Copyright © 1998
WARNING: This is a story for adults. If you are under 18, please stop
This story may be archived on free web sites but is not to be
distributed without the name of the author, changed in any way, or
sold. Please do not re-post without consulting the author. Copyright
1998 by Jane Urquhart.
NOTE: This story is part of a series. Later stories sometimes refer to
earlier ones, but each also is meant to stand alone. Four stories have
appeared previously--"Janey's January," "Janey's February," "Janey's
March" and "Janey's Trip."
ANOTHER NOTE: After this, read Sandman's "French Kisses" to get the
male point of view on the events narrated below.
JANEY'S APRIL (FM, FM, FFM cons)
- Well, that's not exactly true, as you'll see in a minute.
- The thing is, I couldn't have written anything this month,
anyhow, especially since I didn't do a thing that you'd be interested
in. My daughter got sick. She's only eight years old, and all kinds of
awful things have been going around in the Boston suburbs all this
winter. We went on holiday, and as soon as we got back she got
something. She had a bad sore throat, and she was allergic to the
antibiotics. She had to go to the hospital, which scared me worse than
the disease, hospitals being what they are today. So I spent a lot of
time at the hospital in Newton, and I prayed a lot, and I was
absolutely petrified. Bob, my husband, was worse off than I was. You
know how men are when they can't do anything about something; it
drives them nuts. So he was teaching his classes with big black
circles under his eyes and bumping into things and wanting to kill
somebody, only he didn't know who to kill. (I know, Celeste, that
should be "whom," but did you ever hear anybody say, "I don't know
whom to kill?" I haven't, so the hell with it.) Besides, nobody's to
blame--life's a bitch.
- Judy's perfectly fine now. To hear her tell it she just had a
big adventure and she doesn't see why everybody's keeping an eagle eye
on her and wrapping her up like the Michelin man every time she gets
in a draft. Bob's sleeping again--that's actually his greatest talent,
even if he is the best medieval historian in the whole world and the
dearest man I know. Me, I'm still shaking like an oak leaf in a gale.
And let me tell you--compared to worrying about a sick kid, sex is
- Unfortunately, I also suffered what I thought was another,
lesser but still horrible, disaster. My mother came up from Texas to
help keep things going and look out for my oldest, Alan, who's ten and
swears his sister was shamming, while Bob and I were running back and
forth from the hospital. That wasn't the disaster--I was really glad
she came, because she's an absolutely wonderful person. She loves my
father, and that's what led to the disaster.
- See, I keep my story files buried in the computer in a folder
called "etymolgy," which is in another folder called "voced" for
"vocational education," and that's in yet another called "univbus" for
"university business." I figured those were places nobody in her right
mind would go to look if she were just messing around with the
computer. Actually, there's nothing wrong with my system that wouldn't
have worked perfectly well if I hadn't left a printout of "Janey's
March" lying right next to the keyboard when the school called and
told me Judy was sick.
- Somebody else's mother would have put Alan to bed and watched
Entertainment Tonight or the latest news about Monica Willy Tripp on
the TV. Or read a big coffee table book I bought called "English
Gardens." Or, possibly, picked up a copy of "A Spanish Lover" that I
had just finished--Joanna Trollope is really good. But that's not MY
- She waltzed right over and sat her cute little derriere down
at my desk, fired up the computer, and started to write a letter to my
father. Then she saw my printout. She read it--what would you do?
Then she hit the Start button, clicked on "Find," and typed in the
filename, which, unfortunately, was right on the top of the printout.
Whirr, whirr, and up pops "C:\msworks\univbus\voced. . . ." My
mother's no dummy--she probably knows more about computers than I do.
I am undone, and I don't even know it--I'm five miles away and frantic
about poor Judy.
- When I got home--even mothers of sick kids have to sleep
sometime--she was just awfully sympathetic, forced me to sit down in
one of our big floppy chairs and made me a cup of tea. Loose tea, in a
pot, none of the crappy teabags I use all the time. She asked me all
about Judy, and how was Bob holding up (he was in bed at the time),
and reassured me about Alan, whom, of course, I was worried about,
too. I relaxed for the first time in about sixteen hours.
- Then she smiled her absolutely most evil smile, and said:
- "I didn't know you were interested in etymology."
- "I'm not, particularly," I said, without a flicker of
- "Well, the projects you're working on looked interesting to
- I'm often at loss about what to say, but my brain whirls
around like mad all the time. It whirled. Stopped. The cold, hard
glare of reality hit me like a ton of bricks.
- "What projects?" I said weakly.
- "Well, for instance," she said, still smiling, "I thought the
Sandman project was particularly fine. I suspected you'd need that
little spell sooner or later."
- "You did?" I managed what I hoped would pass for a smile
myself. Might as well go with the flow, that's what I usually do.
- "On the other hand," she said, "I thought the fellow who asked
you for Beth's phone number was way out of line." Oh, no. She read my
fan mail, too. (Well, of course I get fan mail. You can send some to
my mother if you want to. I'll read it before I give it to her, so she
won't be shocked.)
- "You read my stories, you even read my fan mail--that wasn't
nice--and you're still speaking to me?" I was working up to being
thumdersruck. I really like that word, mostly, I guess, because it
happens to me all the time.
- "Look, dear," she said, her smile turning into one of great
superiority, "if you really think about this, you'll realize that I
was sleeping with men before you were born. It's absolutely necessary
in order to produce great hulking wenches like you."
- "Well, yes, but that was my father," I said, gulping, "and,
anyhow, since I couldn't possibly imagine that, I always assumed I was
a product of immaculate conception."
- "It's a smart girl who knows who her father is," she said.
Then she had the gall to laugh at me when I turned pink.
- "It's all right," she said, "He really is your father, I'm
pretty sure. The other possibility was a fellow Angus called a 'wee,
strange little man,' and since I'm not very big, you had to get your
build from Angus."
- Remember, it was eleven o'clock at night, I had been in a stew
for as long as I could remember, couldn't sleep the night before, and
was generally a wreck. She could have waited until morning to drop
this on me. But I was sure as hell awake now. Have you ever gotten a
new mother all of a sudden? It's a sobering experience.
- "Look, you're going to tell me all about this, aren't you. I'm
dying of curiosity, now."
