Since I used to live in the south of France, you might even find some tourist information in this story, should you ever visit.

Arriving and in the forest

She flew into Nice airport. It was June, the best time of year to be on the Cote d’Azur. The weather was hot, but the hordes of tourists who would make the area unbearable in July and August had not arrived. He had told her to get a window seat on the left of the plane, like 10A, since the plane flew down the Rhone valley before turning left over the Mediterranean and flying along the coast with a view of all the cities near San Tropez, before crossing the red rock of the Esterel to the line of famous cities: Cannes, Juan-les-pins, Antibes, Cagnes, Villeneuve-Loubet, before landing at Nice airport to the west of Nice.

She had gone to the airport straight from work. What was appropriate for a cloudy day at work in the office in London felt out of place and much too hot for a sunny day on holiday on the Mediterranean. The plane had been a strange mixture of people in business suits commuting between London and Nice, bored with the flight that they made all too often, along with holidaymakers, many of whom appeared never to have been on a plane before. She blended in with the businesspeople but felt more attuned to the holidaymakers. She hadn’t thought to put a change of clothes in her carry-on bag so she couldn’t transform from businesswoman to holidaymaker during the flight. The best she could do was to go to the toilet on the plane and take her stockings off, and then take her bra off, enjoying the feel of her nipples swaying against the silk of her blouse.

He had been there on business for a couple of days so he would be waiting for her at the airport. Arrangements at Nice airport were pretty relaxed and so suddenly he was there before she had even begun to look for him, since she had not yet cleared customs.

“Hi”, he said, kissing her chastely. He was pleased to see her smiling face.

He put his arm around her, his finger sneakily brushing on the edge of her breast. He guided her to the baggage claim area with the knowledge of someone who had been in this airport hundreds of times before. They exchanged a few pleasantries, wanting to be alone so that they could say what they really wanted. In no time at all he was carrying her suitcase out, with her arm around his waist, her hand resting on his hip, just like so many other couples meeting at the airport: husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends, maybe more people like them for whom there didn’t seem a easy description.

They went outside the airport. She was almost blinded by the bright sun, the famous light of Provence that had drawn artists over the years from all over Europe. He took her down into the car park to his rental car and a few minutes later they were on the Route du bord de mer toward Antibes where they would be staying. As he drove, he put his hand on her leg, feeling the outline of her knee, sliding up to stroke the inside of her thigh. She parted her legs willing his hand higher, wondering if she should have taken all her underwear off, not just her bra. But his hand stayed on the smooth skin of her thigh, enjoying the closeness of the moment.

“I’ll take you for a short walk and lunch in the shade of the forest”, he said.

“But I need to go to the hotel to change first”, she complained.

“We can solve that easily enough”, he replied, as he pulled the car off onto a small road into the Forêt de la Valmasque. He parked in a small parking area where they were the only car. She flashed back to a story she had sent him and wondered if he was going to tie her up and then undress her. They had put so many ideas into each other’s heads that she wasn’t sure quite how wild things might get, which fantasies she really wanted to live out for real. But reaching over to the back he pulled out a bag and gave it to her.

“What is it?”, she asked.

“It is a Provençale skirt”, he said, “the traditional dress from round here”. She pulled out the skirt, cotton printed in the traditional reds, yellows and greens of Provence, seemingly made from yards of material and gathered at an elasticated waist. She was going to try to put it on in the cramped confines of the car, but since there was noone around it was easier to open the door, stand up, slip out of her business skirt and pull the provençale skirt up around her waist. The cotton felt cool on her legs, and the full skirt felt much more comfortable than the tighter business skirt she had just taken off.

“There is a condition”, he said. “It is not traditional at all, but when you wear this skirt you mustn’t wear underwear. That way when you wear it it will remind you of me”.

“It will remind me of you every time I wear it anyway”, she replied. But she reached up under the skirt, pulled down her pants, kicked them off and tossed them to him.

He then gave her a plain white top. She unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, standing there topless, aware of his eyes on her breasts, aware of her nipples hardening in the coolness of the shade and the excitement of the moment. She pulled the top on over her head and adjusted it. The dark outline of her nipples showed through, pushing the material out into small points. She sat back down in the car. He leant over and kissed her, their tongues playing with each other. He felt his hand stroking her nipples lightly. The kiss and the clothes seemed to mark the transition to really being on holiday with him for a few days. She was amazed how aroused a single kiss had made her. She was ready to take her clothes off and make love to him despite it being broad daylight about 10 yards from a road.

