Her husband and her children were on a weekend in Touraine with her in-laws. She was alone here in Paris and was looking out the window, a little sad, a little lost, resigned. Despite the date, her husband still wanted to leave, knowing that she couldn't come. He had justified it by saying that it would be good for the kids, but she knew that it was mainly to find his childhood friends with whom he spent all his nights when he returned there. She didn't even get angry today when he made these kinds of selfish decisions, it was a fatality that she had come to accept little by little, hence the sadness, she no longer knew what to say, what do, hence the resignation. The date... Today was his birthday. She remembered during her nineteenth birthday, this handsome boy a little older than her who had looked at her shyly in the hallway, at her parents' during the evening she had organized with her friends to celebrate the event. He went to smoke on the balcony of his parents' bedroom. She was troubled because she had just come out of the bathroom where she had been taking off her panties because they were too tight. She was naked under her skirt which stopped just above the knee, and this boy had brushed against her crossing her because of the narrowness of the corridor, and the fact of having been almost touched by him when a simple fabric separating this young man from his naked sex had made him shiver... with pleasure, she realized. She leaned against the wall and watched him disappear into her parents' bedroom towards the balcony/smoking room, then she heard the window open and close. Once alone, her first instinct was to go back to the living room to continue the party and yet she kept thinking about the scene. She then realized with horror that her nipples had hardened. No, not with horror, with a mixture of astonishment and delight like when you taste a dish from which you expected nothing and which finally turns out to be delicious. She slowly moved her hands up to her breasts, and grabbed her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers as when caressing herself in the secrecy of her bedroom at night. Her body, forged by dance since her earliest childhood, had the vigor of an athlete and the suppleness of a reed, her delicate skin appealed to the men she had known carnally, there were two of them until then, her skin texture encouraged to cover her with kisses, caresses. Her firm thighs, her buttocks with a pronounced arch attracted, sometimes more than she would have liked, the gaze of the men who saw her pass. She shook her head, and headed for the living room, but just as she was about to turn the doorknob and return to the hubbub of the party, she stopped. Dropped his hand and turned. She wanted... She wanted to play. She walked down the hall, poked her head through the door to the parents' bedroom and noted with pleasure that the young man was alone on the balcony. She approached again, again, slowly, hesitantly, opened the window and stepped out into the mild air of Parisian May. The boy smiled again in his shy way and was about to say something, but she put a finger to his mouth to silence him. She stepped back to the other end of the balcony, under the astonished and captivated look of the young man. She pressed her buttocks on the railing, spread her legs slightly, and while looking him in the eye, she slowly began to raise her short skirt, slowing the rise as she approached her sex. The boy was no longer smiling, his mouth was half-open, his cigarette was smoking all by itself between his fingers, his eyes kept going back and forth between this gaze which hypnotized him and his thighs which were uncovered, he was fascinated. She ended up discovering herself completely, and he could not help but devour with his eyes that offered sex, that only a thin, very thin line of short hair dressed in its center. He felt his sto ...

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