- "Well," she said, "I had an idea. Tomorrow, after Alan goes to
school and you and Bob go away, I'll clean up this shambles you call
home, and then I won't have anything to do for three or four hours. It
occurred to me that it was most unlikely that you'd be able to write
Janey's April in time. I doubt that you'll even have the steam to do
the research." Another evil smile. "So I'll just write it for you.
Naturally it won't be up to your usual standard, but I'd hate to see
you miss a month. When you read it you'll know a little more about
- I went to bed shaking my head.
- Here's what she wrote:
- MARY ELIZABETH'S APRIL (FM, FM [same F, different M], then FMF, and
a couple more FM's, in each case not only cons but positively
salivated after by all concerned)
- by Mary Elizabeth O'Brien MacDonald, A.B.
- It was a dark and snowy night. . . . All right, just kidding,
I'll start again.
- Since I don't belong to this jolly group that Jane's all
involved with, I don't have to follow your silly rules about story
codes, do I? I think mine are better. And I do find the younger
generation strange when I read all the posts about grammar in your
discussion group. Everywhere else, all I hear about is sex, and in
your sex-story-author discussions you write about grammar. And you
think we're weird!
- Now I'll tell you my story.
- Being born in Ireland in 1933 was not a very good idea unless
you were born rich. Fortunately for me, at least we weren't poor. My
father was a newspaper editor, and, since he owned part of the paper,
he made a very good living compared to most people in that poor,
benighted land. So I lived in Dublin in a nice house and only learned
how poor most people were when I went to visit my shoals of aunts and
uncles and cousins out in the villages. Sometimes I spent most of the
summer visiting one relative or another, usually my widowed Aunt
Grace, who was a witch but otherwise perfectly normal, because my
father said I should learn how the other half lived. I never knew
what my mother said because nobody listened to her.
- Aunt Grace taught me how to dig peat and potatoes, and when I
was old enough, she taught me about sex, which she remembered very
pleasantly. (She also taught me a little sorcery, but she didn't think
I was good enough at it to go through the whole curriculum.)
- In the winters I went to a nice girls' school in Dublin, where
the nuns taught us Latin and history and English, because they had
some strange notions about women. Nobody had ever heard of
"self-esteem," and girls were certainly not supposed to have it, but
we picked up a lot of it at that school. They taught us that God loved
us and that we had a right to our opinions and that if we didn't think
our parents were right, we weren't necessarily wrong. We taught each
other about sex, mostly not very well, but, of course, I had got most
of it from Aunt Grace. By the time I graduated from what you call high
school here, I knew a lot, in theory. My father, who was quite
enlightened in many ways, paid for me to go to a good university, from
which I received my degree in 1954, at the age of twenty-one. For a
graduation present, he offered me a trip to Europe, if I could find
someone to go with me.
- I still knew a lot about sex, in theory. Unlike many women of
my cohort, however, I had a theory that sex would be really a lot of
fun--Aunt Grace certainly thought it was. The problem that faced me
was that it was a disaster if any girl had sex before she was married,
and the men didn't get married until they were around forty. The
women, perforce, also waited until they were very much older than I
was at the time I entertained this unorthodox theory. A trip to Europe
seemed to be just what I needed. So I set about finding someone to go
- I found Alice, a girl (I think we were still "girls" then) I
had known fairly well in college. She was a bit strange--she was
pretty, but she always looked just slightly angry. Actually, she
wasn't, but she looked that way, and it put the young men off. She
didn't smile much, but she was smart and she was good to talk to, when
I could get her to talk. More to the point, she talked her parents
into paying for a trip to Europe with no trouble at all. So there we
were--two well-educated virgins ready to see the sights. The sights I
wished to see were not the ones my father had in mind.
- I had a plan. Perhaps not a plan, but at least a nebulous idea
of a plan. I had known for quite a long time how to give myself
orgasms (Aunt Grace had improved my technique quite a lot), but I was
extremely interested in getting some nice man to do it for me. I had
resolved that this trip was going to be my opportunity--I'd meet all
these delightful men, preferably French, and one or possibly several
of them was or were going to fuck me to a fare-thee-well. I finally
decided I had to share this agenda with Alice, but she wasn't very
enthusiastic. I, however, was, and she said she wouldn't hold it
against me if I did something she didn't want to do.
- We flew to Paris. It was beautiful, and we went to the Jeu des
Paumes and the Louvre and walked along the Seine and ate wonderful
meals, but we didn't meet any useful men. My French was only fair, and
Alice didn't talk enough to do any good even though she could speak
the language a little. We didn't have a fixed itinerary, so we decided
to go to Venice by way of Switzerland and Austria because I could
speak some German. For all I knew, Swiss men would be better, whatever
the folktales said.
- We took the train to Zurich, got off, got a hotel, looked
around, and decided it was too stuffy for words. (I later learned we
should have gone to Geneva, but that's another story: perhaps I'll
tell you about my trip to Geneva sometime, if Jane will let me. She's
so strait-laced.) So the next day we got back on the train and went
down the line a bit to Innsbruck. We were starved when we got there,
so we each had a bowl of goulash soup in the railroad station, then we
walked up into town and fell in love with the place.
- You could stand in the main street and look up at enormous
mountains. There were "gasthauses"--guest houses--all over the place,
and sausage shops and a theater. Everything was half-timbered. It
looked like pictures I'd seen on the labels of Black Forest cake
cans. And, just as an afterthought, there were all these dark,
good-looking men wandering around. Some of the older ones were even
wearing lederhosen, which are like short pants only made of leather.
Big hairy thighs. I must admit I liked that.
- So we went and got a double room in the Hotel Central and went
- The next morning Alice and I walked all over the place, had
lunch, walked some more, and around three in the afternoon decided to
have a cup of coffee or something and sit down for a while. We went
into a small hotel, looked in at the tiny bar, and saw several people
sitting around drinking and talking. Only two little tables were free
so we went to one of them, shucked our rucksacks and sat down.
- The other customers obviously knew each other. I was able to
see pretty quickly that there were two Austrian women, two French and
two American. There was one Frenchman and there were half a dozen
American men. One of the American men was with one of the American
women. They were all talking to each other and laughing about trips
they had made or were going to make to Zell-am-See or Salzburg or
Venice, or about ski trips they had been on last winter or were going
on next. They were drinking everything imaginable--coffee, tea, wine,
beer, cognac, pernod, even water. In all, they looked like a pleasant
group. Hence I was delighted when one of the American men came over
and asked to sit with us.