He got out of the car, came round and opened her door. He produced a bag with some fresh bread, some cheese and a bottle of wine. They walked off along a path into the forest, his arm around her, his thumb inside the elastic of her waistband stroking the top of her buttock. He was just across the dividing line beyond which he was the only person to have touched her for a long time, making it seem somehow an incredibly intimate act.

They walked about a mile or so to a clearing where they sat down. He opened the wine and they each had a glass. She was not very hungry, either from picking at the food on the plane or from her arousal stimulating other appetites. As he lay on his back on the grass, she came over and knelt straddling him, pulling the material of her skirt out of the way, feeling the roughness of his trousers against the softness of her body underneath. She leant forward and kissed him, pressing her breasts into his chest. He put his arms around her. It was a perfect moment, outdoors in the sunshine with her unexpected love, a million miles from London, work, family, a million miles from real life. He felt the same, feeling lucky that he had found someone so special.

She sat up. She could feel his erection against her. She reached down under her skirt, undid the button on his trousers and pushed down his zip. To her surprise he had no pants on.

“That’s rather presumptuous”, she joked, stroking him lightly, enjoying feeling his hardness. She slid forward, positioned him between the wetness of her lips and pushed down. He was surprised at the way that he suddenly found himself inside her. She rocked back and forth, enjoying the feel of him, enjoying the way her clit pressed against him.

Suddenly they heard voices and a man and a woman came along the path. She was about to roll off him when he held her in place.

“Your skirt hides everything”, he said, “Just stay there”.

She sat almost motionless, moving against him almost imperceptibly, squeezing him inside her body.

“Bonjour”, the man said. “Il fait très beau aujourd’hui”

“Oui”, he replied, “c’est la meillure journée de l’été”

She felt a bit odd, her confidence in her rusty french not quite up to joining in the conversation, along with the weirdness of having a conversation with a total stranger at the same time as having sex. She was surprised that how exciting she found it.

The couple walked on by. He slid his hand under the skirt and slid a finger onto her clit, moving it in slow circles, feeling the tension in her rising, feeling her tremble as she came close to coming. She started to rock on him more aggressively now, hearing his breathing getting heavier, not even stopping as she came. Soon he was coming too, a big smile on his face. She felt the change in lubrication inside her but she wasn’t in any doubt anyway. She leant forward to kiss him, trapping his arm between their bodies. But his finger continued to roll on her clit and in a moment, as they kissed, she was coming again.

They lay there in the sun for a few minutes. Then she got up off him, bent down and zipped him up.

“Very practical for sex, wearing no underwear”, she joked.

“Until my donation runs back down your thigh”, he said.

“Well, as Oscar Wilde wouldn’t have said, if there is one thing worse than juices running down your thigh it is not having any to run down in the first place!”.

They walked back to the car, hand in hand. Soon they were driving up to the hotel and he was carrying in her suitcase. He had been there already for a couple of days so it was not even necessary to check in.

In the hotel and Antibes

In the room they put their arms around each other and just stood there, their bodies pressing against each other. He pulled her top over her head, bent down and kissed her breasts, pressing her nipples against his teeth with his tongue, feeling them hard like small pebbles. He left her for a moment, turned the taps on the bath and came back. He kissed her again as his hands pushed her skirt over her hips letting it fall to the floor. She stood there naked. She unbuttoned his shirt, stroked his chest and kissed his nipples. She kissed him, pressing her naked breasts against his chest. She unbuttoned his trousers again, and he pushed them down and kicked them off.

He put her into the bath and taking the soap he gently washed her body all over. Then he took the shower head and ran his fingers through her hair as he flowed lukewarm water over her head. Taking a little shampoo he worked it into her hair vigorously. She found having her hair washed by someone else a sensuous experience.

“What about my pubic hair? It might need washing too”.

“I was thinking of shaving it off”, he said. “But not now, it would take too long and I have more immediate plans”.

