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In everything I recounted, there were clues.

This was Elodie’s idea; a shock, I never sought this.  A droll sense of irony; I came to Paris for a fresh start.  I drove from Sainte Maxime to this beach and confronted history.

Old recollections niggled and gnawed, they itched like needles under the skin.  A ghost haunted my thoughts, Anne-Pierre, and I could not exorcise her.  Memories rolled in like the waves and their halcyon sentiments of nostalgia.  My devil-may-care attitude, it snapped and snarled in its cage.  If it took one bite, it would find its appetite and devour it all.

Staring at my book, words danced on the page; I gave up. 

There were clues, many clues we should have explored. 

Elodie laid alongside me, absorbed in her book.  Aimless thoughts floated like gulls on the breeze, crying for attention.

I needed answers.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was a favour to a stranger for a friend. 

“So, she is desperate and I thought of you,” regaled Eva picking over the remains of her salad.

‘Desperate’, we laughed at the implication.

Leaning in, her austere stare silenced us, “She is an important client, very particular.  Who do I trust to look after her house while she is away?  I put my neck on the block for you two.”

Her fork clattered on the plate, and made a guillotine gesture, very Eva. 

Elodie squeezed my hand.  One look into her hopeful eyes, there was no need for a discussion.

She fidgeted with excitement, “A holiday!  Magnifique!”

Turning to Eva, “We would love to go,” my tone conciliatory, “I am sure we can get the time off work too.  Everyone is back so it should not be a problem.  Can we let you know tomorrow?”

Her frosty demeanour thawed and she eased back into her chair, “Of course.  You will need to drop by the gallery too, I have the key.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

Eva sighed wearily, “So, how was England?  Better than I remember I hope, it was a wedding, non?”

Elodie smiled brightly, “The wedding was wonderful… just wonderful.”

“Bon,” Eva smiled too.  “I am sorry, forget my problems.  It is good to see you two happy and thank you for helping me.”  Her smile faded, “I will have a holiday eventually.”

“Is your boss very ill?” Elodie’s concern mirrored Eva’s.

“Pleurisy, he needs complete rest.  I was looking forward to going too.  You will love the place.”

By Monday lunchtime, it was on. 

September, a spontaneous holiday beckoned, fifteen days on the Cote d’Azur in a place called Sainte Maxime.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It is traditional at a wedding, to dance with the newly married couple. 

I shared my apprehension with Elodie and she insisted.  We practised at her apartment, always with the same accompaniment, Erik Satie: Gnossiennes. 

Right-together, right-tap, right-together, turn.

With blank-faced concentration, I led nervously.  Her everyday perfume, the variations of fragile high notes and expressive tenors, they spurred deep emotions.  My confidence rose, her pensive eyes watched my every move; I hoped she would see it.  The inviting tilt of her head, she scanned my lips.  Expressed in a kiss, I wanted it to betray me. 

The distance between us narrowed, we slotted together perfectly: a metaphor.  The gentle caress of her hand against mine; I wanted her to find it.  The tender graze of my lips placed upon hers - hope.  Our dance forgotten, a new one about to begin.  Gathered up in my arms, I carried her and my secret burden.  Walking to her bedroom, her look of pride, if I would not tell her, I would show her.

We made love.  Two souls and bodies laid together, our hearts as one.  At twenty-four, I discovered the true meaning of happiness.

Set the majestic gardens of the country house hotel, we sat at the top table under an open marque.  On a balmy August Saturday, my family gathered for my sister’s wedding.  A cooling breeze swept the heat away and made ripples in the lawn.  As I topped up her wine, the bottle cold in my clammy hand.  I wiped away the nerves on my napkin.

All week, Elodie brimmed with excitement.  Now, she was the guest from France, in her element as a natural extrovert.  Her self-assured poise, impeccably dressed; she turned heads.  Attired in couture, a regal blue dress captured her hourglass figure.  Knee-length, every hem piped in ivory, a juxtaposition of the sensual and respectable.  Veiled by a wide-brimmed hat, it added mystique to those expressive eyes.

This was my sister’s day; it was Elodie’s too.  Soon, everyone would see us dance, my parents, siblings, some mutual friends.  I forgave them; I was not that person anymore.

As husband and wife, they sank the knife into the wedding cake.  Camera shutters rattled with the applause.  I took a sip from my glass, grateful for its crisp pleasure.  I looked to Elodie, intoxicated by her air of sophistication.

“Have I told you that you look sensational today?”

