I enjoyed the feeling of the summer breeze on my legs as I walked down the narrow avenue, lined with quaint bistros and inviting bookstores that sold the kind of books I’d never quite get around to reading. Almost self-consciously, I drew the fabric of my billowing white skirt so it laid flat as I walked. I was in love with the delicate eyelet pattern and the pristine ivory of the dress. It made me feel fashionable, artistic, and utterly European—even though I was none of those things. In my too-expensive boots and designer sunglasses, I knew I was capable of turning heads, but that’s not why I went overboard on the shopping.
It was nice, being someone else for a while. I didn’t feel like my plain, often-awkward self as I strolled down the Cours Mirabeau. I had only been in France for two days, but I was already in love. Aix-en-Provence was not Paris or Marseilles, but had a little bit of a quiet country feel that made me feel right at home. Growing up in a small town in Kentucky, I’d never dreamed I’d look out of a world that was so beautiful, but the South of France had me speechless.
While I’d heard of the glitz and glamour of the French Riviera and the wine and fashion in Paris, I wasn’t prepared for Aix-en-Provence. It was a little like Alice traveling through the looking glass. I was suddenly in a place where everything seemed dainty, demure, and from another time period. There weren’t huge platters of fried chicken or pitchers of iced tea. Instead, it was strong coffees and sweet cordials from tiny glasses. I was waiting for a little note that said “Drink me” to take me on the next part of my journey.
After admiring the opulence of things built in the 17th and 18th centuries, places and relics that looked fragile but somehow survived wars and revolution, I felt too big and too clunky. My comfortable sneakers and braided hair made me stick out like a sore thumb. Every time I opened my mouth, I cringed at the thick accent. Mama always said not to talk like I had a mouth full of molasses, but she was exactly right. The light and airy French words felt—and probably sounded—thoroughly ridiculous.
Passing a charming cafe that caught my eye with its old-world flair, I fumbled around for a few French words. I knew enough to order a cafe au lait and a pastry. I didn’t even know what it was, but it looked delicious, and pointing got the point across. The French girl behind the register couldn’t have been much older than me, but the smile that concealed a hint of laughter at my attempts to blend in made me self-conscious.
Why did all the girls here seem so sophisticated and worldly, even one who was probably a merchant’s daughter?
I sighed as I carried my tiny cup and Alice-sized plate to the table. Looking around, it was hard notice anyone who was overweight or low on energy. Back home, most people were kind of both. I’d always tried to keep myself in good shape, but years of butter and fried everything had made my thighs thicker and my hips a little wider that I wanted.
The secret must lie in the Alice-sized cups and plates. Everything is shrunken down.
Even the men weren’t as tall as the ones I knew back home. They were handsome, but would be kind of lost when it came to moving hay bales or fixing up a truck. It made me laugh when I started to notice hands. The men had prettier hands than the women sometimes, and gave off a little spark of electricity with their softness. I didn’t mind that one bit.
Taking a large bite out of my tiny pastry with fruit and some sort of icing or cheese in the middle, I felt the world’s troubles disappear. Life here was calm and quiet, the sun was warm without ever burning colour into your skin, and the people were as beautiful as the scenery.
My grandmother had loved it here. She’d lived out the final decades of her life in Aix-en-Provence, a quaint town less than 5 hours from the glittering lights of Paris. I mourned her passing, but the distance meant I never really got to know her. She was this elegant and giving creature who showed twice a year, always bearing gifts and smelling like lilacs.
She was the one who gave me my love of travel. I wanted to be just like her, to see beautiful things and have adventures. I wanted to go to museums and theatres, not the state fair and endless football games. I wanted to meet men who didn’t marry their childhood sweetheart and live a mile from where they grew up. It was because of her that I was stricken with wanderlust and romance. I was still practical enough to pursue a degree in Hospitality and Hotel Management, along with a minor in Tourism. Maybe I’d end up owning a cute little bed and breakfast in the mountains, or become a cruise ship director that knew every little island.
No one in my family cared about the little life my grandmother left behind in Aux-en-Provence. She’d left everything behind to start again in her golden years, and it was a world that a proud Kentucky family had no interest in seeing. It was a reminder of how she’d gotten “uppity” and forgotten who she was and where she came from. Every time I boarded a plane, Mama’s reminder not to make the same mistakes echoed in my head.
