Jackdaws

He kissed her lips. "And kiss, too?"

"Yes."

"Then I think we should talk for just a little while, maybe a year or two."

"What was her name?"

Flick was not as confident as she pretended to be, he decided. In fact she was nervous, and that was the reason for the questions. If it made her comfortable, he would answer. "Her name was Linda. We were terribly young-I'm embarrassed at how young we were. The first time I kissed her, she was twelve, and I was fourteen, can you imagine?"

"Of course I can." She giggled, and for an instant she was a girl again. "I used to kiss boys when I was twelve."

"We always had to pretend we were going out with a bunch of friends, and usually we started the evening that way, but pretty soon we would peel off from the crowd and go to a movie or something. We did that for a couple of years before we had real sex."

"Where was this, in America?"

"Paris. My father was military attach‚ at the embassy. Linda's parents owned a hotel that catered specially for

American visitors. We used to run with a whole crowd of expatriate kids."

"Where did you make love?"

"In the hotel. We had it easy. There were always empty rooms."

"What was it like the first time? Did you use any, you know, precautions?"

"She stole one of her father's rubbers."

Flick's fingertips traced a course down his belly. He closed his eyes. She said, "Who put it on?"

"She did. It was very exciting. I nearly came right then. And if you're not careful..

She moved her hand to his hip. "I'd like to have known you when you were sixteen."

He opened his eyes. He no longer wanted to make this moment last forever. In fact, he found he was in a great hurry to move on. "Would you..." His mouth was dry, and he swallowed. "Would you like to take off some clothes?"

"Yes. But speaking of precautions..

"In my billfold. On the bedside table."

"Good." She sat upright and unlaced her shoes, throwing them on the floor. She stood up and unbuttoned her blouse. She was tense, he could see, so he said, "Take your time we have all night."

It was a couple of years since Paul had watched a woman undress. He had been living on a diet of pinups, and they always wore elaborate confections of silk and lace, corsets and garter belts and transparent negligees. Flick was wearing a loose cotton chemise, not a brassiere, and he guessed that the small, neat breasts he could see tantalizingly outlined beneath it did not need support. She dropped her skirt. Her panties were plain white cotton with frills around the legs. Her body was tiny but muscular. She looked like a schoolgirl getting changed for hockey practice, but he found that more exciting than a pinup.

She lay down again. "Is that better?" she said.

He stroked her hip, feeling the warm skin, then the soft cotton, then skin again. She was not yet ready, he could tell. He forced himself to be patient and let her set the pace. "You haven't told me about your first time," he said.

To his surprise, she blushed. "It wasn't as nice as yours."

"In what way?"

"It was a horrible place, a dusty storeroom."

He felt indignant. What kind of idiot could take a girl as special as Flick and submit her to a furtive quickie in a cupboard? "How old were you?"

"Twenty-two."

He had expected her to say seventeen. "Jeepers. At that age you deserve a comfortable bed."

"That wasn't it, though."

She was relaxing again, Paul could tell. He encouraged her to talk some more. "So what was wrong?"

"Probably that I didn't really want to do it. I was talked into it."

"Didn't you love the guy?"

"Yes, I did. But I wasn't ready."

"What was his name?"

"I don't want to tell you."

Paul guessed it was her husband, Michel, and decided not to question her any more. He kissed her and said, "May I touch your breasts?"

"You can touch anything you like."

No one had ever said that to him. He found her openness startling and exciting. He began to explore her body. In his experience, most women closed their eyes at this point, but she kept hers open, studying his face with a mixture of desire and curiosity that inflamed him more. It was as if by watching him she was exploring him, instead of the other way around. His hands discovered the pert shape of her breasts, and his fingertips got to know her shy nipples, learning what they liked. He took off her panties. She had curly hair the color of honey, lots of it, and under the hair, on the left side, a birthmark like a splash of tea. He bent his head and kissed her there, his lips feeling the crisp brush of her hair, his tongue tasting her moisture.

He sensed her yielding to pleasure. Her nervousness vanished. Her arms and legs spread out in a star shape, slack, abandoned, but her hips strained toward him eagerly. He explored the folds of her sex with slow delight. Her movements became more urgent.