Lifting the brim of her hat, those alluring eyes sparkled, “Oui, mon chéri.  That does not mean you should stop telling me.  Have I told you that you look very handsome today?”

She squeezed my hand.

Weddings, this was not my first but the meaning of its symbolic moments always eluded me. 

As the bride made her way up the aisle, I have never seen Elodie so enamoured.  When they exchanged vows, she took my hand; instinctively, I squeezed it.  We watched their first dance now; she was transfixed.  I swallowed another lump of nerves with more wine.

My mother nudged me and gestured towards Elodie, “From when we are a little girl, we imagine what our wedding day will be like.  She hasn’t stopped smiling since she got here.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You haven’t either.”

I nodded, a little embarrassed, “I really like her, Mum.”

“You should do more than just like her, she’s a lovely lass.  The way she looks at you, she more than likes you too.  The question is, young man, what are you going to do about it?”

I smiled hesitantly: from man-child to man, how apt. 

Their song faded to enthusiastic applause.  The master of ceremonies called on us to join them.  Elodie gestured to the dancefloor; it was time.  That jackhammer pounded in my chest again.  My parents, new in-laws, siblings, and a few more couples, we took our places.

The tender caress of her waist, the texture of the fabric; she slipped her hand into mine.

She kissed me, “For luck.”

The pace of the melodic guitar and snare drum put me at ease: John Lennon, Woman.

Together, we found it from memory, a fluid slow-step. 

Right-together, right-tap, right-together, turn.

“English, you always dance very well.”

“Thank you, so do you.”

Words were at a premium, concentration was everything; this had to be right. 

It glinted on a sunbeam, my gift to her: a platinum necklace and solitaire pendant.  Nestled perfectly on her peach soft décolletage, it complimented the diamond stud earrings.  Lustrous hair pinned up except for two loose spools that hung over her feline cheek.  A flash of her eyes, a kink in her eyebrow, it grew into a sensuous smile.  It revealed the secret connivance between lovers, our code.

On the turn, she responded to the subtle flex of my body, those matt painted lips curled at my glance.  A proud jawline, the curve of her naked neck adorned with my favourite scent.  The personification of elegance; it was my turn to be transfixed.

Lifted by the swirling harmony, I felt its certainty, time to set it free.

“Elodie, can I tell you something?”

“Of course, what is it?”

Her attentiveness, time slowed, and all around me faded to nothing.

“Elodie, je suis en train de tomber amoureuse de toi.”

Hope never felt so tangible.  She gasped suddenly and I watched surprise take hold.  We kept moving in those interminable seconds, and then I saw it: vulnerability.  

“Je suis en train de tomber amoureuse de toi aussi.”

Barely above a whisper as if I reached deep inside and profoundly moved her.

The dread weight lifted, I afforded myself an earnest smile, “I know it is sudden, it occupies my mind all the time.  I am falling in love with you.”

“You… you cannot stop it can you?”

I shook my head, “No, it is going to happen, and I do not want to do this alone.”

“You will not, I feel it too.”

Sincere eyes glanced at my lips and I broke our stance.  It welled up, the vanquished angst, doubt, and the intense ecstasy of her requited feelings.  Pent-up emotions concentrated into one statement of devotion.  I kissed her to a standstill.  A tear shone under her crystalline eye and ran down her cheek; I wiped it away.  Her brittle smile roused my need to protect her. 

She held me tight as we danced cheek-to-cheek.

“English, that is the most wonderful thing anyone ever said to me.”

I sighed, “I could not keep it in any longer.”

“I saw something when we danced last week.  Were you nervous?”

“Very.  To fall in love is a serious matter.”

“Mon dieu…” and she gasped as if startled, “this is very true.”

“I chose this moment so we would always remember it.”

She purred, “You are very romantic and this is the perfect day now.  You have made me very happy.”

“Ma copine, I will try to do that every day.”

“I will too, mon copain.”

The song ended too soon to more polite applause.  I caught my sister, my new brother-in-law, my Mum and Dad all smiling at us, even my younger brother, and his girlfriend.  They knew; I was sure of it.

I had come home, and we danced to another song, full of elation.  I remember very little.

“English, what happens next?”

“Well, this is it for now, the party starts at seven-thirty, we can stick around and chat, maybe have a drink or two.”

“Or we could?”  She gave me that coy look and bit her bottom lip.

“Oh yes, we definitely could.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I rolled over onto my front, enveloped in the comforting sun.  My fingertips caressed the soft skin of her flank.

“Are you okay, English?”

“Uh-huh.”