- He introduced himself as Don something-or-other and started
asking all about our trip and where we were going next. He was good
looking; about five six, only a little taller than I was; he was
tanned, had black hair cut quite short even for those days, and brown,
sort of slitty eyes. I can't imagine what his ancestry was. He said he
was a medical student at the university there.
- After a while Don said, "Come on over with me and meet the
rest of the gang--nearly everybody here hangs out together all the
- So we got up and walked over to another table. Don introduced
us to the people sitting there, and soon the rest of his friends got
up, came over and started shaking hands like Frenchmen, telling us
their names. The American couple were free-lance photographers, a
little older than the rest. The older of the Austrian women, Olga, was
a countess! There was an army officer on leave, a couple more
graduate students and a newspaper reporter who for the moment was just
travelling around looking at Europe. One of the men turned out to be a
Canadian who was working for some large company there. Every time he
opened his mouth somebody kidded him about his accent, but he just
sort of shook it off and kept on being very serious about everything
that came up. None of them were married except the photographers, but
I could tell the Canadian had his eye on one of the American women.
- We sat there drinking with them for the rest of the afternoon,
occasionally looking out the windows at the huge mountains. I finally
switched to red wine, but Alice stuck to tea. Once in a while somebody
left, and a couple of new people, two Frenchmen and a Swedish woman, a
gorgeous blonde as tall as Jane is now, came in and joined the crowd.
The bartender, Fritz, an older man who managed to look like an
aristocrat in an apron, joined in the conversation from his position
behind the bar. People moved around, talking to one and another, but
Don stayed close to us. He had one hurried private conversation with
the reporter, Jack, but came back to sit at our table. Having known
few Americans, I was amazed at the general friendliness.
- Don was a little more than friendly. After a while he took my
hand and put it on my leg under the table, then kept his hand there
and gently stroked my leg with his thumb. I liked it. I especially
liked it when he let his fingers slip off to the inside of my thigh.
Of course all the time we were still talking to everybody, and I
didn't even notice this. Of course not.
- Around six someone suggested dinner, so we all trooped off
together to a big restaurant down the block from the Kreid. By that
time I'd had three glasses of wine and felt rather jolly. When I feel
that way my language deteriorates until I begin to sound like one of
the sure-and-begorrah farmers I knew when I visited Aunt Grace.
Everybody else except Alice and the Canadian's girl got a little
boisterous, too. Don sat next to me and gradually worked his hand
almost all the way up to his obvious destination. It must have been
hard for him to eat with one hand, but I suppose he got a lot of
practice. Once I smiled and offered to cut his wiener schnitzel for
him. He blushed right through his tan and moved his hand away. But
soon it was right back where it had been.
- Supper finally came to an end and people started leaving. Don
and Jack and some others suggested we go back to the Kreid, where we
had been drinking earlier. Alice told me she was going back to our
hotel; I told her I'd be back in a little while. I'd had a little more
wine with supper and couldn't see why I shouldn't have just one or two
- Back at the bar there were only five of us left, Don, Jack, an
Austrian woman named Lena and a big fellow named Jean-Claude. And me.
Lena kept nuzzling Jack and he kept shifting away. Jean-Claude smiled
a lot, never opened his mouth, and looked like an innocent little boy.
Don talked--he talked a great deal--and pretty soon they were telling
stories, some of them fairly raw for a sheltered girl like me. I don't
remember any of the stories, although they were side-splitting at the
time, and I don't think I said much. I regret to say I think I just
sat there with a bemused grin on my face. I think I was grinning
because Don had finally got his hand right down on my bullseye and was
rubbing it gently. I sort of rubbed back against his hand. I began to
see why some women preferred skirts to the slacks I was wearing.
- After a while Don got up and said to the others, "Mary and I
have to go. See you guys tomorrow."
- So I smiled brightly and got up, too. I was maybe a little
tipsy, even a lot tipsy, but I wasn't so drunk I couldn't figure out
what Don had in mind. I was happy as a lark. I was scared to death. I
was like a happy, scared lark.
- Don took my hand and we sauntered out of the hotel.
- "Where are we going?" I said brightly.
- "Well," said Don, "I know this guy that has a hotel room and
some really good schnapps. Me."
- "I've never tried schnapps," I said. I let go of his hand and
danced lightly ahead. Looking back at him, I trilled, "Lots of things
I've never tried." I really did "trill." I'm mortified to tell you,
but that's the way it was. You tend to trill if you're tipsy, happy
and scared out of your wits. Or at least I do. It never happens any
- "You'll like schnapps," he promised. "I'm glad to see you like
to try new things."
- I stopped until he caught up and he took my hand. I didn't
know anything to say so I just walked along smiling a foolish smile.
Don smiled, too, but I think he wasn't as tipsy as I was, so he smiled
- His hotel was less than a block from the Kreid. It was about
10:30. He got a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door to his
hotel, leading me into a dimly-lit lobby.
"No bar here," he said, "and they lock up at ten."
- We tiptoed across the floor to a tiny elevator and got in.
While the accordion grill was still closing Don put his arms around me
and kissed me. He poked his tongue up against my lips and opened mine.
He pulled me close to him and explored the inside of my mouth. I found
this very exciting, especially when I started using my tongue to
examine his teeth. The enormous bulge in his trousers tended to make
me excited, too. Electric shocks just like the ones I got from that
big static wheel in physics class started going up and down my body,
only there were lots of them and they just kept zipping through me. I
could feel lubrication pouring into my private parts. Bear in mind:
the kisses, the hand up my leg, all this was absolutely new to me. It
did, however, match my theory. All this went on between the lobby and
the second floor, where the gate ground open and I jumped. My teeth
bumped his and it hurt quite a lot. So when he led me out of the
elevator I still had one hand over my mouth.
- "Hey," he asked, "are you o.k.?"
- I unhanded my mouth, wiggled my lips, and said, "Yes, I am
now." I smiled tremulously. He led me down the hall a couple of doors
to Room 607, unlocked it and led me inside. I was still so afraid I
thought my teeth would chatter, but I also thought that would hurt so
I kept my mouth tight shut. But not for long.
- No sooner had he shut the door than Don turned, took me in his
arms, kissed me, hard, and began tearing at the buttons on my shirt. I
was not prepared. My theories on sex got a little hazy at his point. I
pushed him away as hard as I could, stood still a minute, and got my
breath. He was looking at me, puzzled.
- "I'm sorry," I said. "You took me by surprise."
- "Didn't you come here to get fucked.?"
