Kristina climbed down the steps of her TGV train car, met on the platform of the Avignon station by the bright Provencal sun which blinded her for a few seconds before she pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead. She was feeling a mix of jetlag induced fatigue and nervousness at her circumstances. She had landed at Charles De Gaulle airport at 8am that morning after a long overnight transatlantic flight, and now, just a few hours later, she was in the southeast of France, the land of cicadas, olive trees, and rosé wine. Kristina was familiar with the region, having visited it years earlier, but there was a new twist this time, which had her excited yet anxious: she was here to visit Julien, a Frenchman whom she had met online some months earlier and whose invitation to come spend a week in Provence she had accepted enthusiastically but perhaps a bit impulsively, without stopping to think at the possible implications. A week in the sun, among the vineyards and olive groves, what could go wrong?…

Following the flow of exiting passengers, Kristina walked towards the station building, trying to control her balance despite the travel bag slung over her shoulder and pulling her to one side. She had packed light, thinking she wouldn’t need that many outfits, just a few sundresses, shorts and t-shirts, and a bikini she had bought just before the trip after Julien had told her about the pool. Yet, her bag seemed to weigh a ton that morning. Although she knew what to expect in terms of weather and temperature, she had agonized about what to wear for her first encounter with her French host. In the end, she had ***********ed a light, lowcut, flowery sundress which accentuated her curvy figure and revealed just enough of it—she had noticed a few stares from male passengers on the plane and during the train ride, so she was pretty confident her outfit would have the desired effect. As Kristina walked past the passengers waiting to board, the light breeze was lifting her dress just enough to reveal more of her gorgeous long legs which, despite their rather pale skin tone flagging her as having just arrived from far less sunny climes, attracted more admiring glances—and was that a light whistle she heard?

Kristina made her way through the crowded building—it all looked familiar again now—scanning the faces in hope of recognizing the man she was here to meet, without success. Now feeling a bit more anxious, her mind racing through a myriad of imagined reasons for why Julien might not show up, she decided to exit the station, emerging into the sun again on the side of the building facing the parking lot. She stood at the top of the stairs and, after a few more seconds spent scanning her surroundings, felt greatly relieved when she caught site of him. Julien was leaning back on the hood of a vintage Citroën 2CV, the French “people’s car” of yore. Smiling broadly at Kristina and unfolding his arms to wave at her, his immaculate white shirt and linen pants contrasting with his dark tan, Julien looked exactly like what Kristina had been hoping for—a sight for sore eyes indeed, she thought. While a few silver streaks in his hair betrayed his actual age, he had the athletic body of a much younger man. Julien’s muscular forearms reminded Kristina that he had told her something about being a rock climber. “Not bad, not bad at all,” she thought as she smiled back and waved. Julien bounded up the stairs and approached her with open arms. She let him envelop her with a warm hug, noticing how firm his body felt against hers. He gave her a “bise” on each cheek, in the French style: “Kristina, bienvenue!” then switching to English, “I’m so glad you could make it! How was your flight? Did you have any trouble with the train?” “Bonjour, Julien, enchanté,” replied Kristina, remembering some of her French.

Julien gallantly grabbed Kristina’s bag and led her to the car, opening the passenger door for her. As Kristina was sitting down under Julien’s vigilant eye, she made a point of pulling her sundress up high on her thighs before rotating into the seat. She knew Julien noticed, and Julien knew she was doing this for his benefit—and didn’t mind a bit. He closed the door, placed her bag on the backseat, and proceeded to roll up the canvas roof of the car. “Ta da!…” he said, “sunroof… you can start working on your tan right away!” Kristina smiled and hiked up her dress even more, her appropriately lavender-colored silk panties becoming visible to Julien when he sat at the wheel. “You’ll fit right in,” he said with a smile while starting the engine. The old 2CV came to life with somewhat worrisome rattling sounds and a bit of exhaust backfire, and they were off. “Have you been to Avignon before?” “Nope, first time!” “Ok, I’ll take a little detour so you can see the Palace. I know you must be pretty tired from your flight, jet lag and all that. It won’t take long.”