Soothed, the internal storm quelled.  Young, still so idealistic, I took my chances with the hubris of youth to guide me; it almost ruined me.  Falling in love was not pre-ordained when I saw Elodie at Gare du Nord.  I did not appear on a white steed, and like me, Elodie was in turmoil too.  It started with a happy accident, a clue, the Palais Garnier.

I learned romance inspired by art, classical music, and opera.  She shared these private escapes only with me.  The people-watcher, dreamer, thinker, and loafer, her alternate persona; she inspired my true self.  Her thoughtfulness for others, the party-girl, extrovert, fun lover; she brought so much joy.  Her beauty, her style, my lover, and her desires – our intimacy.

I adored her and all those complex layers to understand, if I ever would.

Clues, clues, more clues…

Her confident sexuality.

Closing my eyes, I rested, consoled by the ethereal tide.  Distant laughter swirled on the zephyr wind.

The soothing caress of her hand through my hair, I drifted away.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

The wedding continued without us.  Needing to freshen up, I showered quickly. 

Walking out of our en-suite, I gasped. 

“Elodie…”

Impassively, she sat on the chair in reverse covered by the seatback.  Legs encased in sheer opaque white, lace fingerless gloves covered her hands.  Hair still up, those loose tresses partially hid her provocative expression.  The coquettish tilt of her head and covetous eyes delighted in my reaction.

“I did not know if I should do this English.  What you told me just now, I wanted to so much.”

Arrested to the core, my mind scrambled, “You…” my mouth flapped without words.

“Shush,” her gentle tone placated me.

In our decorous hotel room of gold and muted cream, the four-poster bed imposed itself alongside her.  If the walls could talk, we would give them a new story to tell.

She rose, and revealed the deepest mysteries of her sensuality.  The debauched insinuation of virginal white, lingerie like this never moved before.  Delicate lace captured the heft of her bust perfectly, and accentuated of their seductive power.  The cinch of her waist adorned by more lace; it swooped in arcs to fasten her stocking tops.  Each strap left no impression on her hips.  Snug as a second skin, lace panties covered her modesty. 

Those long lithe legs, calves tightened by impractical high heels.  Bewitched by the grace of her movements, she placed a careful hand on the fluted bedpost.  Fingers outstretched, each tipped with a French nail.  Unpinning her hair with a flourish, it fell provocatively to one side and licked her shoulder blades. 

Each gesture rained a hammer blow on my consciousness.  She could never tell me this; it was too incredible to comprehend.  I had to experience this and endure its awe.  She would teach me, and then I felt it, electricity.

“Do you desire me?” low, sultry, she played on her accent.

I choked back my astonishment, “Always.”

In smoky eyeshadow and painted lips half-open, she fixed me with the stare of a hungry tigress.

“What do you see, English?”

“A goddess.”

A faint curl to her lips, “Mon amour, you are very cute, try again.”

There it was, so obvious, “Makeup on the eyes and the mouth.”

“Ah oui, you understand what that means.”  Her hand caressed her breast and down her side, “You understand what that makes me?”

I capitulated instantly, “Yes.”

“You want me like that?”

I swallowed, “Yes.”

“I want to be that for you.”

In a three-quarters pose, her leg bent at the knee caressed the bedpost.  Seamless high cut panties melded to the ovaline curves of her behind.  She revealed the plump cushion of her sex.

“Do you see what I am showing you?”

I nodded.

Her hand disappeared from view.  Moments later, she murmured with pleasure, her eyelids weighted. 

“You awaken this in me like no one else.”

An airless pout, a gasp, the lace contorted and flexed. 

Doing this, she branded my soul; she owned me.  If our rendezvous were asexual and chaste, the long pendulum swung the other way now.  Blood rang in my ears; the towel wrapped tight around me betrayed my need.  Rapt by her masturbatory exhibition, I ached.  The electricity excoriated by body and mind; I was a vessel for her bidding. 

Extracting her hand, its fingertips glistened.  Her tongue lapped at one, she murmured with delight and took it into her mouth.  A smack of her lips, she placed one slow foot in front of another.  I surrendered to her conviction.  I succumbed to her heady perfume and the sweet tang of her confection from that velvet-soft finger.  Pressing her lips to mine, the clasp of her embrace and the cloying kiss deepened instantly.  Her energetic tongue charged muscles and sinew with purpose: her veneration.  She batted my hands away.

Her proud stare looked over me, chin raised, eyes cast downwards; I wanted to beg for more. 

“You have me on your lips now, you are mine.” 

Dumbfounded, I nodded. 

