4 comments/ 33096 views/ 2 favorites Memoir of Claire By: Gustavius Gustavius' 3rd Memoir of Claire – a screenplay by Gustavius Something in a woman's gaze can draw you into her very being. If it happens, don't question her motives but simply enjoy the ride. She may offer herself to you only once in a lifetime. Scene One He felt the hull shudder as each row of whitecaps met the bow. The noise created by the crashing of the seawater combined with the engine's drone made conversation all but impossible. Twenty-odd minutes to the dive site translated into more of the same, so he busied himself like the others tightening the first stage to the tank's fitting and checking the air pressure load. A fill of 3K psi or more was always a good omen for the first of a two-tank morning. Today, the gauge registered 3.1K. The boat driver slowed the engine near the first of several site markers, signaling the time for all of them to dress and get ready for the plunge. He'd signed on as a single, as usual, and was introduced to his diving partner, a young accountant from San Francisco with only an admitted seven dives to her credit. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for her in the event of any trouble, but the dive master leading this small group of six would be doing the same – Eduardo had said as much to him in confidence earlier that morning. Gear in place and tank air turned on, his fins slapped the deck as he moved to the stern and the launching platform. Hand across the mouthpiece with two fingers extended to his mask, he kicked outward with one fin, and, pushing off with the left, he joined the others who'd gone before. Swimming back to the platform, one of them handed him the camera rig, and he slipped the safety lanyard over his wrist. Now the procedure he'd followed countless times before: dive computer punched 'On,' camera strobe light 'On,' check the RS-1 settings, tighten weight belt and vest straps again, and dump air from the BC. The choppy surface closed over him with air releasing from his bouyancy vest as lead weights pulled him downward to the sandy shelf, below. Just past the thirty-foot depth, he felt the all-too-familiar surge of pressure to the ears and a cotton-dry mouth unable to swallow for equalization. "I'm getting too old for this nonsense...and pain." Then, just as suddenly, ears and sinuses cleared, and he dropped slowly to the rendezvous point where the others were waiting for the divemaster to begin another all-too-brief exploration of the reef. Settling into a comfortable neutral bouyancy, he leveled out in search of his diving buddy, and finding her with others in the group, he followed their guide into a sand chute that led to the outer wall. Darkness prevailed as each one of them entered the tunnel in single file. Small pools of bright yellow appeared here and there, as divers used their flashlights in hopes of finding a lobster or two clinging to the sides. Moving carefully now, he noticed the cavern sides widening, and instantly there was an expanse of blue water everywhere. He turned slowly and took in the spectacular colors and shapes of coral that were growing from the near-vertical wall. He thought to himself that this was always the best part. His depth gauge read 84 feet, and his tank held nearly 2400 psi of air, while his wrist computer displayed a favorable nitrogen reading. His breathing slowed as he luxuriated in silent weightlessness, the sweet envelopment. And he thought about her and events of the past forty-eight hours. Scene Two There had been rain showers the night before that carried into the early hours of morning, and now the sun was battling with the remaining clouds adding the heaviness of humidity to the air. The hotel's outdoor breakfast pavilion was already humming with voices when he arrived and was shown to his favorite table at the side. Photography was his primary goal for today, and he'd made arrangements to have the U/W camera fitted with a 20mm lens and strobe. However, the lingering cloud cover could easily defeat any plans to capture the brilliant colors of these shallow reefs, and his thoughts shifted instead to exploring the local waters with mask and snorkel. His daydreaming was interrupted when a chair leg scraped the tile floor. A young couple had just taken a center table nearby. Lifting his coffee cup and tasting its sudden heat, his mind tried to get back to deciding whether to attempt U/W filming or.... Something about her profile; striking, yet delicate...and the tempered gold of her skin. Turning toward their table just as they rose together for the buffet, he noticed the equally striking profile of her figure. Her body was clothed in the tailored fit of a fashionable sweat suit. The two of them had the appearance of those who take great pains to keep themselves in shape. He paused to consider how fortunate was he that this dark-haired woman was now a part of the local color; his meals would certainly be more enjoyable with her added presence. And with that, he got back to planning the day's events and, accordingly, the remainder of his shortened holiday. A bit later, he was at the buffet bar attempting to choose between croissant and cut fruit when he noticed the filled glass of juice someone had left on the rail. A hand appeared to reach for it, and, quite mechanically, he slid the glass gently in that direction. He heard, "Merci!" and he responded politely, "Ne rien...." He turned in the direction of her voice in time to see her parted lips form a smile as she collected her omelet and breads and juice and returned with her companion (husband, lover?) to their table. He thought her beauty was more captivating than he'd first imagined, and he stood there longer than necessary selecting unwanted slices of fruit and filling a plate, wondering who she was. There was something different, even alluring, about this woman. It wasn't until voices erupted close to his side that he snapped out of the dream-like trance and moved away from the breakfast bar. Now seated again, he glanced quietly in