“You’d best not think about comin’ back home knocked up, or worse yet, one of them vegan types.”
I didn’t really know how that was worse, but neither appealed to me. Mama only approved of me going to Aux-en-Provence in order to sell my grandmother’s small chalet and rescuing anything of sentimental value. As soon as I landed, I felt the urge to fit in, to be able to call a place like this home. It was everything my family feared would happen, that I would outgrow them.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’d done that a long time ago.
“Excusez-moi! Je ne vous ai pas vu autour. Je me souviendrais de quelqu’un aussi beaucomme vous-même—êtes-vous en visite?”
My blue eyes flew open wide, startled out of my reverie. I was torn between taking time to appreciate the handsome gentleman speaking, and translating what it was he said. I knew “Excuse me” and something about me being beautiful, but the rest was a blank. He was handsome, though, with curly dark locks and hazel eyes that fixed on me. It made me struggle not to blush.
I shook my head sadly, searching for a reply. ““Je suis … désolé … mon français est … malade.”
No, wait. Did I just say my French was sick? Now I sound like I’m from a 1990’s chick flick, and I still can’t speak French.
I flushed a light shade of pink. “Err…mauvais?” That was it. That was definitely the extent of me trying to get high school French vocab words out of my molasses-mouth.
He laughed, and replied in an equally broken, accented manner. “I am thinking that…my English, it may be better than your French. Perhaps…by much, not really. But enough for introductions, oui? I am Claude.” I looked at his hand as he offered it in greeting. It was a perfect hand, and soft as I reached out for the handshake.
All words fled my mind when he lifted my hand to his lips instead. “Daisy. My name is Daisy. Would you..umm, like to join me for breakfast?”
I bit my lip to keep any further awkwardness from tumbling out. Back home, I’d never invite a strange man to sit at my table, but here, it was a chance worth taking. New adventures only happened if you let them in.
The accent made my heart flip-flop a little. When I tried to speak French, it was humiliating, but his attempts at English were charming. I could tell already, he was the type I was warned about, the foreign guy handsome enough to make anything charming.
He slid into the chair across from mine with a relaxed, easy-going smile. It was as if joining strangers for coffee was a regular thing for Claude. For all I knew, it was. “I would like this. I like your name, also. Daisy. It is a lovely Spring flower, which suits you.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that kind of line. Usually, I rolled my eyes, but from his lips it sounded enchanting. I felt myself crossing my legs and staring at him a little too long, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d met handsome, smooth-talking men before.
It have been the accent. Accents were powerful and distracting.
Fortunately, Claude wasn’t shy and was as talkative as he was handsome. Despite his broken English and my hideous French, we managed to make chit-chat as if we’d been friends for a long time. The idea that the whole scenario was weird left my mind. People were different here, more open and more trusting.
It made me feel a little different too. I liked it. I felt a little lighter in my own skin, a little more feminine. I let my blonde waves fall loose around my bare shoulders, leaning back and enjoying the sun and the company. The waitress smiled when I gratefully accepted a refill of my tiny coffee, but used all my willpower to resist the pastry.
Claude leaned in, talking to me as if everything he had to say was a secret meant for my ears only. Of course, it wasn’t, but my heart quickened in my chest. The familiarity made me feel somehow—special. “And so, ma fleur Daisy, have you yet been to explore Paris? I am sure a lovely young woman like yourself is made for a beautiful city like Paris. You have a style, a way of being that says you like art.”
I knew absolutely nothing about art, but I knew when things held beauty and appreciated it. My attention was more focused on Claude than art, but I nodded my head. “Oh, yes. I can’t wait to hop on a train and visit the Louvre. I’ve been told it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
He waved his hand almost dismissively. “Do not listen to tourists. The Louvre, you must go, yes. See everything famous. The true beauty is hidden within Musée d’Orsay. It lies across the river. It is made for enjoying art. The space is quiet, more…intimate. I think it would bring you happiness.”
I could feel the light pink flush against my cheeks, though I didn’t know why. His hazel eyes melted into mine as he talked. I felt delightfully awkward, as if I were eighteen and on my first real, grown-up date. “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Claude. It’s good to get to know new places from people who call them home.”
