Mme. Lagalice came to my hotel at 9 am. The reception called me, and I went downstairs, as we agreed to have breakfast together. When I left the elevator, I was stupefied. She was wearing a mini-skirt, white boots and no glasses. Her black hair was over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were shining with the morning sun.

–The George V hotel is as posh as you can get in Paris, she said.

–Yes, I answered. This is the hotel my father booked for me. Sometimes is not bad to

–Let's go to have breakfast then.

She walked in front of me, and I could see for the first time she had a really beautiful body, unseen from the other clothes she wore for our classes in New York and even when she picked me up at the airport the day before, as she was wearing a alight coat and send me in the Taxi alone.

Her manners were also different. She was more confident, like a Butterfly that knows she is beautiful. I got a little jealous when two men who passed her by turned to check her out, completely ignoring I was behind her and WITH her.

–Take your place, Jason, she said looking to me in the eyes.

This sounded like an order and I don't know why but I got really excited. She pulled her hair back before the waiter moved the chair for her. If I were a normal male teenager, I would be with an open mouth drooling, but as I preferred to keep everything for myself since a couple of months ago, even my drool was to be kept.

–Vous désirez?, asked the waiter.

–Deux cafés au lait, she answered. You are in France and have to try everything. The articulation of "everything" reminded me of Mrs. Anastasia Grey, as she told me to ask her anything if I needed help. Could it be possible that both women know each other?

After breakfast, we left the hotel and started walking towards the Seine River. The weather was playing for us, as it was a very warm spring. We headed east, along the riverside, and she would talk to me in French for a while, and then change to English. We passed the Grand Palais, where she told me the story about the Universal Exposition of 1900, and some other facts. After a while, we decided to go for a coffee on the other side of the river and crossed the Pont de la Concorde. Crossing the street, she tripped on an almost fell. I got her, as I am 6 feet tall and really well built. She is not petite, more my height, but she was really light. We stopped at a bench on the other side of the bridge and sat.

–Have you hurt your ankle, I asked.

–Je ne sais pas, she replied. I will have to take off my boot.

I took slowly her book and removed it. In an instant, selected memories came back. I remembered when I helped my mother get rid of her shoes after a party, giving her a foot rub after walking down 5th Avenue shopping, and starring long at her shoe collection in her dressing room. Her Louboutins, Blahniks, Prada and Chanels. All colors, shapes, heels and heights. Me hiding for hours among her dresses, fur coats and shoes. I remember especially ho I liked the smell of leather.

Her ankle was not broken, as I moved her feet and she felt no pain. I told her it was going to be all right as I started to give her a gentle massage. I got an erection, and I guess she noticed it because she pulled her head back and started to relax. I had an uncontrollable wish to kiss her foot, and as I did it gently, she ordered with a strong voice: lick it. And there was I, in a public promenade in Paris, licking the foot of my French Mistress.