She stood up in the bath. He leant forward and she felt his tongue push into the crease below her belly, slipping between her lips, finding her clitoris, enjoying the taste of her. He moved the shower head so that water was playing on her belly, running between her legs, over his tongue. She lifted up one leg and put it on the side of the bath, opening herself up to him. He reached out a thumb and pulled back the hood so that her clitoris was exposed directly to his tongue. She loved the feel of his tongue, the feel of the water, the feel of her body responding.

But she realized she was being a bit selfish. She stepped out of the bath and took the shower head from him. He stepped in and she played the water over his shoulders, letting it run down across his body. She washed him all over, and while with one hand she let the water run down his back she took him into her mouth, her other hand stroking his balls. She could feel that he was getting close but she didn’t want him to come in her mouth, she wanted him between her legs. She turned off the taps, patted him dry, dried herself and walked out into the bedroom.

She knelt on the edge of the bed, her back to him, her legs apart, and slowly she lowered her head to the bed, presenting to him like a mare to a stallion. He looked at the pinkness of her generous lips framed by her smooth tanned thighs and the whiteness of the cheeks of her bottom. He stepped forward and placed himself at the opening of her vagina. She pushed back slowly as he pushed forward, rocking back and forth, first an inch at a time, then two, until slowly, ever so slowly, he was completely in her, each stroke almost leaving her completely before pushing back deeply into her, his belly pushing against her buttocks. They stayed there for some time, she kneeling on the bed, him standing on the floor, slowly making love. She could feel the slow buildup inside her. She thought she would have come already but instead she just seemed to build up to an even higher level. She wanted it to go on for ever and then she went over the top and was coming, an orgasm that seemed to take control of her entire body down to the tips of her toes. He didn’t stop, but he just kept thrusting into her, a little faster now as his excitement increased.

“I love sex like this”, she managed to say. “I wish you could go on all evening”.

“We have a dinner reservation, but I could always cancel it”, he quipped, “but luckily it is 2 hours away”.

She lay flatter onto the bed as he moved up so he was almost lying on her back, the position forcing him strongly against the front of her vagina.

“Mmm”, she said, “that feels especially good”.

They lay rocking against each other. She was surprised how gentle he could be with her. He could hear his breathing getting shorter, but still he just kept moving slowly inside her. She felt his hips twitch a little, which was almost the only sign that she had that he was coming inside her.

“I love you”, she whispered, totally surprised at herself, not even sure if it was true.

“When I told you not to get too fond of me”, he said, “I didn’t expect to get too fond of you myself”.

They rolled under the covers and in a few moments they were asleep in each other’s arms.

When he woke up it had gone dark. He looked at the clock on the TV and saw that it was only 3/4 hour until their dinner reservation. He pulled back the covers and started to tickle one of her nipples with his tongue. The lack of covers and the sudden attention woke her up.

“Mmm, that’s a nice alarm clock”, she said. “My one at home never has that effect on my breasts”.

They got up and got dressed. She was going to wear something that she had brought with her, but at the last minute she decided to keep wearing her new provençale skirt.

“I think you brought too much underwear if you are going to wear that all the time”, he said.

They left the hotel and walked into the old town. The streets were full of tables and chairs, where every summer the restaurants exploded onto the pavements. But they went past all those, “too touristy” he complained.

“How does it feel to be walking around Antibes with no underwear on?”, he asked.

“It is odd. In one sense it feels quite natural. In another, it feels as if everyone can tell somehow just by looking at me. Sort of wicked, really.”

“Will you shave me tomorrow?”, she continued, “I want to feel even more naughty and walk around tomorrow with no hair as well as no underwear. I even brought razors and everything from London”.

They went up a hill before ducking down a small side-street, a most unlikely place for a restaurant, especially for one that he would consider appropriate for this first dinner together after a long break.

“I thought of taking you to one of the fanciest restaurants in the area, meaning one of the best restaurants in France, the world really. But I decided we could do that tomorrow night. Tonight I am taking you to a tiny local restaurant”.

They walked past a couple of restaurants, almost deserted. Pushing open the door to another unexceptional looking restaurant they stepped inside. The restaurant was packed, there were people standing waiting for tables, waiters were pushing past them. A roaring wood fire burned at the back of the restaurant where some of the food was clearly cooked.

They were soon seated at a table. Before they were even seated he was ordering something.