Julien got on the Rocade Charles De Gaulle going north, following the Rhone River to give Kristina a view of the city’s medieval ramparts, “dating back to 14th century, when the popes resided here, in the middle of the vineyards. You’ve heard of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, right?” explained Julien as they drove by. “Impressive,” replied Kristina, trying to suppress a yawn. “I’m sorry, you’re probably not in the mood for old stones. We’ll come back another time,” Julien said, pressing his right hand on Kristina’s naked thigh. She smiled and placed her hand on top of his: “Thanks, Julien. I’m sorry, but I never sleep well on those transatlantic flights and I can’t wait to go have a nap by the pool you’ve been telling me about.” “I understand. We won’t be there for another hour or so, but you can start your nap now if you’d like. Sorry that my car is not the most comfortable or quietest.” “Don’t worry, Julien, I’m so happy to be here, I’ll be just fine.” She smiled sweetly.

Julien took the direction of Carpentras. He wanted to drive by the well-known wine villages of Vacqueyras and Gigondas and give Kristina a chance to admire the famous crest jutting up behind them called Dentelles de Montmirail, one of his favorite local climbing crags. The temperature was rising and the open roof exposed them to the bright Provence sun, but the flow of air was refreshing enough to keep them comfortable. Though she was trying hard to stay awake to not miss out on the breathtaking scenery, Kristina was dozing off, her head resting on the seat belt. In her semi-conscious state, she could feel Julien’s hand landing on her left thigh after he took it off the gear shift. These gentle strokes, which at first were just helping her stay awake, soon became much more distracting. Although they had barely met, Kristina was now imagining Julien’s hand venturing further up her thigh to her panties, caressing her pussy through the thin silky fabric, even probing inside her with a finger. She could feel her pussy becoming moist and would not have stopped him if he had tried. Since, alas, Julien was behaving like a perfect gentleman and not fulfilling her fantasy, she had a sudden urge to grab his hand and show it the way. “Look!” Julien’s hand had left her thigh to point to something in the distance, “the Dentelles!” “Beautiful!” she exclaimed, doing her best to shrug off her slight feeling of disappointment. “Cool your jets, lady,” she told herself, “no need to rush things… I have a whole week to seduce him.” She couldn’t help grinning at the thought. And now she wanted him even more.

There was barely any traffic and they were making good time, despite the limitations of the 2CV’s small motor. At least, Julien wasn’t at much risk to be stopped for speeding. They passed Sablet, then the gorgeous village of Seguret, and easily drove through Vaison-la-Romaine before turning south toward Malaucène. The terrain was getting more mountainous as they approached the area surrounding the Mont Ventoux, the highest mountain in the department and the site of a classic and famously strenuous stage in the Tour de France biking race. Julien turned on a smaller road, then, after going through the village of Pierrelongue, turned on an even smaller one that soon became a dirt road. They approached a white gate which Julien pushed open after stopping the car. He drove in, stopping a little further up a gravel path which led to the house, a magnificent Provence stone mas built in a small cirque and dominated by a forested crest. It was a charming looking house, with several levels seemingly built to fit in the slanted terrain. An iconic row of tall cypresses shielded the house on one side, and fruit and olive trees grew on terraces above. The scent of the pine trees further up on the slopes mixed with that of the lavender bushes all around. Kristina stepped out of the car: “Wow! What a place, Julien…” “My parents found it, it was a ruin, but they did a pretty good job restoring it, don’t you think? Come on,” he added, leading Kristina by the hand, “let me show you around.”

The gravel path led to a large terrace of flagstones just outside a series of French doors on the southern side of the house. At the other end of the terrace, stone stairs climbed among gnarled olive trees toward what looked like a wide open area. Kristina heard the faint sound of a pump: “The pool?” she said, pointing up. “That’s right, we’ll go in just a minute. But let me show you where you’ll stay first.” Julien opened wide one of the sets of French doors and Kristina followed him inside, in what seemed to be the dining room and the adjacent living room. Despite the rising heat outside, it was refreshingly cool indoors. Kristina noticed right away the simple yet elegant farm table that could seat probably ten or twelve, surrounded by Provence-style chairs with their hand-woven straw seats and high ladder backs. A gorgeous stone fireplace was the centerpiece of the lower part of the living room, with a few steps leading up to the higher section where Kristina could see bookshelves lining the walls, comfortable looking leather chairs, a spinet and a few other musical instruments at the far end.

“This way,” said Julien starting up a flight of narrow stairs, “your room is up here.” She followed him up and along a short corridor into a small but cozy bedroom with doors opening onto a terrace facing north. Julien placed Kristina’s travel bag on the queen-size four poster bed, and pushed down on the bedding: “I hope you find it comfortable.