Saturday, February 4, 2017


Another early sex story--the last in this series. It's by Don Blaisdell, a Los Angeles-based artist who also has the exceptional good fortune (or smarts!) to have a studio in Montmartre. He sends this from Paris.

by Don Blaisdell

As I paint Montmartre in my studio in Paris, my memories are sparked by the Bridget Bardot documentary I watched last night. These images of her, which we all grew up with…got me thinking about my childhood. This stirred my imagination of my boyhood sexual experience. This vision ignited the memory of an astonishing shared moment, and anexhilarating experience: hence, this story...

We were fifteen and in love and passionate. I invited Renee (not her real name) to my camp in Maine for the weekend. I lived there with my aunt and two brothers. My aunt was a pious (and a critical) person. Early one morning I suggested to Renee that we go blueberry picking, with a passionate plan in mind--I knew the woods and fields. We took two blueberry cans and headed off into the woods, telling my aunt that we would be back shortly.

Renee knew what I had in mind. We got to the blueberry patch quickly and the passion mounted in each of us, along with the hungry desire. The day was sunny and warm for Maine in August. We couldn't wait to make out in the heat of passion. Soon we lay down in the blueberry patch, she on the bottom, me on top. In I went, joy, desire, and passion all fulfilled…

We spent the day making love, it must have been three or four times. Time disappeared. But then I realized it was getting late and said we should head back. We got back to the camp, where my aunt greeted us with an investigative eye. "Where are the blueberries?" she asked. "We ate them on the way back, " I lied. She eyed us critically and I realized we were both covered with blueberry stains from head to toe, especially Renee's back and ass, and for me, my arms and knees. My aunt gave us an "I know what you two have been doing" look, but said nothing. Just chuckled to herself.

The weekend was just glorious. The boat escapade came the next day...


The very next day, in the evening, we took the small motorboat out to the island in the middle of Little Sebago Lake. I shut the motor off. We lay down in the bottom of the boat.

We made love furiously and passionately. Without our knowing it the boat drifted down the lake, right in front of my aunt and uncle's dock. They were sitting in chairs at the end of the dock, enjoying the evening. Both of us naked, we sat up and there they were, looking at us!

"Good evening!" said my uncle. As the reader may remember, my aunt and uncle were hypocritically pious and puritanical.

 What a surprise…in more ways than one!

Don Blaisdell, "It takes a spark to light a fire", 1972, giclee of 4 drawings each 7" x 9", Framed 30" x 12", graphite, ink, ink wash, collage

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