She pulled on the towel; it fell over my feet.  Tracing a wandering pattern over my torso, she surveyed my pleading eyes.  Walking around me, her touch roamed over my shoulders and chest; my overloaded body trembled.

Lost in her gaze, she wiped her thumb over my lips, “Do you remember after the Pantheon when I said I would repay you?”

Her hand reached my abdomen; I flinched, “How… how can I forget, I went to pieces.  It was the way you looked at me.”

Amused, her caress roamed, “You are going to pieces now.  This was what I was really thinking.  It was a little white lie, désolé.  You were so… erm, reticent?”

“Reticen-t.”

“Oui, reticien-t, when I said I would repay you.”

Her fingers eased down the defined valley of my oblique.

“Oh God…” I had to swallow, “It was a strange thing to say.”

“Oui, and I know you understood what I meant.  It was all over your face.  I ached for you that day, I wanted you, and you made me wait.”

“I… I… was not sure you felt that way about me.”

“And you ache now English?”

I nodded, “So much, it hurts.”

“That is how you make me feel,” her hand gauged the weight of my balls.  “You made me climax so many times before you kissed me.”

I gasped, “Oh God…”

Taking me in hand, she stroked it slowly and revelled in my acquiescence. 

“Mmm, so strong, so aroused.  You will worship me when you put this inside.  I will give you much pleasure in return.”

I groaned, “Elodie, do you want me to beg?”

She enjoyed my surrender, “Patience.”

Released, I sighed with frustration, and she backed away.  The brassiere lost all tension; a roll of her shoulders, it fell from her body.  Taut, wide teardrops flared in perfect symmetry from her torso, each capped with an erect nipple.  Hands rested on hips, lips curled at the astonishment on my face. 

Turning to the bed, she sat perched on its edge. 

Her thighs opened, beckoned by a solitary finger, “You know what I want?”

“Yes.”

Kneeling before her, I removed her panties carefully.  Her delicate hand on the back of my head led me there.  That gasp, her first deference to me, I felt inspired.  Every vivid second, every gesture counted, every touch and caress.

Her first effortless climax, and more followed until she shook and cried vehemently.  What started slowly, intensified, from ardour to arduous physicality, from lust, we tended these first signs of love.  An unhurried indulgence of erogenous pleasure, we learned new depths of patience and attentiveness. 

There were no clanging cymbals, that afternoon we left behind the childish things.  An ebb and flow of equals, we explored the possibilities, so deep and unfathomable.  We shared a deeper connection, the meaning of us, no conceit for the familiar, no contempt for the many times before.  Of senses and emotion, the corporeal and the cerebral fused into one carnality.

The cries of pleasure and climax, we did not relent, unable to sate ourselves.  We moved on sheer instinct, writhed, and clashed until exhaustion threatened us.  Undaunted, we skidded in the mire of our exertion, until we looked into each other’s eyes and found what we sought.  A finality, thrashing together at the very end, and she had the last of what I had to give.

We laid there in silence; my eyes open to a sea of white, weightless.

Its physical manifestation all around us, discarded clothes and her lingerie, strewn pillows and crazed bedsheets.  The musk of sex and hot perfume hung in the air.  Warm, listless, and sated, she laid alongside me, her covetous hand on my heart. 

“Did you enjoy that?”

Muted birdsong flowed on the cooling breeze from an open window.  She had every right to her self-congratulation.

“You were incredible, you were in my mind, I felt you there.”

“Mon amour,” she purred, “Me too, this is what we do now.”

“I wanted you to feel desired.  I promised.”

“Mmm, I do,” she paused, “I really do.  Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure.”

“I really like sex.”

“Really?”  I snorted, “I would never have guessed.”

“I do,” and she smacked my chest playfully, “I found that difficult to admit before.”

“Ah… yes, I understand,” more respectful, the context suddenly clear.  “I want you to really like sex.  I really like sex too.”

“I noticed,” Elodie giggled, “I think you might misunderstand me, there is making love and sex.  Erm, maybe we should call it fucking, instead?”

That word from her mouth, it gave me a jolt, “You mean there is a time for making love and a time for fucking?”

“Oui, sometimes I want to be fucked as well.”

“Well, that can be arranged,” I growled, “I might need a little more time to recover, say ten minutes?”

She laughed, “It does not concern you?”

I pulled her close, “Fucking you?  No.  We have something special, really special.  We can make love and fuck, I would not want you to be bored.”

Too docile, without thinking, my words jarred inside. 

“Bored?  Non!  I cannot wait to do this with you, sometimes I have to stop myself thinking about it.  I give you a lot of clues!”