“Un pichet de rosé et un socca”

“You will like socca”, he said. “It is made from chick-pea flour mixed with water and then baked in a thin copper pan in a wood-fired oven with a little olive oil, a cross between a pizza base and a pancake. It is the traditional lunch for poor working men in Nice, filling and cheap. Although you don’t see it very much any more. You can actually make it at home in a frying pan like a pancake, although it never comes out completely right. You can get chick-pea flour at Indian stores, where it is some sort of daal”.

The waiter brought a jug of the local rose wine, and a plate of socca cut up into triangles. She tasted it. He was right, it was good. The hot socca went well with the cold rose.

“It is all provençale food here. The fish is always local and very fresh. I recommend sardines, especially if you have only ever had them in tins. And soupe de poissons, fish soup, which is excellent. It is served with french bread croutons and a sort of spicy sauce called rouille, which is the french word for rust, presumably based on the orange color. Everyone has heard of bouillabaisse which is just fish soup with other fish added to it at the end, and a price of about 10 times as much”.

“Why don’t you choose for me and just let me check that you haven’t ordered something that I know I will hate”, she said.

Soon they were eating a meal of fish soup, stuffed courgette flowers, a local fish that he didn’t know the english for cooked in the wood-fired oven. Not to mention more wine.

He paid the bill. She was surprised how cheap it had been. A couple of hours later they walked out into the street. It was still warm even though it was 11 at night.

“That was one of the best meals I can remember”, she said.

“It takes two to have a good meal, like good sex”, he replied. “It is not just the food, it is the company, the atmosphere, the moment”.

They walked down towards the port, full of a mixture of working small fishing boats, small cruisers and millionaire yachts. Suddenly he ducked through an archway in the stone wall and they were on a small beach, the waves lapping a few feet away.

“In summer tourists stand on the city wall over there looking down here and wondering how you get to it”.

They sat down, and he put his arm around her. They kissed, his tongue languorously tickling hers, running over her teeth, exploring her. She felt his hand slip inside the waist of her skirt, stroking her thighs. She moved her legs apart. His hand slipped through the soft down of her pubic hair, she felt a finger slipping inside her wetness, his thumb coming to rest lightly on her clit.

“I’ve really missed sex since you last went away”, she said. “Masturbation just doesn’t have the same intimacy, same excitement. It is more like scratching an itch, although I must admit the little vibe you gave me is a pretty good scratcher. But it is much more fun to scratch each other’s itches”.

She could see people walking along the walls about 50 yards away, under the streetlights. She realized that though they would be clearly visible to anyone on the walls that no-one could really see what they were doing in the darkness. As she came, she thought that probably she had never had an orgasm in front of so many people.

“I want to have you right now”, she said, “but it would be a bit too obvious with our audience on the walls”.

“Well you chose the right person because luckily I want to be had. Let’s go back to the hotel and you can have your wish”.

Gourdon and Grasse

They walked back to the hotel and once in the room they undressed each other slowly and lay down on the bed. Wearing just a blouse, a skirt and some sandals certainly made undressing (or being undressed) simple. He closed the shutters and opened the windows so that they lay there in the warm summer air, feeling the slight breeze coming off the sea.

They lay on their sides on the bed, cuddling, her legs wrapped around his body. She could feel his erection slipping across her lips. They kissed. He tickled her nipples until they were like little pebbles. She moved her body so that instead of sliding over her lips he slipped between them into her. He loved the feel of penetration, the slight pressure as he entered, her tightness, especially so after the problems he had had their first night together. She rolled him onto his back and took control. She lay with her breasts crushed into his chest, moving her hips up and down slowly, enjoying the feel of him almost leaving her before taking the whole length back inside. It felt like she was giving her special friend a special present, slowly fucking him while she kissed him. She kept going, listening to him build up until he came.

“Stay inside me”, she whispered. And she lay there on his sweaty body, feeling him shrink inside her. Normally she would feel frustrated that she had not come but she just felt completely content. Eventually she was almost asleep when she felt him gently roll her to one side and pull the sheet over her.

“Goodnight”, he said, kissing her lightly on the lips.

The next morning the sun was bright and streaming through the shutters. He went out to the bathroom and came back with a pair of scissors.

