Young François Meunier, 18, was lucky: he could postpone his military service in order to pursue higher education. And what studies! Law, his parents had reasoned, would enable him to attain bourgeois social positions, in the line of his parents. He was the pampered youngest son. His three older sisters were expected to marry and have children, but he represented the future of the family.

When her son went off to study in the big city, Mommy Meunier had no desire for him to fall into the trap where so many students fall: drinking, parties, girls of ill-repute, or even "compromising" girls from good families. No, no, no, there would be none of that. She had arranged for François to stay with a trusted widow, Mme Salein, who would provide him with room and board (except for weekday lunchtimes, when he would be at university)... and supervise his outings. In those days, 18-year-olds were still minors...

François, a rather shy young man, had thus passed from his mother's skirts to those of Mme Salein, and, after all, that suited him quite well. He would, of course, have liked to get involved with girls, but that was quite complicated; he was content with masturbation sessions wiped with handkerchiefs that he washed himself, a habit he'd picked up at home (he remembered a good spanking he'd received when his mother had caught him in the middle of an onanism session).

In December, François fell ill. Headache, sweating alternating with cold, there was no doubt he wasn't well. Mme Salein returned with a thermometer, handed it to him and invited him to take his own temperature. François, as he was used to doing with his family, laid down and placed the thermometer in his armpit.

"François, that's not a reliable method. Whether for myself or my children, I've always preferred the rectal route.

"Rectal? You mean... in the behind?

- That's right, yes. Isn't that the best way? Didn't your mother do it that way?

- Yes, when I was little, but now I take it under my arm.

- Well, in this household, we do it up the bum. Come on, get under the covers.

- But that's just it, ma'am... I've never done it!"

"What a klutz," thought Mrs Salein. "And so, do you want me to do it for you?" she challenged him. She certainly hadn't expected his reply: "Please, yes". A little taken aback, but unable to back down, she asked him to pull down his pants and briefs and lie on his side. He complied. She was about to spread his buttocks to put the thermometer in when she thought: "Wait, if I do it, it'll be easier if I grease the thermometer". She returned after putting some margarine on the bulb. He was still on his side, buttocks bare. She pulled his upper buttock, asked him to push as if to have a bowel movement, and stuck the thin end of the thermometer into his anus.

"You see, it's nothing. I'll be back in three minutes."

And three minutes later, she returned, removed the thermometer, and read it ("38.5!" she announced). Realizing that François wasn't getting dressed without her order, she patted his bottom twice and invited him to pull up his pyjama bottoms.

"Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, I'll show you how to do it on yourself. Right now, I think you need an aspirin and some sleep."

And so, the next day, when François was up, Mrs Salein returned with the thermometer. "Come on, lie on your side and pull those pajamas down."

François went to bed. However, as he did so, he moved the bed, which moved the bedside table, and... the glass of water on it fell. François heard the noise, tried to catch it, and turned around - too late, of course. Fortunately, the glass had fallen onto a rug without breaking. There was water on the floor and on the rug...

"It's all right, I'll come back with a mop."

It was then that François realized that he was with his pyjama bottoms down, his sex clearly visible, in front of Mrs Salein. He quickly pulled up his bottoms, "Oh sorry Madam! Mrs Salein laughed.

"François, François... I've had a husband and two sons, so I might as well say I've already seen some willies."

François, embarrassed, stood on his side with his pajamas down as requested, his back to Mme Salein.

"And then, you know, these three children, they didn't come to me by operation of the Holy Spirit."

François' embarrassment grew. His family didn't talk about "such things".

"Hold out your hand. Take this thermometer. Now stick the tip in your anus... It shouldn't hurt. Push as if having a bowel movement to open the orifice."

Following these instructions, François inserted the instrument. He felt ridiculous, bare buttocks, thermometer inserted, in front of his landlady. She left the room, patting him twice on the bottom. Three minutes later, she returned with alcohol and a small cloth.

"Give me back the thermometer... 38°. Now I'll wipe it with alcohol before putting it away. You see, it's easy!"

That evening, at bedtime, Mrs Salein handed the thermometer to François, with instructions to put it in the right place. Five minutes later, she returned to pick it up. Did she regret not having seen his bottom again?

That night, as on the previous one, François and Mme Salein masturbated in their own rooms, thinking back on the unusual scenes they'd experienced. The respectable Mme Salein was indeed, in private, apt to have her fingers tease her little knob... and entering the orifice. You have to keep busy when you're a widow.