- I blushed. "Well, yes," I said, "I suppose I did, actually."
- Don smiled and said, "Well, sweetie, why don't we get
- So I took off my clothes and put them on a chair. My hands
were shaking. I could barely force myself to look as he disrobed. Only
a tiny bulb lighted the room, but I could see his body. He was
muscular, just as I'd thought my first man must be. He wasn't smiling.
I went over and sat on the bed a few feet from where he was standing,
I was very excited; I wondered what would happen next.
- Out of his clothes, he pushed me back and fell on top of me,
our legs still hanging off the side of the bed. With his knees he
pushed my legs apart.
- "Aren't you going to put it in?" he said. "That's what nice
- "All right," I said. Something didn't feel right, but my
theories simply hadn't covered this part of the endeavour. I took his
penis in my hand. Never having felt such a thing before, I marvelled
at its texture--very smooth, warm, and very hard. But I marvelled a
second too long.
- "Put it in!" he said. "I'm so hot I could burn."
- "But . . . aren't you supposed to wear something?" I had
heard about rubbers. You may not be aware that the pill was yet a long
- "Nah," he said, "we don't do that here."
- As I've heard Jane say so many times, what did I know?
- So I bravely began forcing his weapon into my vagina. It
didn't go easily. The lubrication had stopped. And I was still
- He began pumping furiously. I just lay there, wondering what
on earth I had got myself into. I didn't have long to wonder--almost
immediately, he came, shaking, moaning, and squeezing me so tightly I
couldn't breathe. Then he relaxed. After a moment he pulled his
flaccid penis out of me and stood up. I had had a moment or two of odd
feelings I couldn't quite describe, plus the not altogether unpleasant
feeling of my vagina having been stretched to what felt like its
- "Want some schnapps?" he said, smiling broadly.
- "I don't think so," I said. I had been tiddly from the wine,
but at this point I was more sober than I had ever been in my life. "I
think I'd better go."
- He smiled and jerked his head. "Well, if that's what you
- I put on my clothes while he stood there nude. I moved toward
the door. He grasped my arm and pulled me around, then he kissed me,
fairly gently. That was nice, I thought. Then he opened the door and
let me out. I walked down the hall to the elevator, got on and
descended. I walked on, down the main street to our hotel. I rang the
bell, was admitted, and went up to our room. Alice was asleep. I
quietly took a washcloth and some water from the pitcher by the bed
and washed myself--his fluids had dripped down my thighs. I hurt a
little, but not much. I fell into bed and went to sleep almost
immediately, still wondering what was wrong. Something was.
- Alice got up early the next morning and brought us
semmels--they're an Austrian roll--and tea from the cafe downstairs.
When I finally waked up, she asked me how the evening went.
- "OK," I said. "We just had a few more drinks."
- I put the night before out of my mind. We took a side trip to
Salzburg for a couple of days, visiting Mozart's house and the water
garden, then returned to Innsbruck.
- The next day Alice decided we ought to walk around in the
foothills just outside of town. We did. Alice never talked much, and
that morning I was quiet. I finally began thinking about my night with
Don. My theories about sex obviously were lacking in some way. I could
simply decide that I'd been misled about the glories of romping in
bed, or I could assume that somewhere there was a better harvest to be
reaped. I worried a little about being pregnant, but thought it
unlikely, given the time of the month. I was quite certain about that
element of my theories--Aunt Grace had made the cycle very clear.
Still, watching the cycle was not a perfect way of birth control.
There'd have been a lot fewer Irishmen if it had been. I decided it
was up to God, and since I had done nothing to him lately, perhaps he
would do nothing to me. I decided to persevere. How, I had no idea.
- The big fellow from three days before, Jean-Claude, did. That
afternoon Alice wanted to wander around the shops again. I begged off
and went back to the Kreid bar. It was early; nobody was there except
Fritz, standing behind the bar polishing glasses, and Jean-Claude, to
whom I had hardly spoken. Fritz smiled, waved, and said, "Gruess Gott,
Mam'selle!" I smiled back--who could resist such polyglot gallantry?
- Jean-Claude, sitting in a banquette with a newspaper and a
glass of that horrible Alsace beer in front of him, said nothing. He
merely smiled and indicated the seat beside him. I sat. A gentleman,
he stood while I took my seat. He still looked like an innocent little
boy, this time wearing a uniform, but when I saw that he was reading
Le Monde, I decided that he must at least be an intelligent little
boy. Fritz brought me a cup of tea--he'd even remembered what I
- To my utter amazement, Jean-Claude spoke careful, accurate
English made more delightful by his French accent. I can't possibly
write his words so that they sound the way he made them sound, so you
will just have to imagine it for yourself.
- "You should not have gone with Don that night," he said. "Don
is an idiot."
- That was a shot across the bow if I ever heard one. I decided
to return his fire.
- "Then why didn't you push him away and take his place next to
me?" I said.
- "I am shy. I am young and I am careful. Today I have no one to
push out of the way, so I asked you to sit with me." Obviously, a
cease fire was in order.
- "Well," I said, "I am young, too, and perhaps not as careful
as I should be."
- "I am younger than Don," he said, "but I am not an idiot.
Please stay with me this afternoon. I will buy your wine and make you
happy to be with me."
- I was young, but I was certainly old enough to know a good
offer when I heard one.
- Jean-Claude told me he was part of the army occupying the
French Zone of Austria. By that time the occupation was largely a
formality, and the French troops had virtually nothing to do, but a
French force was still in place, as were British, U.S. and Russian
troops in their respective zones. We were all expecting the Russians
to invade Europe at any moment--whenever the city fire siren went off
in Innsbruck we expected an air raid. Alice and I had seen a few
soldiers around, but had given them no thought at all. Soldiers were a
common sight everywhere in Europe.
- He did indeed pay that afternoon for my two glasses of wine,
which I drank while I listened to him describe his life at home. He
was merely serving his time in the army, he explained, as every young
Frenchman had to do; he would be back in Lyons in three months, free
to begin working in his father's wholesale paper business. He had
three older sisters. He was only nineteen.
