I do not recall how the next day went, but I likely was nervous. Probably proud, too. You see, many other boys at my highschool had bragged about "meeting" with girls. In those days, it was expected that girls stayed virgins until marriage, and anyway intercourse was risky due to possible pregnancy. This was before the Pill was made legal; there were other contraceptives, some of them illegal but tolerated, but few girls, I guess, dared venture in a Family planning clinic… Furthermore there were few occasions for privacy (one could not welcome friends of the opposite sex in one's bedroom, or, in some cases, one could but one had to keep one's door open). To summarize, most boys who had played with girls had just petted them, some would have experienced a "handjob", and now I was in that club, though it had not happened from a girl but from a rather mature woman. Come to think of it, it had probably been better, married life likely gave her the necessary experience.

During dinner, Mrs Regnault broached the topic of my relationships with girls. I frankly admitted my lack of experience in this respect. Were the events of the preceding day the first and only time that a woman had touched me this way? I acquiesced.

"You will meet me in my room after I'm done here", she said. "Naked". "You may wear slippers", she added with a smile. "Oh, by the way, I want you to go to the toilet before meeting me. Number one and number two."

This last part of the instructions puzzled me, but what could I say? I complied. I felt very self-conscious as I walked the corridor to her room. The air was cold. I knocked on the door. "Enter."

"My my my, what a lovely boy.", she said. She was on her bed reading a book and put it away, carefully folding it with a bookmark.

"There was something I wanted to tell you."

She walked up to me, petted my bottom, and caught me around my hips. "Follow me." She brought me to the bathroom, all the way petting my backside or grabbing my hips, in much the same way that my limited experience saw some men treating "broads" when they could do so.

She closed the toilet lid and sat on it (in those days, these were made of wood, not cheap plastic!), and had me stand in front of her. She took my penis.

"You see, I noticed yesterday that you were not too clean there. I understand that you shower in the morning, but secretions accumulate during the day, perhaps you have these more than average. A man should be clean there before meeting a woman."

It was good to be called a "man". Yes, during highschool I had taken the habit of showering in the morning, as it woke me up before classes.

"By the way, I should take this occasion.."

Mrs Regnault cup her hand around my testicles. Then, very carefully, she felt one, then the other.

"Young men should have these checked for growths."

I had not heard about this, only that young men who had gone to military service may have had their "balls" felt. Well, one learns.

"Nothing abnormal. Good. Now turn around. Feet apart, please. Relax your buttocks."

Little did I expect what came next. She wiped my bottom! Nobody had done that to me in years!! In a matter of seconds I had been brought back from "man" to "little boy" status.

"The paper has a little stain. You see, just wiping can be insufficient. I recommend you also wash. Now go to the bidet", she said, giving me two little taps on my bottom.

My parents had one of these contraptions, but I seldom used it. I thought it was one of these women's things. Mrs Regnault instructed me in its proper use. She had me sit, wash my penis and scrotum, wash my bottom.

"I want you to do this every evening, unless I choose to do it myself. Understood?"

Understood, indeed. (Do it herself? Did she plan to wash me as though I were 3 years old?)

"Now dry yourself... Pull on the skin when you dry your penis.."

When I was clean and dry to her taste, she led me back to her room, again holding me. She had me lay on my back over her bed, a little towel under my bottom. Then, she started rubbing my chest, my hips, my thighs. She bent over me and her bosom came close to my face. She kissed me on the brow.

"Sweet boy."

She kissed me on the chest, rubbed and massaged me. She did not have to even touch my penis for it to become hard.

"Oh my! This thing has a life of its own!"

She kissed me on the glans, after pulling the remaining skin back. Then.. she sucked on it. Yes, I got it why a man had to be clean down there before meeting a woman. I had heard about women sucking men, but this seemed like a remote possibility for me — wouldn't they find this gross?

"Now I want to give you a treat. Lift your knees and pull them apart."

She went to her bedside table and took some items. I noticed she was wearing a kind of sheath on her finger, which I later learned was called a 'finger cot". I did not have time to process what I was seeing — I soon felt her finger on my anus, and heard her order me to "push.. bear down, as though going to the toilet".

I complied, and her finger penetrated me. Oh dear. That was a new experience! She sort of searched my insides, before settling on something. I felt like a strange urge to pee. Well, I understood why she had wanted me to go number one and number two before meeting her.

For a while, she gently masturbated my penis, sometimes sucking the glans to make it wet, while her finger played in my bottom. Sometimes she would go slightly forward and backward, in a gesture akin to coitus (I had not experienced coitus, but I was not so ignorant as not to know it involved moving back and forth). More commonly, she pressed inside on a spot that felt strange.

Semen spurted out of my penis. "Good boy", she said. Her finger withdrew from my anus. She wiped my penis as well as my bottom.

"Go peepee again, put your pajamas on, and get into bed. I'll come in a few minutes."

And so she did. She came to my room, kissed me goodnight, and tucked me into bed.

That evening played, I realized it later, an important role in my psyche. I basically had begun my sexual life with a woman's finger in my backside, not by pushing my penis into her vagina. Indeed, I had been mostly passive — she had been the one making the choices, instructing me about positions to assume. What I had experienced weaved pleasure with embarrassment, and this association stayed with me up to this day.