Gideons Bible

Author: Magniafazuli

Gideons Bible

In 1973, when I was about 18 years old I wanted to be a writer. Reading the books of Graham Greene, who I greatly admired in these days, I had gotten the idea that young authors always write their best stories in hotel rooms, so I asked my parents for permission to spend a week in Paris to write, and they agreed.

What I didn’t mention, although I suspected my mother already knew and understood, was that the girl to whom I had lost my virginity had broken my heart by choosing for another boy for further exploration of her buidding sexuality.

I was gloomy and full of self-pity when I arrived in the small, cheap but relatively neat hotel near the Gare d’Est. The room was small and worn, but it had a double bed (at home I still slept in the single bed of my boy’s room), a small, old fashioned writing cabinet and a chair. It seemed perfect for my objectives. A quiet room with a view on a pittoresque square and an interior that seemed completely ancient to me.

The first evening I had dinner in a nice looking Tunesian restaurant. The food I was about to eat was the first couscous I had ever tasted and it was my first dinner all alone in a real restaurant ever. It felt very full-grown and I ordered a glass of red wine to celebrate my arrival in the most romantic and inspiring of all cities.

While I was waiting for the food I watched a young man with two strikingly pretty girls entering the restaurant. They sat down at the table right in front of me and I could not keep my eyes from the desirable girls. They were everything that makes french girls so atractive, sportive and healthy looking, suntanned, well clothed and full of life. The young man wore a suit and had an impeccable hairstyle. The girls seemed to find him very funny and entertaining, they laughed a lot and drank wine from a bottle that looked very expensive to me.

What my unfaithfull girlfriend had left of my self-esteem crumbled away rapidly. He probably even wouldn’t have to choose between the two girls, he woult simply take tem both, at the same time, I was rather sure of that.

Im my hotel room the inspiration for my planned writing activities failed. I kept thinking about the two girls and the young man. How they would share the bed in a threesome, one lucky bastard with two gorgeous, slightly drunk and playfull angelic teenage girls, striving for his undoubtedly enormous and above average virile dick.

In one of the drawers of the writing cabinet was a small booklet. It was the size of an american pocket book, but bound in faded blue linen with gilt. On the cover was the imprint of a small cross in gold foil and it looked very old. I had already spotted it when I arrived, but it was just now that I gave it a closer look. Although I didn’t fully understand the titel and text, it was clearly a sort of French version of a Gideons Bible, ment as a religious inspiration for travellers. To my surprise I found some cut pictures from a magazine inside, carefully tucked away between the fine printed pages. There were seven pictures alltogether, all of a nice looking girl in various states of undressing.

Except for some girlie magazines in the bottom drawer of my fathers writing desk I had hardly ever seen any images of naked girla at all. The women in my fathers magazines, that I borrowed from time to time to relief that everlasting sexual urge boys have, had always looked old to me, women, not girls. And my profoundly deplored love, undoubtedly a girl, had been skinny and boyish, although I thought she was very sexy. But this girl was something I had never seen before. The pictures were probably from one of those magazines that were sold under the counter in the fifties. They were all in black and white and the paper was very thin and even, as if they had been there for ages, untouched. They reminded me of the leafs in the herbarium that I once had to make for my biology lessons.

She was the most overwhelmingly beautiful girl I had ever seen in such a state of nakedness. On two of the pictures she wore a tiny white bikini, and on the other five she was completely naked. Her make-up was old-fashioned and slightly vulgar but her smile was radiant and she had long curly blonde hair, big blue eyes and a perfectly shaped, sensuous mouth. She reminded me immediately of Brigitte Bardot, who was my absolute female idol in these days. For contemporary viewers the pictures were very descent, biut for me, that very moment, they were the most exciting pictures I had ever dared dreaming of. On two of the smaller pics and one particular big one, neatly folded in two, one could clearly percieve her pubic hair. That was not new for me. I had recently kissed and licked a girl there myself, hairy and all. But this tiny dot of thin blonde pubic hair, especially in combination with her tanned body with perfect firm breasts and clear visible bikinilines, took my breath away. For me it was the most erotic vision a man’s eyes could ever witness.

That night I hardly slept. I masturbated for hours, fantasizing about all the unspeakable pleasures I would live with her. In the early dawn the first thing I craved for was to have her image on my retina again and continue my blissful contemplations.

Inspiration came to me the next days and I wrote a long melancholic story about a young boy in a foreign city, mourning a broken relationship. The photo’s I didn’t mention, they were to disgraceful for a boy my age back than. But every night I fell asleep with her image in view, satisfied and exhausted.

When I left the hotel I did something I’m not sure if I don’t still regret it, I put the pictures in the book, right where I found them. Taking them with me would have felt like stealing and somewhere I hoped that some other boy would find them there and enjoy them as much as I had done. It was finally a Gideons Bible and I could hardly think of a better use. But I must admit that I never stopped looking for images that one particular girl. I have watched tons of naked girl pictures through the years, but I have never found her again.

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