- As I finished my second glass, he said that he would like to
go walk in the park for a while, and asked very formally if I would
join him. As we walked, he was mostly silent, stopping now and then to
look at a flower bed or one of the small statues that decorated the
park. We watched a bunch of boys playing football--what we call soccer
here--for a few minutes. I noticed how incredibly calm he seemed,
especially after Don, who chattered away every minute and seemed a bit
nervous all the time. I fell into Jean-Claude's rhythm, moseying
along, drinking in the atmosphere, taking a lazy walk. After a while
we walked out of the park, along the street, and he stopped us at the
door of a small restaurant. He asked if I wanted to eat and we looked
at the handwritten menu set in a glass frame by the door. We went in
and sat down. It was pleasant--darkish, overdecorated like most
Innsbruck restaurants, not crowded.
- "This is a good place to eat," he said. "Most Austrian food is
not good, but the cook here has been to a better school than most. If
you let me, I will order for you. Will you drink beer?"
- "Certainly," I said. I could read the menu, but it seemed to
please him to be in charge, so why should I complain? I had a distinct
impression that he was trying out new skills.
- When he had ordered he seemed a bit short of conversation. I
couldn't help teasing him a little.
- "How did you learn to please women so well?" I asked. For he
was certainly pleasing me, in his quiet way.
- He smiled his little boy smile and blushed. Bear in mind that
this young man was at least six feet tall and probably weighed two
hundred pounds. I was only five-four and weighed half of that, but I
thought of him as two hundred pounds of blushing infant and was moved
almost to tears.
- "Perhaps you overestimate me," he said. "I only want to please
- "I like being with you because you are quiet and calm," I
- "I am not quite so calm on the inside," he replied. "You
disturb me. You are a very nice girl, yet you went with Don that night
so easily, as if you spend every night with a different man."
- "Oh, no," I said. Then I blurted out the whole story--my
theories of sex, my utter lack of experience, the fiasco of three
nights before. I had thought of him as an infant. Now I thought of
myself as one.
- "That is a very sad story," he said, just then the waiter
came, bearing our dinners on plain white china plates. We sat quietly
until he had served us and gone away. Jean-Claude continued. "I now
wish that I had pushed Don away that night. After we eat our dinner,
perhaps I will not be so shy." He smiled again and began to eat.
- That was when I first realized that French people have a very
different idea of food and how to treat it from that of the Irish.
They don't just eat, they think about what they are eating. We talked
intermittently about the things we liked in Innsbruck as we ate our
Zwiebelfleisch, a simple steak with onions, and our boiled potatoes. I
thought the beer was far better than what he had been drinking at the
hotel, but he disagreed, politely. I think he was a thoroughgoing
patriot, rather than a connoisseur of beer. I was pretty confident
that the day the occupation ended there would not be a single bottle
of Alsatian beer anywhere in Austria, and a good thing, too.
- It was dark and beginning to rain, just a light mist, as we
left the restaurant.
- Jean-Claude turned to me and said, "When you talk to your very
good friends years from now, I would prefer that you not mention that
night. Instead, I will be your first man, and you will forget that
night." He looked at me questioningly. "Will you come with me?"
- That night was so very different. No hand up my leg. No
assumptions. No smirks. Of course I would go with him.
- Jean-Claude had an apartment. He told me he worked whenever he
wanted; his officers didn't care as long as his work, some kind of
supply accounting, got done. And he didn't have to live in the
barracks with the infantry. (I don't think I would have gone to the
barracks.) This was a typical, rather stark Austrian-style apartment,
but there were bright, modern prints on the walls, comfortable chairs,
lamps that looked like antiques, and even curtains at the windows. He
said one of his sisters had come to visit and was horrified. She
insisted he was living like an Austrian, which could not be tolerated,
and spent a week decorating the apartment. She may have been a bigot,
but she knew what she was doing.
- As he closed the door, Jean-Claude reached out, took my bag,
and hung it on a hook by the door. Then he offered me a chair and went
into his tiny kitchen. He came back with two cognac snifters and a
plate of little French cookies on a tray.
- "This will make you feel daring," he said as he poured the
brandy into our glasses. "It will also make ME feel daring." So we sat
opposite each other and sipped warm cognac. What it did was make me
feel not daring, but relaxed. After all, what I had done a few nights
before hadn't made me feel any more confident in my theories--it had
only made me more determined to test them further. For all I knew, I
was in for another quick wrestling match with no gain to be had. But
sitting there, sipping very good brandy, made me feel as if
Jean-Claude, young as he was, might know things Don had never dreamt
- Finally, Jean-Claude swallowed what was left of his brandy in
a single gulp--a most un-French thing to do. He stood, reached out,
and took my hand.
- "I have been wanting to kiss you ever since I first saw you,"
he said. He gently pulled me to him and looked me straight in the eye,
then kissed me. That kiss was a revelation. It didn't begin on my
lips. First, he kissed the back of my hand--really, not an air kiss
like those you can still get from old men in France. Then he kissed
the inside of my elbow. That made me shiver. Then he pulled me close,
put his arms around me, and kissed my eyes, which were shut by then,
one at a time. Then he began what was to be the best kiss I ever got,
before or since, by simply brushing my lips. Gradually his tongue came
out and he just touched my mouth. But my mouth opened as if he had
used a key. He moved slowly, increasingly moving his tongue deeper,
flicking my teeth, touching the inside of my upper lip, pressing my
lips harder, going deeper into my mouth. By that time I was clutching
him as if for dear life. When he finally pulled back, I opened my
eyes. He was smiling. Then he simply kissed me again, this time
without the very gradual approach. I felt as if I were going to lose
consciousness. I was actually dizzy. Inside, I felt like a bottle of
carbonated water. He broke the kiss again; I could have stayed there
- "Come," He said. "I want to see you. Now you must take off
- He spoke so matter-of-factly that I started unbuttoning my
shirt as if I got such instructions every day. He took off his
necktie and the hard wool shirt he was wearing, then his shoes and
trousers, while I stripped. He took our clothes and put them on a
chair, then led me into his bedroom. Like the living room, it was
warmly decorated, not feminine, but carefully planned. The bed was
typical Austrian nondescript. He stripped the sheets back and turned
to me, again taking my hand. Then he pulled back, looking at me.
- "You are much more beautiful without those clothes," he said.
"I should like to see you in a beautiful gown, but now I think this
way is better." Once again he smiled a gentle smile. His penis was
obviously as hard as a rock, but he seemed totally unconcerned about
it, just looking at my naked body, examining me as if I were a picture
on the wall. It was very flattering. He himself was a big man, of
course, well muscled, brown from the sun. His blue eyes contrasted
with the darkness of the rest of his body. Like most soldiers, he had
had his hair cut quite short. It was a nice, ordinary brown. He was a
handsome man, with, still, somehow, the look of an innocent.
