This short story is an entry in the 2002 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult. Not parody, though, as they say at the Oscars, adapted from another medium. The original, which few if any will be familiar with, is referenced at the end.
Le Bel Age
By
He was almost twenty, and so beautiful that the first time you saw him, you would hardly know where you were. I hadn't seen him at first in the full glare of the summer sun. Then, there he was in the shade of the tree, and he smiled. At me. What did he see, I wonder. A woman half again as old as he, sitting at an outdoor caf� a block from the beach. A woman in a tennis outfit pushing her sunglasses on tp of her hair to stare up at him, melting in his smile.
"You were playing tennis with my mom," he said. A doubles game I'd wound up in that morning.
"Please," I said, motioning for him to sit down across from me. He leaned his bicycle against the tree.
Two hours later we were still talking about everything, about nothing, about his mother, who was going back to the city and leaving him on his own for the rest of the summer. About this seaside town, about his college. Two days later, he was my lover, so naive despite the thin guise of confidence he sometimes wore. "Nobody's ever done that before," he said. We were in the shower, and when I knelt to take his cock deeply into my mouth, I slid my slippery, soapy finger past his rosebud and all the way in to press his prostate. When he came, he had to brace himself against the wall.
He learned too how to make love to a woman. Then we would lie in bed and talk. Desires, dreams, feelings. Him, me, us. "I've never talked with a girl like this," he said. Of course not, I thought.
My friends, envious, joked. Cradle robbing, they said.
"We all love children, don't we?" I said. "What's wrong with a little Family Values? Just because we don't spend our time playing marbles. . . . "
One afternoon in my bedroom, he looked at the book on my desk. "A picture book I'm making," I said. "But not for good little boys."
"I'm not so little." He leafed through some pages. "But he's spanking her," he said, surprised.
"Some women like that."
"You?"
"Oooh," I breathed in his ear, "I've been a very naughty girl."
He was a natural. Two minutes later, I was squirming across his lap. His hand rained fire, even when I begged "stop." I could feel his cock straining under my hips. Afterward, I gathered kisses from his mouth like flowers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A month has only thirty days . . . but so many nights. Even so, I knew it couldn't last, that whatever charms I had would fade. One afternoon, I saw him in town, talking to a girl. "She is a child," I told him later. "She can never give you what we have." But I knew.
She was almost twenty, and so beautiful that the first time you saw her, you would hardly know where you were.
They were both twenty. The perfect age.
The End
http://perso.wanadoo.fr/pvigot/bbelage.html Archivist Note: This link is no longer valid.
http://www3.sympatico.ca/pvigot/belage.ram
© Copyright Summer, 2002
Reviews
Pablo Stubbs <Pablo.Stubbs(at)newsguy(dot)com>
A complete, small but perfectly-formed story, told with huge skill and subtlety. It feels so much longer than 500 words, so much insight falls from the text. There's a slight crashing of gears as the story turns towards spanking, which distorts the shape slightly, but not much. The narrator's final words, a mixture of loss, wise resignation, and happiness, provide a suitably complex and bittersweet end to a story that's full of those strengths.
Abrat4you <abrat4you(at)aol(dot)com>
And here's to you Mrs. Robinson...as I read this story I could hear that song ringing in my ears...it was well written...easy to follow...and I loved the ending...nice work.
Mary Catherine <marycatherine(at)saintfrancis-sfg(dot)net>
A very steamy and sensual piece with a nice, descriptive quality to it. Reading it, I pictured the scene in black and white, as though I were watching a series of flashbacks in a movie. It definitely seemed like a longer story than it was based on length.
MollyB <mollyb(at)newsguy(dot)com>
A lovely story, but what else would we expect from Bird? A rich story that Feels like a movie. (It's worth taking a look at the website provided, if you are not familar with the original, but Bird's story stands alone just as well.)