Rage boils. Daniel’s words sting: ‘Ten kilos heavier, not fuckable anymore.’ I slam the door. Drive to Berck-sur-Mer. Kite festival, April 2012. Exclusive enclave for the elite flyers. Park near the sea. Tourism office: no rooms. Fine. Beach it is. Grab light lunch at a discreet épicerie. Mutter about the bastard, patting my belly. ‘Perfect,’ a deep voice says. Turn. Philippe, tall, dark, mid-fifties. My age. Smiles. Offers apple tart. I bolt to the shore.
Kites dance in the sky. Vibrant giants defy wind. Sit on the stone wall. Tears flow. Magic lifts the heavy. Philippe reappears. Offers handkerchief. ‘Can’t stand a woman crying.’ Ignore him. He eats. I glance. Pulse quickens. Joins his crew. Massive cone kite. Invites me to hold the line. ‘Philippe.’ ‘Solenn.’ Hands over gloves. Stands behind. Body presses mine. Muscles firm against my curves. Wind jerks. Rope strains. His grip steadies. Kiss on neck. Hold. Victory. Embrace. Tears again. ‘Life’s like a kite string. Tie it, let go.’ Tell him about Daniel. Hugs tighter.
The Privilege
Café in Rue de l’Impératrice. Discreet corner. Tart arrives. Fingers entwine. Kiss builds slow. Lips brush. Tongues tease. Volptuous. Bites apple tart from his hand. ‘Indulge.’ Confess doubts. ‘Stay till Sunday.’ Cottage des Dunes: group suites, sea-view luxury. Linen crisp, balcony whispers waves. ‘My room.’ Door kicks shut. Clothes fly. Wall pins me. Legs wrap. Cock strains through pants. Normal size. Perfect. Bites ear. Claws neck lightly. Pulls up sweater. Kisses belly. Tongue probes jean edge. Guides to zipper. Saliva soaks thong. Bridge pose. Nude glory.
He kneels. Commands: free my cock. Stroke slow. Balls tighten. Pace quickens. Pre-cum slicks. Desperate. Rips jeans. Smells pussy. Slides thong off. Mounts. Grinds. Doggy. Tongue rims ass. Fingers stretch. Three deep. Plunges cock. Pounds. I buck. ‘Harder!’ Climax nears. Pulls out. Jets hot on cheeks. Collapse. Bliss.
Shower block. Empty. Soap hands glide skin. Kneels. Licks clit. Fingers fuck. Lift. Impales on cock. Voices near. Stranger jerks to moans. We peak. Laughter echoes.
Dinner with crew. Pizzeria intimacy. Confess Daniel’s insult. Cheers erupt. ‘Blind fool.’ Hands praised. Tempted. Apple tarts for me. Beach camp. Friends haul gear. Fires crackle. Duvet spreads. Philippe caresses. Tease breasts with hair. Beg. Didgeridoo calls.
The Excess
Kites circle overhead. Crew arrives. Duvet drops. Hands everywhere. Fingers probe. Mouths suck. Nipples, clit, ass. Gangbang ignites. Double penetration. Arms, legs pulled. Cocks swap. Cum sprays. Mouth fills. Swallow salty loads. Night blurs in ecstasy.
Dawn cleanses. Tongues lap. Tarts eaten off skin. Water warms. Sleep claims.
Festival dazzles. Days blend passion, kites. Philippe alone nights. Sunday. Photo. Farewell kiss. Drive home.
Door opens. Daniel waits. Show pic. Spread legs. Transparent thong. Bite tart. ‘Call you Philippe when you’re cruel.’ Pleasure reigns.