He tilted his head, eyeing me thoughtfully. “Then I have an idea. Let me show you myself. I am taking the early morning train to Paris on Friday. I have promised to meet my sister for dinner, but other than this, my schedule is free. I would love to be a…tour guide, yes? Unless you already have a chaperone with you?”
His eyes sparkled with such enthusiasm, it was hard to say no. It was Wednesday, and Friday was only two days away. Normally, I’d protest at the last-minute plans, but this was supposed to be about spontaneity.
I fidgeted a little, looking down. “No, I don’t have a..chaperone. It’s just me.” I paused, unable to come up with a good reason to say no. “Sure. I’d love if you’d show me around Paris a bit. There’s so much to see and do, and I’m excited! I don’t want to be a burden or take up too much of your time, so you can leave me to do your thing when you get bored.”
Claude’s half-puzzled look was a heart-warming one. “Americans are always concerned with time. Time is not a concern, but the enjoyment of the experience. I think I will enjoy making you smile.”
Another hour later, we’d finally run out of chit-chat. The church bells that rang surprised me, announcing it was noon. Never in my life had I had breakfast so long that it ran into lunch, but I couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear.
I also couldn’t remember the last time a man like Claude seemed smitten by me. America didn’t have many Claudes. His flirtation was enough to let me know he was interested and attracted to me, but not so bold as to make me feel like he was hitting on me. I was surprised when he didn’t even ask for my number.
“Friday morning, 8 AM. I will meet you at the train. I hope you will not forget, ma fleur. It would break my heart to be so easily…forgotten.” He laughed, obviously unable to think of a better word. This time, when he kissed my hand goodbye, it wasn’t a surprise.
It was just plain lovely.
**
I definitely didn’t forget him. By Thursday evening, I was counting the hours. One thing I didn’t think about was that traveling solo gave you freedom to do what you wanted, but it also made the nights seem long. The French appreciated time at home with family as much as they did other pleasures, and there wasn’t a 24-hour diner or Starbucks in sight.
Claude was good company, and I was happy to see him, even if it was at 8 AM. I’d never been a morning person. Part of me was convinced he wasn’t going to show up. After all, it had been a spur of the moment kind of thing. When I spied the familiar hazel eyes and brown curls coming towards me, I was surprised at the nervousness I felt.
Did I like him? He was cute, yes, but not so much it would take your breath away.
I played with the edges of my train ticket. “Bonjour!” I managed to chirp out the greeting merrily. “I’m hoping you were still expecting me.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Bonjour, ma fleur. Expecting, no. I was, though, hoping for you. You are even more beautiful than the last time we met. Come. Let us find seats and also I have brought coffee.” Claude grinned proudly as he presented a travel cup, which I pressed against my face to appreciate the warmth.
“Thank you. Are you always so thoughtful? You manage to think of everything.” As we boarded the train, a petite redhead gave Claude a bright smile as she took our tickets. I was apparently far from the only one who found him interesting, but she spoke in rapid French. It was impossible to keep up. “What did she say?”
“She said the train is not too crowded this morning and we might have a cabin to ourselves. It is a little bit more comfortable and there is a small door for privacy. She is, I think, wondering if we are a couple.” He winked, giving a little chuckle. I could feel my heart in my throat the idea of privacy. I hadn’t thought I’d have the opportunity to be alone with Claude, at least not in close quarters. Claude was a flirt, but he hadn’t really asked me out. We were always in very public areas.
“Oh. Well, that was nice of her. I notice you’re always smiling and you talk to everyone like they’re an old friend.” The compliment was sincere, and it wasn’t just Claude. Everyone I’d met since arriving was laid-back and offered a smile.
“The world is only a negative place when people choose to make it this, ma fleur. If you travel with an open mind and open heart, you’ll have adventures and meet wonderful people. Maybe only one will be a pickpocket.” He teased as we slid into the cabin, sliding the door closed. I sat down on what turned out to be a very plush seat, and Claude sat beside me. I noticed four other chairs in the cabin as I put my cup on the table. “At night, you fold these two chairs down and it makes a bed for sleeping. For day, they are just very cozy.”
His mentioning the possibility of adventure and the way the chairs folded into a bed did nothing to keep my mind focused on making conversation. Instead, I was more aware of how his hand lingered close to the gauzy white fabric of my dress.