- "I want to touch your breasts," he said, "but I will wait
until we are in bed." Then he gestured as if he were holding a door
for me. I climbed into his bed as gracefully as I could, given that I
was shaking just as I had on the night with Don, but for a very
different reason. I was consumed with lust in a way I had never been
before. Then I looked up at him standing there, and I was the one who
smiled. I held out my arms for him.
- He joined me, holding me again very gently, kissing my brow,
my eyes, my neck, then my mouth. Still holding this wonderful kiss, he
ran one hand up and down my back, over my buttocks, back to my
shoulders. Then he moved down a little and began to kiss my breasts,
all over. Finally he put his mouth on a nipple. I found myself pushing
my body forward, my hand on the back of his head, urging him to taste
more of me. He did. He kissed his way down my stomach, and my legs
opened, again with no instruction from me. On to my vagina he went,
exploring with his tongue, now using his hands, reaching up to stroke
my breast. When his tongue entered my vagina I came instantly, without
any preparation at all. I found, as I came back to earth, that I was
pushing his head so hard it must have made him feel crushed. I
relaxed, but he kept his tongue moving, and I almost immediately began
to writhe and feel the onslaught coming again. Then he stopped. and
looked up at me.
- "I think I will find you ready for me," he said, smiling.
- Ready? I'd have killed him if he hadn't quickly moved up
between my legs. I put my hand on his penis and moved it into my
vagina, now so wet he slipped in quickly, and we were joined together
as closely as we could be. He kissed me; he licked my closed eyes; he
leaned on his elbows and moved in and out once and I was gone again,
writhing, moaning, demanding more of him. But he was giving his best,
and it was wonderful. He himself took only a few strokes more and
gasped, moaned, and fell on me, holding me so tightly I couldn't
breathe. Then he eased his grip, looked up and smiled again. We lay
there a few moments, and then he rolled off, keeping one arm under my
neck, holding me close.
- He was obviously very proud of himself, and I certainly
- "You are lovely," he said. "I am not a poet, but I wish that I
could write a poem about your breasts. They are fine, and firm, and
soft and oh, so wonderful! And you taste like nectar. And I love to
look into your eyes."
- I moved my finger down his cheek.
- "You are a wonderful man," I said. "My first." I smiled as he
was smiling, rather widely, sort of impishly. "I will be your slave."
- "Good," he said. "That is the way you are supposed to feel."
- "And, once again, I ask, how did you learn to please women so
- "I think most important," he said, "is that I want to please
you. I love my sisters, and I know from them a little about not being
pleased. I have held my oldest sister, who is years older than I am,
while she cried." Then his smile became very superior. "Also, my
father's mistress is a very nice woman."
- "Your father's mistress!" I said, astonished. "You know your
- "Of course," he said. "She is very nice to me. Does your
father not have a mistress?"
- "Not as far as I know," I said, beginning to wonder. "No, of
course not. Not my father!"
- "I suppose things are different in France," he said. "We lost
a generation of men in the first war, and more in the second. It would
be--I think you say, ungallant--for my father not to have a mistress.
It is also very fortunate for me." He laughed. Somehow I got the idea
that his father's mistress had given him considerable practical
instruction, though he never quite said so. I was already very
grateful to her.
- "I suppose so," I said, not sure how that would go down in
Ireland. Not at all, I decided.
- "Now I have a job for you if you are really my slave," he
- I looked at him inquiringly.
- "I do not think we are finished here," he said, caressing a
breast. As his hand moved over my nipple I conceded that he might be
- He then gave me a concise but complete lesson in fellatio. I
don't suppose it's necessary for me to describe it in detail, given
the way things have changed, but I do want to say that Jean-Claude was
very patient, for I was a bit wary of the idea. On the other hand, it
seemed to me that I was a victim of the Golden Rule; I really should
be prepared to do unto him as he had done unto me. Besides, I thought,
as the idea became more familiar, I might like it. I did, actually.
- He asked me nicely if I would take him in hand and just give
him a lick or two, implying that it would be great favor. I did. That
brought his hand to my head, and he guided the rest of the journey,
being very careful not to choke me, and indicating that he was quite
satisfied with my amateur efforts. Indeed, it took only a two three
licks and good taste of that purple head and I was quite ready for
anything he had in mind. But he stopped me before I got too
enthusiastic, pulling me up beside him so that he could mount me once
more. By then I was more than ready, and we enjoyed a much longer,
more deliberate session. He would push and pull a bit lazily; I would,
of course, push back with great enthusiasm, then he would pull himself
up, look at me and laugh. He made me laugh, too. Once he pulled back
and supported himself on his hands a long time, just looking at me.
- "I must tell you," he said. "You are even more beautiful when
I am inside you. It does something to your face. It makes you look
innocent, which is peculiar. But very nice. I think you should make an
effort to see that I am inside you quite often."
- He smiled beautifully. I couldn't have agreed more. Then he
came down so that my breasts were pressed against his chest and began
moving rapidly in and out. I matched his ardor, and soon we both were
groaning and clutching and coming to each other just as we had the
first time. That there even could be a second time filled me with
astonishment and joy. I was quite sure that not another
nineteen-year-old on the planet was either nicer or more accomplished
than Jean-Claude. I was pathetically grateful. My theories about sex
were right after all--you just have to have the right partner.
- My sanity returned--at least partially--the next morning. But
I was still pathetically grateful to Jean-Claude, and, whereas I was
interested in sex before, I was suddenly more than interested, I was
hooked, wildly enthusiastic.
- For three days I just deserted poor Alice, though she insisted
she was having a good time. Doing what, I didn't bother to ask. It was
shameful. I spent the next two nights--all night--at Jean-Claude's
apartment. He worked at the base in the mornings, and in the
afternoons, when he habitually ignored his work, we talked. In the
park, in restaurants, walking along the street, climbing little hills,
everywhere. We stayed away from the Kreid--too many prying eyes. I
loved the talk, I loved the sex.