Relieved, I turned to face her.  Her cheeks still flushed, lost in her content expression.  I kissed away my clumsiness.  Recollecting her tears on that fateful Monday lunchtime, she failed, failed to keep him interested.  This was her motivation.

Caressing her face with the back of my hand, “Elodie, trust me, I am not going to turn you down.  You are amazing.  If you want it, take it.  I do that.”

She purred, “I know English, I like it when you take me.  So just now, I took you.”

“And?”

She flashed her eyes, “I adore the power and excitement.  You will not think I am too forward?  You will not think less of me?”

“Absolutely not, and you are a wonderful woman for lots of other reasons too.”

“Que sont-ils?  What are they?  Tell me English.”

The French call it “l'esprit de l'escalier” the frustration of finding the perfect reply after the event. 

We were more than the sum of our physical parts, a kiss invoked emotion, and pleasure enriched our feelings.  The whole of us was more than the sum of all our experiences.  It was too big to imagine, too massive to understand.  I wanted to discover as much as I could and for as long as it took.  Even then, I might not succeed.  An absurdity perhaps but I would never give up.

There was no “l'esprit de l'escalier”.  Elodie was my muse and I painted this picture.  In its imagery my feelings for her and in her eyes, I saw it: a look of adoration.

This carefree exhilaration, the joy, and swirling disco lights; we partied into the early hours.  A celebration for my sister, and we had our reasons too. 

A pivotal day: my sister married, an exciting future, and old ghosts finally laid to rest.  My family took Elodie into their hearts and we promised to come back soon. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Mesmerised by its cadence, the sea rose and fell, soaked into the shore, gone forever.

To win without risk is to triumph without glory. 

Our rendezvous, Bastille Day, the wedding: to risk is to win – or lose.

To lose, it trembled over my soul and made me shudder.  That night at my apartment, just three days after Bastille Day, forced to share our fears and vulnerabilities; we told our stories. 

We entertained them, we thought about it for them.

We shared the truth, we were not victims but duped.  We gave away clues to our sexual desires.

Clues, clues, more clues… 

Both of us, we encouraged our antagonists.  What else did Anne-Pierre reveal to Elodie in their confrontation?  With Gaspar, Elodie entertained the idea of a partouze relationship and hinted about her sexuality ‘in the heat of the moment’.

To save what we had, we opened Pandora’s Box and they polluted its contents.  Blackened by their association, I built a wall of silence around it. 

At the wedding, Elodie was motivated to avoid the mistakes of the past. 

C'est comme ça, there was much to be excited about.  C'est comme ça, nothing or no one could stop us now.  I felt the motive force of my own private motivations too. 

A long sigh cleansed my mind.  I sank my toes into the crumbly sand, sunrays danced on the emerald sea and a distant gull cried. 

Freewheeling, I looked out and lost myself on the pale blue horizon.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Eva’s client left for her commission in Italy.  She invited Eva to look after her house in Sainte Maxime and its resident cat.  This was our favour for a stranger and a friend.

Opening the front door, I placed the suitcases on the tiled floor.  Elodie picked up the envelope addressed to us.

“What does it say?”

She scanned it, “Phone numbers, a reminder to sleep in the guest room, what to feed the cat, there is two thousand francs as a thank you!”

Peering into the open plan ground floor, she was clearly a successful artist, “That is a kind gesture and we are on a bit of budget.  What else does it say?”

“Her home is our home.  Leave the champagne alone,” she giggled, “If we use the car, replace the, erm, essence?  Ah, petrol.”

I walked back to her, Elodie grinned, “The car.”

My heart sank, “Ah yes, the car.”

“You are insured?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Tired, English?” 

The wicked glimmer in her eyes raised an eyebrow, “Again?”

Pinned against the hallway wall, she kissed with intent and grabbed my crotch.

“Oui, again,” with hunger in her eyes, “What happened on the train was not enough.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Fattened wheat blurred in bucolic fields and the banshee wailed.  The flights full, we travelled Train à Grande Vitesse to Sainte Maxime.

She caught my eye, a hint of the wild stared back.  Her knee knocked against mine, her naked foot travelled up my inner thigh.  Amused at my surprise, it found its target, and broadened her smile.

I should not have thought it, someone else tried this; it did not end well.

The train carriage almost empty, no one heard my muted groan, “Elodie…”

Coy, she raised her eyebrow, “Quoi?”

Reclined, the heft of her breasts smoothed in her tight summer dress.  A spaghetti-strap eased off her shoulder.  Flushed, I stifled another gasp.