He put a towel underneath her and she spread her legs. He took the pair of sharp nail scissors and trimmed the triangle of her hair close to the skin. Next she could feel him snipping the hair on her lips too. Then she heard the squirt of shaving foam and felt his fingers gently massaging it into the stubble below her navel, and then into her lips. In the lubricated foam his fingers slipped easily into the creases of her body, the foam tingling slightly on her lips. As she lay there with her eyes shut she heard him go to the bathroom and run a cup of hot water. She felt the razor, hot from the water, slide through the foam leaving what she assumed was a trail of smooth skin. His fingers gently pushed her lips this way and that, holding them firmly so that the razor slid smoothly through her hair rather than snagging and nicking her. She felt him pat her dry, and then go and put everything in the bathroom. He came back and she felt some warm oil being massaged into the newly shaved areas. She could smell it now, olive oil, so appropriate for the south of France she though. He continued to rub the oil into her lips, spreading it to the top of her thighs, over her stomach, pushing a finger back underneath her into the crease of her bottom, giving a sort of anal massage.

She felt his tongue on her thigh, kissing and licking her skin, slick with olive oil. He worked his way up until he was licking her outer lips, pushing them against his teeth with his tongue. She wanted him on her clit at once but he was deliberately taking his time. It felt nice feeling his tongue on her smooth hairless lips. Then his tongue was between her lips, darting into her vagina, tickling her arsehole, anywhere but her clit, which felt like a small hard pearl to her. She felt him pull the hood up off her clit and she lay there in anticipation. Finally she felt the tip of his tongue, moving slowly and lightly on her clit, gradually moving more and pressing harder. She felt her orgasm build within her, his tongue moving in a random pattern on her clit driving her over the hill. But he did not stop and in a few minutes later she was coming again.

She sat up. Looking around she saw the small bottle of olive oil, poured some onto her hands and slid them over his erection, sliding a hand around to coat his balls too. She slid her hand up and down his shaft, enjoying the feel of his hardness and the feel of the oil. Then she bent down and took the head into her mouth, tickling it with her tongue.

“Where is the most sensitive part of you?”, she murmured.

“Well, the triangle of skin just below the head which has some funny name like frenulum is easily the most sensitive. If I am really aroused already I can actually make myself come just by massaging that bit between my fingers. And it is always a very special orgasm like that”.

She moved her tongue there. His moan told her that she was in the right place. She moved her hands so that her fingers were holding the base of his penis, and her mouth moved up and down taking the head into the back of her throat, her tongue fluttering on him on each stroke. She could tell from his breathing that he was nearly coming. She squeezed him tighter with her lips, pushed a bit harder on him with her tongue. His breathing got heavier too and then he was coming. She could feel his body buck under her, taste the warm jets spurting into her mouth, hear his orgasm.

“I think oral sex gives the best orgasms”, he said. “It builds up so slowly, and to such a high level, that you think you will never come and then somehow the orgasm builds from deep inside”.

They got up and got dressed. They were going to drive to Gourdon that day, an old village high up on the top of the cliffs above the Gorges du Loup. On the way they stopped at a little cafe and had coffee and a croissant sitting outside in the sunshine watching the world go by for fifteen minutes.

On the road up to Gourdon she pulled up her skirt around her waist. He looked over at her. Shaved, she was blatantly sexy. He could see the swell of her sex where her pubic triangle had been, see her outer lips, pale and white, with the pink inner lips between. She opened her legs and with one finger started slowly to masturbate.

“Do you want me to stroke you while you drive?”, she asked, continuing to stroke herself, enjoying the show that she was putting on.

“No, on this windy road I think coming would mean driving off the road. Sort of coming and going at the same time”.

Soon they were at Gourdon, high above the valley. They wondered around the village looking at the shops, and then went to a restaurant with an outdoor terrace for lunch. He ordered an omelette fines herbes and frites for them both, and they sat out in the sunshine. Every so often they would hear the noise of a plane taking off and look down to Nice Airport to see the plane already in the air, the sound so delayed from the fifteen miles or so that they were from the runway.

After lunch, they went back down to Grasse. It was and to some extent still is the centre of the world’s perfume industry. They went on a touristy tour of one of the parfumeries, where they were shown how jasmine petals would be laid out on beef fat on frames of wood and glass, the petals changed every day for weeks until the fat became infused with the essence, which would then be separated from the fat with alcohol. He told her that his living room had a frame like that hanging on the wall with a display of pressed flowers in. Despite the way that the tour guides implied that this was how things were done today, the frames were no longer used and thousands of them were available in local junk stores. He told her that one of the houses that he had lived in was on a field where jasmine was grown, before artificial jasmine had been invented and the economics shifted to making perfume without real flowers.

