Nearly eleven a.m. Sun filters through Provençal shutters in our family’s sprawling estate. Last night’s climax left me shattered. I drift downstairs. Kitchen hums with mothers prepping light salads—crisp crudités, ripe tomatoes. Men’s barbecue later. I nod absently. Crave Stéphane, dread him too. He’s in the barn, tinkering with father and brother under patriarch grandfather’s watch. Back to my room. Shower steam rises, mandarin bursts sweet on my tongue. Short shorts, tank top. No bra. Brazen choice.
Lunch ends. All buzz for the beach. I resist. Grandfather’s infinity pool gleams turquoise, edges vineyards. Why sea salt when this luxury laps at our feet? Tantes plead. Father shrugs. Mother allies: shoulders still burn red. Skin preserved. I stay. Empty dishwasher. Shut windows. Cool air locked in.
The Privilege
1:30 p.m. Cars roar off. Cousins clutch oversized floats. Pitiful, endearing. Uncle’s wife drives without him. Heart races. He lingers. Greets me. ‘Slept well?’ ‘Yes. You?’ Thumbs up. ‘Reading, resting.’ Vanishes inside.
3 p.m. Doze on silk sheets. Hoped he’d come. Noise outside. Peer through persiennes. Uncle in trunks, towel over shoulders, strides to pool. Need his presence like air. Mother’s bikinis: one-piece, two two-pieces. White one—never worn. Transparent risk on tanned skin. Today, pulse thuds. I choose it. Mirror confirms: subtle areola shadows. Not enough.
Tip-toe to parents’ room. Nail scissors. Reverse bikini. Snip lining free. Fifteen minutes. Re-don. Now, areolas stark. Tug sides tight. Pubis molds to fabric. Camel toe sharp. Sexy terror. Towel shield. Descend.
He’s on leather lounger, post-swim. Book down. ‘Water good?’ ’28 degrees. Bliss. Chilly entry, then heaven.’ Shades his eyes. Scans me. ‘Stunning bikini. Perfect fit.’ ‘Old thing. Forgot why shelved.’ Turn back. Drop towel. Dive in.
Water electrifies. Laps, submerges. Ten minutes. He watches, lifeguard gaze. Edge closer. Stand. Peek down—fuck. Wet lycra invisible. Near-nude. Nipples rigid from chill, desire. Crouch. Panic. Hand to mound: sex outlined raw.
He enters. Smiles. Approaches. ‘Magnificent.’ ‘Why I quit this suit!’ Blush. ‘Stand.’ Grips hands. Lifts. Water to navel. Eyes drop shameless. ‘Better than tank. Gorgeous tits.’ Blush deeper. ‘Bottom too?’ Try sinking. ‘No—everything shows.’ ‘Tease?’ Silence. Releases. Steps back. ‘Fair play.’ Strips trunks. Tosses aside. Bold. Peek. Long, thick, veined erection.
The Excess
Guides my hands. Fingers trace blind. Warm, rigid. His to my slit. Thumb grazes. Sigh yields.
To steps. I sit. He lies in water. Yanks bottoms. Knees part. ‘Open like last night.’ Obey. Indecent spread. Mouth claims vulva. Tongue parts. Sucks clit. First cunnilingus. Waves build. Grip his wet hair. ‘Don’t stop.’ Orgasm crashes. Toes curl. Cry out.
‘Can I see it?’ He rises. Proud display. Stroke. Kiss. Tongue tests frenulum. Pearl pre-cum. Salty-sweet. Suck. Bob. Love it—power, taste. First mouth invaded.
He pulls out. ‘Stop. Too close.’ Frustrated. Want his spend.
Towel on tile. Bedroom. Kisses ignite. Legs splay. Tip probes. Pique of pain. ‘Virgin?’ ‘Yes. Please.’ Retreats. ‘Not here.’ Towel under hips. Revives erection. Straddle. Eyes lock. ‘Your choice.’ Sink. Tear yields. Impale. Pain fades. Ride. Sweat.
Flip. He mounts. Legs wide. ‘Like last night.’ Contract. He drills. ‘Pill?’ ‘Yes.’ Vilebrequin spins. ‘Fuck me hard. Ruin my cunt.’ Climax shatters. Petite mort.
Years later, shrink’s couch. ‘Saw him again?’ Tears. ‘Australia mission. Crash. Drunk truck. Two kilometers from me. Mangled. Gone.’ Collapse.