Before me, a country girl in a hand-me-down dress one size too small.  Preening her blowsy hair, the taunting continued.  Amused, she pressed at my full erection.  Brought to the boil, heat prickled my cheeks, and her foot retreated. 

Standing, she placed the strap back, and flattened down the scant fabric.  The hem at mid-thigh, sculpted to her body, it teased with a hint of cleavage. 

Sat alongside me, her painted lips poised to mark her man again.  Sultry yo-yo eyes did not ask permission, her caress swelled the heat in my loins.  A sticky kiss claimed her possession and quelled my faint protest.  Tugging to open the fly, my stifled alarm ignored, she took me in hand.

Enjoying my struggle, her hot breath on my cheek, “I want you now.”

I eased open the belt and unbuttoned my shorts, “Fuck, keep going.”

Stroking my erection under the table, she bit her bottom lip, and those haughty eyes enjoyed my helplessness. 

She gestured to the carriage doors, “Follow me.”

I remember the metallic taste of anxiety and excitement.  The urgency of the engine matched the pounding drumbeat within.  Watching my guilty glances, left and right, she pulled me in. 

The door clicked shut and the latch threw easily.  My head clasped in her hands and lips pressed to mine.  The lash of her tongue immolated me.  Frantic hands unfastened my shirt buttons, pulled at my belt, and cast my shorts to the floor. 

Onto her knees, I watched her fingers stretch the elastic of my briefs.  It sprang upright, my heavy balls tight.  As if she needed my approval with that feral look in her eyes.  Caressing the angry curve of my shaft, she marked it with a kiss.

Looking up, she kissed it again; it was agony.

“Jesus, Elodie!  What has gotten into you?”

Her hot breath on my naked loins mollified me, “Shush…”

Every word needed to be a whisper.

She looped a lock of recalcitrant hair around her ear.  Engulfed by hot silken urgency, placated by her swirling grip, I groaned loudly, and her hand covered my mouth.  Searing lustful eyes fixed on mine, lips wrapped tight around my girth; she did not relent.  Spiced by danger and her eager attention, the pressure ballooned rapidly. 

Sticky noises followed and the thrum of her moans; the culprit: her craven masturbation.  My primal need surged; this threatened my release.

“Elodie… Woah… Woah… go easy…” I hissed.

With a smack of lips, I groaned in gratitude for her clemency. 

Caressing my tight balls and perineum, “Is that good?” she smirked.

Still gasping, “Yes, if you want me to explode in your mouth.”

Squeezing it, she gauged its strength, “Then you are ready to fuck me.”

That word, I wanted that every time she said it. 

She turned to the wall.  Flicking her long hair over one shoulder, she looked back.  That smouldering look jettisoned any niceties onto the raging fire.  Back curled, flanks tight, she presented her glossy sex framed by that luscious behind.

The ultimate provocation, I growled, “You are not wearing any panties.”

“Non, put it in me.”

The carriage rocked, it rattled the door, and nothing would deter me.  I rubbed the corpulent head up and down her sodden entrance.  My hand on her shoulder for purchase, I pressed it in.  Engulfed in taut heat, the quick stabbing motions stole her breath.

Tightening my grip, she took it to the hilt.

“Oof, you are very hard.”

I drove faster, “You are very wet.”

The rewards of that wet friction destroyed my self-control.  Urgent, maddened by the situation, Elodie rasped between breaths for more.  Sticky sounds and syrupy heat, I fucked her for those pulses of pleasure.

Pulling on her waist, my eagerness swayed her breasts and my full length sawed into her. 

“Oui, plus vite, mon dieu…. mon dieu…”

Rapid whimpers stiffened into cries, my turn to cover her mouth.  We caught our reflection in the mirror; like animals do it without finesse.  Her wanton eyes met mine and she sucked on my fingers.  The insinuation rocketed through me and propelled my hips.  The cushion of her behind met these stout thrusts.  Impaled to the hilt, her muted cries of pleasure intensified.  We clattered together and it rose over the white noise.  It would be too loud, this need for climax. 

Withdrawing, I took charge and perched her on the sink pedestal.

“Stay there.”

Opening her legs, she took my shaft, “Watch it slide into me.”

Breeching her glossy vulva, I gasped as the savage heat enveloped my girth.  She pulled on my chin, her upturned eyes heavy with need.  Sliding in and out, I took her hand and led it to her sex. 

“Touch yourself.”

She gasped, “Putain.”