They went back down to Antibes. The weather was a bit cooler now with the sun lower in the sky. They put on their swimsuits and went to a beach over near the Esterel, away from the tourist crowds. They swam out from the beach in the warm water. The Mediterranean was more like a lake than an ocean, almost tideless, saltier than an ocean due to the evaporation. They watched the last other people leave the beach as the shadows started to encroach. They stood in the water and he kissed her. He took off the top of her bikini “It’s traditional in the south of France” and kissed her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed down his trunks slightly. She felt his hand pull the gusset of her bikini bottom to one side and she could feel his erection against her. He put his arms around her waist and she leaned back, feeling him enter her. It felt different in the water. Inside her it felt normal but near the opening to her vagina her juices were washed away by the sea and so there was much less lubrication that normal. A bit like having sex before her period was completely over, she thought, but then decided it was totally different to that. The sea water supported her body, so that it was easy for him to hold her weight and move her body. The warm water made it very exciting, the reduced lubrication meant that her lips were pulled more strongly as he slid in and out, pulling more than normal on her clit. Out of the water it would not have been enough, but to her surprise she was soon coming. He moved his hands under her bottom and lifted her up and down, harder now. In a moment he was coming too. He kissed her and surprised her by pushing her under the water at the same time, keeping his tongue in her mouth, continuing to kiss her under the sea. Then they swam back to the beach, put on some warmer clothes and walked up the footpath to where they had parked.

That night they were going to Chauntecleer for dinner. It was the restaurant in the Negresco hotel, perhaps the most famous hotel in Nice with its pink domes. They went back to their hotel and put smarter clothes on. They had a drink in a local bar he took her too. He insisted that she drink Pastis, the drink synonymous with the south of France. He added cool water to the golden coloured Pastis, making the magical transformation whereby it turned milky white. They sat there in the last of the daylight sipping their anise-flavoured drinks.

The restaurant was one of the best in France, the dining room was decorated with original Picassos. He told her of anther restaurant in St Paul de Vence where Picasso, Chagal and others had lived before they were famous. They had paid their restaurant bills with pictures that are still on the walls, worth millions today of course. The food was exquisitely prepared, the service impeccable. The sommelier brought the wine but instead of offering it to taste, he used a shallow silver cup around his neck on a chain to taste it himself. Afterwards they walked out onto the road along the sea-front, the Promenade des Anglais.

Back at the hotel they tumbled into bed. They cuddled briefly before falling asleep, their bodies and limbs intertwined. In the morning she realized that it was the first night that they had been together and not had sex. Not that they were lacking it, just that it seemed like a significant event. At least they weren’t yet on to reading in bed.

Ly

The next morning he woke her up early and made her put her running gear on. They drove back to the forêt de la Valmasque and ran around a trail through the forest, marked by yellow flashes on the trees. Even in the cool of the forest they were soon sweating, the undulating narrow path harder work than in looked, especially the final section back to the car park. She ran ahead of him, being the stronger runner, the marks on the trees showing the way even though she had never been there before. He ran behind admiring her strength and stamina, occasionally catching up and stroking her bottom. They were just passing some bushes before the car park when he spotted something lying under a bush. It was a wallet. No money inside, of course, but credit cards and a french driver’s license. Ly Ngyun, it said. He told her that it sounded Vietnamese. He found a phone number in the wallet and, back at the hotel, called the woman. She was ecstatic to get everything back. The money was always the least of the problems when losing a wallet, replacing the papers, canceling cards and so on was much more of a problem. She arranged to come to the hotel to pick it up and insisted on treating them to lunch.

They had lunch together. Salade Niçoise, something that she couldn’t go to Nice and not have for real.

Ly was indeed Vietnamese, looking almost 10 years younger than the age of 26 that he knew from things in her wallet, small in stature and build. Oriental women always seem to look younger than their years, at least until they start to go grey. After lunch, since it was so hot, they all went for a swim in the hotel pool to cool off. Ly came back to their room briefly to change out of her wet costume before going back to her apartment. He went to the hotel reception to pick up a fax from California and the two women went back to the room. Both women peeled off their swimsuits. Ly had small breasts with large dark nipples and sparse pubic hair, black of course. But Ly was fascinated by her perfectly smooth shaved crotch.