It was the same colour as the last time we’d met, but the skirt was a little fuller and the bodice a more revealing v-shape. I loved the way the paper-thin fabric covered my arms and ended in a bell-shape. I was turning into one of those stylish and demure women who only used tiny cups and plates. I was also feeling far more sensual, my awkward self-consciousness replaced by a feeling that I liked being closer to others than I was used to.
Maybe I should just lean in, and try to kiss him? Of course, if he says no, it’s a very long trip.
I leaned in toward him a little, though I didn’t make an obvious move. If I kept moving closer, maybe he’d realise I wanted him to do a little more than flirt. “Tell me about Paris? What are things I should see? What are your favourite things to do when you visit?”
I felt his warm gaze on me, and for a moment, I thought the tilt of the lips meant he’d try for a kiss. Instead, it was just an admiring glance that made my body shiver a little.
Men didn’t look at women that way that they didn’t want to kiss. I was pretty sure about that much. I just had to be patient.
At some point in the conversation, his hand slipped over to my side of the cozy chairs, resting on my knee. My body responded instantly to his touch. He didn’t remark on it, or stop his tour guide chatter, but his fingers were more interested in sliding under the layers of my gauzy skirt. Before I knew it, I’d uncrossed my legs just enough to allow his fingers to stroke my thigh.
This was definitely not a standard part of the tour guide package.
He kept up a stream of chatter as he studied me with the gaze that felt like it was moving deep into my skin. It was hard to pay attention to much after that, so I just sipped my coffee and enjoyed the warmth that began to flood my body from all directions. I nodded, smiled, and bit my lip when I really wanted to gasp and push my hips against his fingers, which kept sliding up and up.
I managed to focus on the pleasantries of what he was saying about enjoying Paris, but my body was focused on the way his fingers caressed the inside of my thigh as he spoke. He treated me as if he were unwrapping a Christmas present, and the flush of my cheeks moved through my entire body.
Even my toes wiggled with heat and desire when he began to slide the pretty white fabric from my shoulders. The way he held my body hostage as he inched the zipper of the dress down made me shiver. The top of my breasts tingled in anticipation and the small pink nipples underneath hardened in expectation of being touched or at least seen. Instead, he lowered his head to kiss the skin in the same way he brushed his lips against my hand.
I didn’t know men could be so slow and so deliberate about giving pleasure.
“Are you wanting me…to stop this? I would like to kiss you, but do not think me impolite. This place, I am afraid, it is not so romantic. It is not for wooing a proper lady.” My mind struggled to make sense of why he sounded apologetic. My heart thumped as his fingers trailed over the place it resided, the other hand manipulating the white silk of my panties. He didn’t quite touch me in the ways I wanted, but instead slid the fabric up and down between the lips of my pussy.
It was a strange feeling, and I enjoyed the way it made a raw and sexual energy build inside me. More than ever, I was aware of the rhythmic motion of the train. It all made me struggle to keep from crying out.
“Being with you is romantic. No, I don’t want you to stop.” I felt slightly drunk as I looked into his eyes, though I hadn’t touched a drop of wine for a while. It was just Claude’s presence that sent my head spinning. “I want more of this. More you.” My entire body was breathless, and he still hadn’t kissed me yet.
I exhaled a sigh of relief as the fabric fell away from my breasts, letting him see me. It was hard to say I wanted to be touched, especially to a virtual stranger. I’d had two boyfriends in my life, and neither had ever made me think about what I wanted. It was nothing like this. Even though Claude was almost the same age as me, he seemed to know secrets I didn’t.
“Are you not afraid, ma fleur? If someone opens the door, they will see too much.” Even now, he was still a gentleman. His concern for my modesty seemed genuine. Claude wanted to seduce me with flowers and silk sheets. He didn’t know the allure of the forbidden made this the most exciting experience I’d ever had with a man.
“No. I’m not afraid. This is far too exciting to worry about what others think. I’m only thinking about you.” The words were frank, but honest. I could hardly think about anything else.
“Good. I like that you are the kind of daisy that is a wildflower, not one only to be admired in a vase.” I could feel the weight of his hand on mine as he lifted it, bringing it to rest on the pronounced bulge under his trousers. I looked at him with a curious but shy smile, my fingers wrapping around the fabric that covered the shape of his cock. I wondered what it looked like fully aroused and unconstrained.
