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While Skaya was my house guest, I did the usual things: the greengrocer, the butcher, the boulanger, the bank or whatever. On more than one occasion I’d run into Claudia St. Germain or Margeaux Babineau. “Marty, I see you have a steady girl, if she ever leaves you, you know I’ll gladly warm your bed,” one or the other might whisper.

After Skaya, I couldn’t imagine. I mean Margeaux was now over fifty and Claudia had to be closing in on seventy. Meanwhile on the beach there was all that young pussy running around. Not that I was opposed to old pussy. Remember Mrs. Wilton from the beginning of this story or Madame Beauregard-Wilmotte. I liked mature women like Skaya, but I was no longer sure about old women.

I didn’t do anything or fuck anyone for over a month after Skaya left. Then one day, there was a knock on my door. It was Margeaux Babineau. “Marty, my husband still goes to Paris a few days every month. He says it’s for business, but the gossip is his business is a twenty-year-old girl. Marty, he’s forgotten that I have a pussy and a mouth.”

Margeaux walked in, “Marty, I hope you haven’t forgotten.” Of course, she knew the way to my bedroom and was unbuttoning her blouse as she walked.

A few minutes later she was wearing only her panties. “Marty, there’s something else you may have forgotten. That African woman might have been good to you, but no one makes love with their face like a Frenchwoman.”

That afternoon, it was a blowjob to remember. That evening, there was a blowjob to remember. The next morning, there was a blowjob to remember. “Marty, at my age I’ve sucked a lot of cocks, but I’ve never enjoyed one more than yours. Thank you. Even when he’s home, my husband doesn’t remember what I can do. Whenever I can, I’ll knock on your door. I hope you let me in. One more thing, my friend Claudia, even at her age, still has an interest. She’s bragged numerous times that she showed you a good time when she was here.” There was a smile on Margeaux’s face as she went down on me one more time.

“Margeaux, you’ve been out doing yourself these last few days. Have you forgotten that I have this thing for French cuisine.”

She giggled. “Oh Marty, I’ve been having such a grand time being the ideal French woman that I almost forgot.” She spread her legs, “show me how well you’ve adopted to French culture.”

My tongue started; my tongue started on her slit. “Margeaux, whenever I’m with you I become a glutton for French cuisine.” She spread her legs farther apart.

I wasn’t surprised a few days later when Claudia St. Germain called, “Marty, the patisserie makes the best croissants. Why don’t I pick some up and come over for breakfast tomorrow?”

We did have croissants and coffee for breakfast, but I also had Claudia. “Claudia, your pussy is still delicious,” I mumbled with my face in her bush.

“Marty, how kind of you to say, but I wonder if it’s because you’re not getting any pussy since that African woman left. Although, Margeaux shared with me that you have a thing for French cuisine.” She laughed.

“I think I’ve adapted very well since I’ve been here. There’s nothing more delicious than French cuisine.”

She giggled, “Are you saying that my pussy is delicious?” She pushed my head down. “Marty, remember this is only the first course.”

I didn’t hesitate. Claudia’s seventy-year-old pussy was as tasty as ever. Over the next few days, you might say, I had a five course meal.

Croissants for breakfast; Claudia’s pussy after breakfast; Claudia’s pussy for lunch and dinner. Claudia’s pussy for breakfast the next morning.

Claudia and Margeaux talked, after all they were friends. I say this

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