Each movement of my hands, my lips, and my thick girth, all conspired to create ecstasy.  Pulling her in tight, the frenzy built.  The heat stirred her everyday perfume and I defiled the pretty office girl.  I sullied her and her wanton body soaked me with her essence. 

“Putain, fuck me, fuck me harder.”

Blunt heels kicked back; I bucked vigorously, it lifted her from her perch.  As one, we found a faster rhythm, born of necessity and she demanded more.  The swirl of her tongue in my mouth, her insistent fingers plucked at my nipple.  My heart thumped out the cadence of my thrusts. 

We kissed deeply until we suffocated for air.  The first hot twinge of relief echoed in the distance.  I took her hair in my hand, pulled, and plastered kisses on her neck.  I pawed her breast and scissored its hard nipple.  More lunges, her body quaked in my animal grasp.  Her feverish hand between her legs quickened.  She cried out and we stifled it with another heady kiss.  She groaned and tensed; her sex squeezed my swollen shaft.

“Prends ton orgasme …” I growled and pounded the breath from her.

“Putain… oui… oui…”

She bit on my clothed shoulder, pain fused with lust.  I hammered desperately at the zenith of arousal.

“Maintenant Elodie….”

She croaked and from the legs, shudders telegraphed through her body.  The notion of her climax inspired mine.  The descent, running with abandon, it would not halt.  Convulsing, she muffled her cries with bared teeth into my shoulder. 

Tying up at the edge of release, my mechanical shoves tightened her embrace, clinging to life itself.  Her little death milked my life-giving seed.  The first pulse pushed me up to the hilt, I wanted to roar, I could not.  It ran away, pulsated fast, and outpaced my thrusts.  Petering out, I kept going as my climax faded.  With one final thrust, we went limp.

The warm glow of relief quelled my base instincts; I slumped.  Hot, dishevelled, and breathless; we gazed into each other’s eyes.  I needed to know and with a tender kiss, the woman I worshipped was still there.

“Mon dieu…” she panted.

I tried to catch my breath, “That was intense.”

She pulled me to her, we hugged, “That is what I wanted.”

“Good,” I panted, “now I know.”

A cold reality sank in: we lost all track of time.

I kissed her again, “We should get back to our seats.”

Untangled, she giggled as we dressed ourselves.  We gazed into the mirror, our faces flushed, clothes crumpled, obvious what we had done.

I smiled, “You can do that to me anytime.”

She purred; the cat that got the cream, “Mmm, you were so powerful.  I am going to feel you all the way to Sainte Maxime.”

Smiling, I kissed her again, and reached for the door, “I’ll check outside, see if the coast is clear.”

“If it is not?”

“I will make something up... a nose bleed.  Grab some tissue just in case.”

“A nose bleed that sounded like wild fucking,” she giggled. “English?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I do need some tissues.  What you put inside me is running down my leg.”

My shock made her laugh.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Turning into the breeze, I brought my knees up and embraced them.  Under the shade of the parasol, strong pangs of arousal surged through my body.  This situation, too many recollections, my resolve mortally weakened.

Glancing at my book, speckled in salt and pepper sand, I picked it up and thought better of it again.  We shared a smile, maybe she could sense my introspection, and plonked her straw fedora on my head.

“What is it English?”

I sighed, “I was thinking about you.”

“Really?”

I nodded, “Yes.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“I am always happy when I think about you.”

Returning to her book, I twisted my head to read the cover, I remembered it from her apartment: the night of the Gallery event.

“Anais Nin?  You brought that from home.  What is it about?”

Putting it down, she lifted her sunglasses, “The Delta of Venus?  It is short stories.”

“Oh?  Any good?”

“Oui, very erotic…”

“Erotic?”

“Oui,” she purred and flashed her eyes, “très érotique.  They are wonderful for the imagination.”

“Oh really?” my fingers eased around the curve of her breast, “Wonderful enough to turn them into reality?”

That curl on her lips, a wry smile, “But English, you have not read the book, how would you know it was what you desired?”

The back of her hand on my thigh put her thoughts into action.

“Maybe I should read it after you.  Then we could share what we liked.”

She leered, “Peut-être.  But it is in French, so maybe I should read them to you?”

“Perhaps,” we shared that familiar look, “Just when I think I know you, up pops a surprise.”

Her fingers eased higher, “Is this going to ‘pop’ up soon too?”

Wary of our situation, still, I rolled with it, “If you keeping doing that, even here.”

“English,” she giggled, “How naughty!  Now, I like this story, if you excuse me.”

“Of course,” I withdrew my fingers.

“I might share this story with you.”  The leer on her face disappeared as she raised her book.

