refill my wine, I caught a waft of fragrance, Bvlgari Mon Jasmin Noir, it was unexpected. Her hands were graceful, delicate like a child’s. She had perfect skin.

There and then I knew. Without hesitation I went to the toilet to write a brief message on a business card. As the event drew to a close, I stayed behind to thank the hotel wait staff for looking after us so well. It provided me the opportunity to slip her my card along with a generous tip for the workers. She responded gratefully and I heard her voice for the first time. She was French, her accent sinuous and husky. Something inside me melted. As I left, I snatched a glance over my shoulder, she was reading my note an intrigued expression on her face. She looked at me and nodded her acceptance.

A host of erotic fantasies played through my mind while I waited for her. At last, she entered the hotel foyer. I could see she’d spotted me in the cocktail lounge, but she went straight to the bar and chatted briefly with the barman; it was clear they knew each other. They laughed, was it about me? Finally, she approached my table and introduced herself, her expression guarded. I tried to smile reassuringly and needlessly introduced myself. She already had my card; I was just as nervous as her!

I thanked her for coming and offered to get her a drink. Claudette declined, explaining she also worked behind the bar and hotel management would not be happy to see her drinking there too. Of course, I should have realized. Immediately I suggested we go somewhere else. She must have sensed my genuine concern because she visibly relaxed and suggested a nearby bar.

That first night we talked for several hours. Claudette revealed she had searched me on the net before coming down to the foyer and was flattered and very curious to find out why a women of my standing would want to meet her. I said I had an outrageous proposition for her, but before I would reveal it, she had to tell me all about herself.

She was a natural storyteller, her English very good, although heavily accented. Over the evening she opened up about herself, her family and childhood growing up in Toulouse. She told me about her aspirations and how she’d come to be in Perth at the tender age of twenty three. I don’t think she had spoken this deeply with anyone since coming to Australia. I got the sense that underneath the bravado she was lonely.

Claudette was terribly curious about me, asking all sorts of questions about my work, marriage, and opinions. I am fifteen years older than her, with a very different life. She wanted to know what had motivated me to talk to her. Now was the time. It was surprisingly easy to speak candidly. We were strangers until a few hours ago and I didn’t fear judgement. She listened silently while I described the intimate details of what I felt towards her and what I wanted from her. By the time I’d finished her cheeks were flushed.

I watched her sip her cocktail, trying to compose her thoughts before responding. She said she had suspected it was something of a sexual nature, she had noticed the way I looked at her all afternoon. She even laughed admitting she found me attractive, I reminded her of a female teacher she once had a crush on in school. However, she was still shocked by my suggestion, she had only had casual boyfriends before, and this sounded intense.

She felt conflicted. She was flattered, scared, inexperienced and curious all at the same time. She needed time to think. I understood and did not want to pressure her, but I was encouraged by the fact that she didn’t flatly refuse.

We prepared to leave, Claudette had my details and would call; we could talk and maybe meet again before I needed an answer. The ball was in her court. As we stood, she leaned over and kissed me on both cheeks, French style. Her hand reached for mine and gave it a squeeze, then with a mischievous smile she was gone.

The lingering scent of her perfume and the tingle of her kisses remained. I felt joy.

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