- But, as you surely know, familiarity breeds, if not contempt,
at least increasing amounts of sanity. My Aunt Grace had taught me
long ago to back off now and then and take a hard look at whatever I
was doing. She believed in taking care of herself, and she drilled
that into me. As we talked, I found out that Jean-Claude was a sports
nut. He was just killing time, waiting for the first snow. It seemed
that he already had a reputation as a skiier, and he wanted to get
better yet. He dreamed of the Olympics. He wanted me to come to
Grenoble in the winter, when he could teach me to ski as well as he
did. Now I was the exact opposite. Whenever the urge for exercise
comes over me, I try to lie down until it goes away. For some reason,
I don't get fat, and the walking I do seems to keep me in fair shape.
When Jane started going out for the track team and becoming a really
good swimmer, I always wondered where that came from--her father's not
much of an athlete, either. But then, she had been fat, and she seems
to worry about getting that way again.
- At any rate, it soon became clear to me that although I loved
spending time in his bed, I was not the least in love with
Jean-Claude. We had very little in common. He confessed, after some
prodding, that he felt the same way.
- Meanwhile, Alice, despite her claim that she was doing fine,
began to pester me to tell her what I was doing that took up so much
time. Naturally, I finally told her. She was fascinated, and she
demanded detailed descriptions. I reminded her that when we came on
this trip she had said that she wasn't at all interested in sex. After
I had told her more than I should have, she made it clear that she had
developed an interest that hadn't been there before. Then she began
moping around. She was jealous, she admitted. I understood perfectly.
Had our positions been switched, I'd have been green with envy,
positively chartreuse. When she came up with an idea on furthering her
education, I wasn't surprised. But I was shocked silly when she told
me her scheme.
- We were sitting at a table in a little outdoor cafe having
breakfast when she broke the news. I had just met her there, coming
- "I want to watch," she said. "I just want to watch. I don't
believe it can be what you say it is."
- I believed her. Alice was the literal-minded type; if she said
she wanted to watch, that's what she wanted. Still, I tried to get her
to see reason. We didn't want her to watch, I explained; it would
spoil the whole thing, and, if we let her watch, what she saw wouldn't
be what she was looking for anyhow--the fact that she was there would
change it. Actually, that's Heisenberg's principle, but he and I
discovered it independently. I suggested we go back to Paris, where
I'd go with her to someplace in Montmartre and we'd both watch. I
thought I could find her a willing man at the Kreid, maybe that
reporter. No. She wanted to watch the real thing, but she was not
about to do it herself. It had become a research project. This was one
stubborn young woman.
- All right," I finally said, "I'll tell Jean-Claude, and he'll
think I'm crazy."
- "Good," she said. "That's what I want, to watch you and
- I immediately asked myself why I'd agreed to such nonsense.
Was she queer (that's what we called it then)? Was she hatching some
scheme to develop some kind of thing with me? But the idea grew on me.
I wasn't an actress yet, had no idea of becoming one, but I suppose I
was already at least a show-off. After breakfast, Alice left to go to
some museum, and as I thought about it, the idea began to appeal to
me. Oh, Lord, I thought, am I the one that's queer? I thought over my
past history, and decided that wasn't it. I just wanted to show off.
Besides, I rationalized, an escapade like the one she had in mind
would keep her mouth shut when we went home. I was ashamed of myself.
But I was smiling just a little. Why not? I could take care of myself.
- So that afternoon I told Jean-Paul all about it.
- He smirked.
- I was expecting a lecture on morality or some other such
boyish idealism. I got a smirk.
- "You wouldn't have told me," he said, "unless you were
willing." He smirked again. "It might be fun."
- Several years later, when I saw Jean-Claude on television
fighting off his admirers after he'd won first place in the Olympic
downhill, I saw that very same smirk. He was as much an exhibitionist
as I was. We had something in common after all. I think he also had
some idea that this might be a way to uphold the reputation of
Frenchmen--he was a bit sensitive about France's part in the war--but
he couldn't make quite clear to me what this sort of thing had to do
with national honor, so I just accepted it. He was also nineteen. He
was not only willing, he was eager.
- So I dug Alice out of her museum, and told her we were willing
- Alice smiled.
- We met for dinner at the restaurant Jean-Claude and I had been
going to ever since our first evening. He was transformed. In public
he had always seemed very serious and cautious to me. In the bedroom
he was different, much more playful, but this wasn't a bedroom. While
we ordered, while we ate, while we drank cognac after dinner, he was a
bon-vivant, bright, sweet, charming poor Alice out of her socks. She
had a cognac, too, and soon she was all excited, chatting away with
Jean-Claude and smiling as if she were talking to a long lost friend.
At this point, I was beginning to get jealous.
- So we meandered off to the apartment, Jean-Claude waving his
cigarette and talking ninety to the dozen. Up the elevator we went,
and into the living room, me trailing a little behind.
- "I think," said Jean-Claude, "that we must show Alice the ways
these things begin, as well as the mere mechanical aspects." He took
my hand, and spoke to her. "Now that Mary Elizabeth and I have become
friends, we always start with a nice big kiss." Which he then
demonstrated with enthusiasm. As usual, his expertise was faultless,
and within a minute I was as enthusiastic as he was. Alice was
standing there, looking fascinated.
- In no time at all we were in the bedroom. Jean-Claude
disrobed, jumped into bed and beckoned to me. Alice sat on a small
chair against the wall, saying nothing, continuing to look fascinated.
I took off my clothes and joined Jean-Claude. He and I both sneaked
looks at her as we went through what had become the usual routine--but
what a delightful routine! Then, as I was recovering from a positively
outstanding orgasm, I glanced at Alice again. She was coming out of
her clothes at an amazing speed. I gaped. Within seconds she was in
the bed with us, lying next to me. Jean-Claude sat up and smirked
(again) at her.
- "My turn!" she said. "Do me, too."
- "Now, wait a minute!" I said, "You were here to watch!"
- "Not any more," she said. "I did watch. Now I want Jean-Claude
to do me. You don't mind, do you?"
- "Me, I don't mind," said Jean-Claude. "But you haven't seen
the entire show. Are you sure you want to do this?"
- "I'm sure," Alice said. "What next?"
- "Well, I'm the one who's not sure!" I said, looking angrily
back and forth at them. But that was really for show. I couldn't just
be casual. A little outrage seemed to me absolutely de rigeur.
Actually, I was beginning to think the whole thing was funny. Dear
little shy Alice, jumping into bed and demanding action! I thought I
just might allow it, after demurring enough to assert my rights. I did
have rights, didn't I? Maybe not, I thought.
- "Please," said Alice. "You can't keep this all to yourself!"
- "You might even help," said Jean-Claude helpfully. "Let her
get between us."