I laughed, tinged with relief.

Reaching for the water bottle, I took some in.  In our exchange laid the answer I sought. 

That book was always there.  Her confidence was always there, we only scratched the surface together.  Unafraid, unapologetic, Elodie was capable of exerting the gifts of her intellect and beauty.  We existed in the emotions experienced by all of our senses.  She made complex demands of me, and often, I felt like I would fail.  In the smallest gesture and the munificence of her smile, she encouraged me to continue.  She inspired me with the courage of her femininity: in the demure and her pursuits.  In that gap existed my purpose, the courage to be her provocateur or her quarry. 

Banishing my ghost, they were not alike; they were completely alien to each other.

I looked back, to where I started, to where I was now.  It was a tortuous path of small tentative steps.  I should look forward in the same way.

One clue at a time: new ones, not old.

I would not ignore them when they arose.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was her idea, a day at a new beach, remote and quiet.  It required the car, some distance from Sainte Maxime.

As I feared, the car, a Deux Chevaux, was my new nemesis.  It did not start, the battery was flat, and I had to use the starter handle.  I checked it over; all seemed fine.  Weary looking, it did not inspire confidence.  Ruthlessly utilitarian, the gear change was a lottery, the engine anaemic, with an out-at-sea quality to the ride. 

We made steady progress; with the roof rolled back and my passenger, there were compensations.

“Elodie, which way now?”

Peering down at the dog-eared map book, she traced a line with her finger.

“Stay on this road and follow the signs to Saint Raphael.”

Eva was right: Sainte Maxime was beautiful.  The inspiration for many famous artists, picturesque lanes lined with trees and pastel stucco buildings.  Beaches scattered along the coastal road and the house up the headland, away from the bustle. 

At first, we unwound, long lie-ins, and loafed at lunch.  In the evening, we ventured out for dinner, or cooked for ourselves for an evening in the garden.  Eventually, the cat warmed to us too.

The time in-between, we lazed on one of the beaches, sunbathing and a good book.  On the beach à la française, Elodie went topless.  I did not mind despite the obvious distraction, pleasant as it was.  At the house, the garden was a hidden suntrap; it was her idea: we sunbathed naked with predictable consequences.

All the sleep and sea air, the sun and free time together, sexual tension crackled under the surface.  Tactile displays of affection, innuendo, and silent exchanges fuelled our voracious appetite.  We succumbed easily and worked on christening every room.  There were many rooms.

We shared every minute of every day, content in silence or conversation.  It was easy to fool myself: to imagine what it might be like to live together.

“Turn right here,” Elodie thrust out a finger, “There, where the blue car went.”

Snatching a quick glance at the coast, the sea sparkled in the bright sunlight.  The long expansive beach stretched out, full of sizzling holidaymakers.

“Looks busy.”

“Not where we are going,” Elodie giggled.

“I hope Eva is right.  I thought she would be the last person to find on a beach though.”

“People are full of surprises.”

The crowds thinned out, we continued down the road and it narrowed, obscured by more and more sand.

“I think we can park anywhere here.”  Looking around, she pointed, “There, a few cars parked there.”

The distance we travelled seemed excessive for a different beach.  I thought one was much the same as another.  

Until I saw the sign:  Zone Naturisme.

The naturist section of the beach.

“Are you okay English?  You look worried.”

I deflected it, “Just how did Eva know about this beach?”

“That is girl talk.  You do not want to do this?  We can turn around.”

My deflection failed and her aloof tone provoked me, “Well, we are here now.”

She giggled, “You did enjoy sunbathing naked.”

“In the garden.”

Easing into the lay-by, I relented to my curiosity, “Okay, okay, you win…”

She laughed.

I smiled sheepishly as old memories awakened.  My devil-may-care attitude roused the spectre of old liaisons lurked to the fore. 

Parked, her door opened.  In front of the car, she eschewed her bikini.  Veiled by a macramé dress, its lattice of thick cotton strands covered her breasts.  Underneath that, a curtain of chunky cords provided tantalising glimpses.  Hand on her hip, legs slightly apart, she posed with a pout in her lips.

Smiling nervously, she approached. 

Peering into the car, the dress hung down, and exposed her tanned breasts. 

She grinned when my wayward eyes returned, “Do not forget the parasol.”

“Have you done this before?”  I needed to know.

“Non,” with a coy expression, “I have always wanted to, you?”

Admiring her breasts again, vacantly, I nodded my head.

“I dare you to strip off now, English.”

“Elodie!”

I did to prove I could, and deep down, I wanted to.