The next morning, I took the train back to my parents'. The week-end was awkward. I was thinking of the events of the week. I daydreamed of Mrs Regnault's breasts, of her buttocks, of her smile, of her vulva. I wanted to stick again my tongue in there, to smell that smell, to taste that taste.

When mother asked me at dinner if things with going well with Mrs Regnault, I was startled. For a moment, I wondered if she knew about the current turn of our relationship. This was, of course, absurd — how would she have known? I must have made a strange face, for my mother started pressuring me with questions. Was I hiding something? However, it soon was apparent that what mother feared was not that I engaged in immoral activities with Mrs Regnault, but that I failed to tidy up, made noise at night or other act of disrespect for house rules. I relaxed and conveyed to her my strongest assurances that I obeyed Mrs Regnault's wishes in every respect, including cleaning up things (I obviously did not specify that it was certain body parts that especially needed to be cleaned).

Attending Mass was weird. Even in those circumstances I could not take the events of the week out of my mind. Wasn't I a sinner? Wasn't I engaging in fornication? Well, I thought, I'm certainly not the only one. Besides, I had not really fornicated; does using the mouth count? And all these men around me, at my age, what were they doing? Did they go to prostitutes?

During the train ride back, I felt increasingly restless. How would Mrs Regnault welcome me back? Maybe during the week-end she had thought again about what we were doing and decided these activities were improper. Maybe she would tell me that she had experienced a momentary lapse of reason and order me to forget about anything that had happened.

Again, I was being irrational. Was I in love? Not in the conventional sense of the term, I mean I did not intend to spend my life with Mrs Regnault, but at the same time I was experiencing strong feelings of kindness towards her. Kindness and lust, combined.

I must have seemed increasingly nervous and strange during dinner, for Mrs Regnault asked me if I was feeling well. Even though I answered positively, she visited me later, wearing a nightgown and carrying her little canvas bag.

"You know where it goes.", she said, taking the thermometer sheath out. I undid my pants, lowered my briefs and went on my tummy. The little tip was soon in my backside. Mrs Regnault, like the last time she had taken my temperature, held the thermometer wit her hand resting on my buttocks, but this time she was moving it slightly. I blushed, think about when she had inserted her finger in there. My penis hardened.

She withdrew the thermometer, pronounced me fever-free, and told me to remove my pants and briefs altogether. I complied. She made sounds of appreciation when seeing my erect penis, and even gave it some playful taps with her finger, to see it bounce. She grabbed my buttocks (again, as some young men would do with girls… at least girls who had no reputation to lose) and took me to the bathroom. She grabbed a washcloth and washed my bottom, soaping and rinsing it, then did likewise with my penis.

Then, she removed her nightgown, sad on the bidet, and proceeded to wash herself as I watched. As she washed her vulva, she asked me if I had liked licking her there, if I would like to do it again. "Yes! Yes!", I could not agree more.

She took me to her bedroom and we were soon both naked in bed together. She petted me all over, then, with the air of a little minx, took the same position with her bottom close to the bed edge as she had done before and asked me to use my tongue, which I did with delight. This time, however, she did not wait until she had an orgasm, and instead told me to stop and go lay on the bed on my back.

She then straddled me, took my erect penis and rubbed it in her vulva, back and forth. Then she put it at her opening, and slowly lowered herself on it, moving a bit. She did so until her vagina had completely swallowed my member, her body laid over mine. I had never experienced anything like this in my life. It was better than my hand, better than her hand, better than her mouth; it was soft, velvety, moist, and warm.

My inexperienced vision of sex had been that the man went over the woman, inserted his penis into her vagina, and pumped away. I then learned that the converse was possible. Mrs Regnault was pinning me to the bed ; I felt her weight on my chest much as, I thought, would a woman feel the weight of a man. She was moving her hips… doing the pumping herself. She was kissing me in the neck. There was little I could do except enjoy the act and rub her back and buttocks, which I did copiously.

Semen spurtout of my penis. Mrs Regnault continued pumping, but I soon became limp. She then laid herself alongside me and pushed my hand towards her vulva. I started rubbing her clitoris, as instructed. "Your other hand.. a finger inside", she ordered. I complied; her hole was still very lubricated from her secretions and my semen. "Two fingers.. press towards my navel." Mrs Regnault's entire body shook.

We rested in each other's arms for a while. I had not imagined my deflowering would happen like this, but it had been delightful.