I shifted my full attention to stroking him. My fingers caressed him slowly, but were determined to bring him the kind of pleasure his touch brought me. He was addictive, and I panted a little as the palm of my hand caressed the length of his shaft. Even under the fabric, I could feel the heat and enjoyment of touch rising from his body. Only a surprise gasp stopped me, and the sensation of his hand lingering on top of mine. “Slow down, ma fleur. This is the way to make a man a little too excited. I want that excitement very much, but also you must enjoy yourself.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not very good at focusing on more than one thing at a time.” I whispered the words into his ear, trying not to let out a full moan when his fingers press against the now damp silk of my panties. Every time his fingers grazed me, I forgot what my own hands were doing.
“You are so beautiful. Why would you be sorry? This is the memory I will keep—what I most want to remember about showing you Paris.” Claude’s eyes gleamed and my fingers began to toy with his zipper, lowering it much faster than he’d done while undressing me. I didn’t have his patience.
I moaned into his shoulder to keep quiet as I lifted the heavy length of his cock from his pants. It shocked me that he wore nothing else underneath, but also sent full waves of arousal through my body. Like the rest of him, the skin was soft beneath my fingers, yet hard and fully aroused. I couldn’t resist brushing my palm against the hot skin of the mushroom-shaped tip. When he responded eagerly, I tightened my grip.
I didn’t expect the shudder and the little drops of liquid that fell into the center of my hand. Claude looked at me helplessly, as if he’d given up the struggle for self-control. His lips parted and his lids grew heavier. He’d stopped talking, but definitely hadn’t stopped responding.
For a brief moment, I thought about sliding my lips around the engorged tip, but shyness got the better of me. This was an adventure, but taking it too far would seem—desperate, maybe even slutty.
It definitely didn’t mean I didn’t want to.
It was easy to forget that even though the cabin was private, we were on a train and it was possible to be interrupted. The only reminder was the way the rhythm felt like it was pounding through my body. My lashes fluttered closed as he leaned into kiss me, and my mouth responded instantly and hungrily. I couldn’t help the deep groan that escaped as his tongue pushed deep into my mouth, a soft, velvety kind of pleasure he’d made me wait to experience.
I’d wanted some kind of romance and adventure for so long now, this felt right, and overdue.
I was practically squirming and panting against his fingers, but his kisses kept silencing me. His touch reminded me to calm down, though seconds later, I was on fire again. I could feel my mind go blank as the soft caress of his fingers moved my thighs apart, Without words, it was only my mouth and the long, slow strokes of my hand against his cock that showed the need unraveling from my body.
He lifted his mouth from mine for a moment, just to whisper in my ear. “Is a daisy the kind of flower that will open her petals? I would like this very much, the blossoming of ma fleur belle.” The words sent a rough shudder through my body even before I felt the weight of his fingers sliding inside of me and his mouth silencing my cries of joy. I was so wet and so close to the edge of something tremendously beautiful, I couldn’t help but think of my pussy the way he’d described, a flower needing to blossom.
I could feel his hand on top of mine as I held his cock lightly, too overwhelmed with heat and fire uncoiling inside me to remember what to do. Fortunately, he didn’t, and I felt the fast and rough movements as he slid through my fingers in the same way his moved inside me. I was only vaguely aware of the way my small breasts bounced in time with his thrusts or the way I began to feel the warmth of his cock melting onto my hand like an ice-cream cone in the sun too long.
All that existed was his fingers, undoing the knots that held me back, and the warmth of his mouth as his groans of pleasure drowned against mine. Suddenly, the world held perfectly still as my body froze, except for the walls of my pussy clenching around his fingers as I coated them with desire over and over again. I felt like I was screaming as blissful shudders moved through me, but in reality, it was just Claude’s mouth against mine, keeping us both quiet. Suddenly, warm ribbons of liquid pleasure hit my breast as his cock exploded in my hand, sending another round of tremors through me.
I never knew trains could feel so good.
My eyes stayed closed and my body felt weightless as he eased me down against him. It was comfortable, my head resting in his lap and my legs sprawled across the seat for the rest of the trip. His hands didn’t leave my body until the Eiffel Tower came into view. This time, there was no shyness about the thought as I let my mouth and tongue show him a world of gratitude.
Daisies were a flower that blossomed, after all.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/oylziu/daisies_were_a_flower_that_blossomed_after_all