“I’ve never seen anyone shaved like that.”, Ly said, “Does it feel different?”

“Mmm, especially for oral sex”, she replied.

“Can I see?”, Ly said.

Ly reached out a hand to touch her naked lips, like a child inspecting something they had never seen before. She had never been touched like that by a woman, and it seemed strangely exciting. She moved her feet apart, almost daring Ly to go further. Ly pulled the lip to one side, and she felt self-conscious about the eyes on her inner lips, on her clit. She could feel her clit stiffen at the sexual tension in the air. Ly slid her finger down between her lips, over her clit – Ly had to notice how hard it was – down deeper. She stepped back but the bed was just behind her knees so she fell backwards sprawled onto the bed. Ly slid onto the bed beside her too.

“What was that about oral sex?”, Ly said, placing her tongue in her navel.

“I’ve never done this with a woman”, she said quietly.

“It is better – we know what is best”, Ly replied. Ly slid her tongue up until she was lightly licking the areas around her nipples, before nibbling lightly on their hardness. The she slid down across her navel again, down into her valley until it came to rest lightly on her clit. She was slightly surprised that she found this wildly exciting, something she wanted to continue rather than stop. Ly moved her body so that she lay alongside her, head to foot or rather head to crotch. She reached out and touched Ly’s lips. She had never touched a woman like that either. She was feeling daring, having got this far, and slid her tongue down across the sparse pubic hair, her fingers holding Ly gently open. Ly tasted different from her own juices, saltier. In no time they were both licking each other furiously, murmuring with delight. She rolled over so that she was straddling Ly’s face, her own face buried between Ly’s thighs exploring the folds of her womanhood.

He came back into the room at this point, astounded at the scene before him. The two women carried on, knowing he was there but also ignoring him. She felt him penetrate her from behind, the odd sensation of having a penis inside her at the same time as someone else was licking her clit. Almost immediately she came from the licking, the thrusting, the excitement from the new treats under her tongue.

He withdrew from her and went to the other side of the bed. Pushing her head up so that she was upright he kissed her deeply. She reached down for his penis and pulled it gently, guiding it into Ly’s vagina, hearing her gasp as he entered. Ly continued to lick her clit as she squatted over Ly’s face, moaning as he slowly slipped in and out. She would have expected to feel something like jealousy watching her lover have sex with another woman, but she was surprised that she just found it arousing, kissing him as he did it, feeling his orgasm build along with hers and Ly’s. In a wonderful melee of sweating and panting the three of them came almost together, and then collapsed in a heap on the bed.

They all fell asleep briefly. When they awoke Ly had slipped away without their noticing, just a memory. He looked at the clock. Unfortunately it was almost time for them to go to the airport.

They showered together, washing each other’s bodies for the last time this trip. They got dressed. She put back on the provençale skirt.

“Won’t you be cold in London?”, he said.

“If I feel a breeze between my legs it will just remind me of you”, she said.

He lifted up the front of her skirt, tickling her with his tongue, savoring the taste of her a final time. They walked out to the car, and drove along the coast road with the wall supporting the railway on one side of the car and the blue Mediterranean on the other. In no time they arrived at the airport and dropped off the rental car.

She had a flight to London; he had a flight to Rome to visit his company office there. Maybe next time they could meet in Rome. She would be torn between spending all the time in bed, and getting out as much as possible to see the sights, the ancient structures like the Coliseum, the Bellini fountains, the Sistine chapel.

They checked in and went to the cafeteria to wait for the planes.

“I wish you could come with me. Be my frog in my pocket. Well, you wouldn’t be in my pocket much since I would get you out and kiss you every day”, she said.

“Right now I would like to live two lives at once, one life to come back with you, and the other to go on to Rome and live my real life”.

They kissed, she felt one of his hands stroking the edge of her bra-less breast, the other stroking her back. She hugged him. She could feel his hardness against her. They would both love to have another day in Provence. Or another week.

The last she saw of him he was waving to her through the glass as he walked down the jetway to the plane. But she knew it would not be too long before they would meet again. She just did not know when or where. She walked slowly through the airport to her departure gate, and boarded the plane back to reality.