- So I did. Alice slithered over me instantly, squashing me on
the way, put an arm around Jean-Claude's neck and kissed him. I
couldn't actually see this process--I was looking at the back of her
neck--but I could imagine what was going on, especially when it went
on for quite a long time. Then Jean-Claude broke away.
- "Alice," he said, "I told you you missed part of the show. See
this?" He pointed at his somewhat shrunken tool. "It must be
- By this time I was sitting up on the side of the bed so that I
could see Alice's face. She looked puzzled.
- Jean-Claude took her arm and pulled her down closer to me,
- "It is essential that you help me by using your tongue to make
it come back."
- Then Alice looked at me. I nodded.
- "Just sort of suck on it a little," I told her. "You won't
- "If you say so," she said doubtfully. Then she simply took it
in her hand, opened her mouth and took it in. Shy little Alice!
- From my lofty position as an expert I thought she was
remarkably able. Perhaps she was just a natural. I sat beside them and
watched, she worked away enthusiastically, and Jean-Claude stroked her
back. Her treatment worked.
- Jean-Claude stopped her and flipped her over on her back
between us and sat up, facing me.
- Then he spoke to me. "I think we must caress her breasts,
- "You definitely must," I said.
- "No, no," he said in a very serious tone. "I have not done
this before, but I think we should both do this."
- I gave this a whole lot of thought in about ten seconds. What
I finally came up with was, "Why not?"
- So Jean Claude began to caress her right breast, and I touched
her left one. With a gesture, he urged me on. She did have nice
breasts, and her skin felt good to me, although the light caresses I
gave her did nothing sexual for me, at least. Alice began making
little mewing sounds. It did something for her.
- Then Jean-Claude leaned over and began to kiss her nipple. He
stopped and looked up at me with a quizzical look. So I took a nipple
in my mouth and flicked my tongue over it. Alice began writhing so it
was hard to keep contact. Jean-Claude sat up and smiled, saying, "I
think now I had better do this alone."
- Fine with me, I thought, watching as he slid between her legs.
I took her hand and placed it firmly on his penis. "Put it in," I
said. "It's not doing you any good waving around that way!" She did.
- I'm not sure the show was as good as the ones in Montmartre,
since I never got there, but it was not bad. Having already performed
once a few minutes earlier, Jean-Claude was able to draw out the
proceedings. He worked slowly. Alice began moving rapidly, then gasped
and moaned long and loud. After a moment she looked at me and smiled.
Then Jean-Claude began moving again, in and out, and she closed her
eyes and gave as good as she was getting. In a minute or so both of
them were gasping, moaning, and obviously in the throes of ecstasy.
Then Jean-Claude rolled off. He winked at me. I winked back. What else
could I do?
- I had just learned that I myself was interested in sex with
men--only. What Alice had learned she told me at some length during
the next couple of days, with gestures. She talked more about that
half hour than she had talked about her entire life up until that
moment. The next day I sent her off to Jean-Claude by herself. I am a
- I intended to tell you a lot more stories, but my Jane says
this is long enough--if I want to post more stories I should get my
own Hotmail pseudonym and not tell her what it is. So sensitive! I
will, nonetheless, summarize the rest so I can live up to the story
code I put on this little memoir.
- Our trip continued with no further experiments of this sort.
Alice was loathe to leave Innsbruck, but I persuaded her that she
really had to go to Venice in order to justify the trip to her
parents. Jean-Claude saw us off with kisses and hugs and invitations
to visit. Alice sulked through the short train ride into Italy, but
soon she was back to normal, except for a tendency to smile at
unlikely times that she had not had before. Back home, I happened to
get a job doing publicity for a theater company and drifted into
acting. During the three years I worked in Dublin I had the usual
short-term affairs and one-night stands that go with the theater, but
nothing serious. Then I was swept off my feet by a gorgeous, six-foot
Scotsman. My Angus had been a war correspondent in Korea and had
worked in several capitals when he was sent to Dublin. We married, and
almost immediately he spirited me off to the States; he was sick of
Europe, he said, and wanted to work in a medium-sized town in the U.S.
We wound up in Dallas.
- I had two lovely children right away. (By the way, Jane, I
think it would be unwise to tell James or Grace about this little
story--it might upset them.) About five years later Angus and I
decided we wanted a third, so we began working at it. (As I used to
sing sometimes in those days, "Nice Work If You Can Get It!")
- In November, 1963, we attended the opening night of some
Mozart opera--I can't remember which one. The Italian tenor was
exquisite; short, a bit pudgy the way tenors often are, but lovely to
look at and a marvel to hear. Because I was still marginally involved
in the theater, we were invited to the party after the show, and I met
Fulvio. He certainly looked different. Instead of a doublet and hose,
he was wearing a beautiful three-piece pinstripe suit, tiny pointed
Italian shoes, and very thick eyeglasses. I was totally smitten.
- The next morning Angus left for Washington; he was on some
government committee. That afternoon Fulvio called: could he take me
to dinner? He could. He did. We spent most of the next two weeks in
bed. (Fortunately, there were baby sitters in those days, too.) If I
get my pseudonym, probably something like "Janey's Mum," I'll tell you
all about our delirious fortnight. At any rate, Fulvio's company
finished its stay in Dallas and he left. Angus came home. By then I
was certain I was pregnant--some women don't need a test to know. Two
weeks later it was confirmed.
- I was certain I was going to have a cute little boy who would
grow up to be a short, chubby, weak-eyed man who would sing like a
bird. And I was delighted. But Angus had been there first. Instead of
a tenor, I got a darling little girl who grew up to be as tall as a
giraffe and as strong as a bear, who swims like a dolphin and is a
pillar of the community. (Well, that's what she told me.) I fell in
love with her immediately, and now I'm just so-o-o proud of her!
- --------End of Mary Elizabeth's Story, for now------
- NOTE FROM JANEY: I think you ought to know that my mother is
famous for telling stories that have no foundation whatsoever in the
truth. She's an actress, you know--still is, though she didn't mention
that--and sometimes she gets so involved with make-believe she doesn't
know what's true and what isn't. You should have heard the fairy tales
she told me when I was a kid; they'd scare a grizzly bear.
- Besides, everybody knows that all our mothers were virgins
when they married and only had sex to produce children--that'd be
three times, in my mother's case--and, even then, they didn't enjoy
it. I hope you liked her story, but I thought I ought to warn you;
it's pure fiction.