the direction of their table only to find them enjoying their breakfast and entirely engrossed with each other. So he let it go. He decided against diving that day, relishing the idea of snorkeling off the hotel's beach on his own, and working his way through a few more chapters of the awful novel he'd bought at Heathrow. After draining a last cup of morning coffee, he walked to the dive center to let them know he wasn't going, then took a longer-than-usual walk to his room to change for the beach. His route took him past the glass-enclosed fitness room, and, as he glanced in that direction, he made out the young couple from breakfast now peddling away on their stationary bikes. Walking past, he glanced away, then back again only to find that her eyes were following him. No, it wasn't his imagination he told himself. Her guy was facing straight ahead and working away at some imaginary hill, while she slowed and locked her eyes to his, almost...yes, beckoning him. And that unexplained sense of subconscious connection he'd felt earlier that morning came over him again. He couldn't deny the sudden sensation that surged in his groin, nor did he want to, despite his complete inability to understand what had come over him. Scene Three Rain-dampened sand clung to his feet as he made his way across the empty beachfront to a shaded lounge chair. Volcanic rock had been removed at one point to permit easy entry to the water and the shallow reef beyond. He noticed there was only one other couple on the beach that morning. One of them was reclining in the half shade of a thatched palapa; the other with chaise turned to take the sun's full glow. Then he stopped mid-stride realizing it was the young woman and her male companion from breakfast. All the better that neither of them had seen him, and, wishing to get into the water to clear his head, he carried fins, mask and snorkel to the sandy entryway, dunked his gear in the lapping water, and sat in the shallows to put it all on. He could feel the sunscreen he'd applied earlier begin to work against the sun's rays. Soon he was kicking off for the depths and feeling at once the roll of the gentle swells rocking him, forward and back. Looking downward, he noticed the first of the colorless fish working the sandy bottom for anything resembling food. It wasn't until he'd gone out some distance that the shelf dropped away to greater depths, and isolated formations of brilliant coral appeared below, each mound patrolled by a rainbow community in motion. Returning to the beach after an hour's exploration, he washed the sand from his fins and mask in a tiny pool formed by the rock, then quick-stepped through the hot sand. No sign of the couple. They'd left their towels and other beach gear on their chairs. He was settling in with the dreadful book and a pull from the water bottle when he noticed a head with snorkel appear at the water's edge. In a moment, she was out of the water carrying her equipment, and he could just make out a pleasant smile on her lovely face. And now, more than before, he feasted on her gorgeous body, accented by the little bikini and wet, golden skin. Her strides across the sand - every sensual movement – he could not take his eyes off of her, but this time her eyes did not meet his. Carefully, he stole a glance, watching her dry herself. Then spreading the towel over the chaise, she sat and undid her top before anointing herself with creme from a yellow tube. The distance between them and the shimmering heat from the sand played tricks with his eyes as he took in her little breasts crowned with lovely dark nipples as she lay back to capture the sun's warmth. Overhead, a series of smoky clouds pushed away the sun's light and left her in shadows. A distant fishing boat went speeding off to the south end without a sound, as the sun once again bathed the stretch of sand in white-hot light. She was turned on her side now – napping? – the deep brown tan of her shoulders and bared back interrupted only by the thin line of her bikini bottom that disappeared into the cleft. She lay curled like this for some time, while he tried to return to the same page without success. Still a distance away, he watched quietly when she sat upright with her back to him tying the strings of her top, and, stretching arms outright, she rose and walked slowly down the beach and away from his prying eyes. Enough! he thought. Once again, he put her lingering image from his mind and read on. Her path in the sand made a lazy U-turn as she neared the lapping waters where she stopped, and, raising a hand to block the sudden glare, she searched the smooth surface until she found him. He was out more than a hundred meters but managed a vigorous wave when he saw her, and she waved happily with both arms before her hand sent a loving kiss out to him. And aglow with a smile, she turned and continued her walk where the water touched the sandy beach. The stranger from breakfast was over there with a book, and she made up her mind to give him a little show. He kept the book raised as she neared, but now all hope of finishing the page was lost. And quite suddenly, she stopped almost directly in front of him, and, with her back to him, she looked out, eyes shielded with both hands, feet slightly apart, her dark hair blowing gently to one side exposing her lovely brown neck. The book fell to the sand – no matter, as he became entranced with the beauty before him. Sun-browned, oiled thighs subtly merged to the lovely hemispheres only womanhood can possess, her sweet secrets covered only by the tiny fragment of cloth bunched at the point where her thighs came together. She held this pose for but a minute or two, then crouched, perhaps to watch the hundreds of minnows in the rock pools at her feet, and this change of posture made her hips flare outwards from her slim waist and caused the fabric of her bikini bottom to find its way even deeper into the cleft of her sweet bottom. She made a hapless effort to adjust the waistband behind but to no avail. He felt the familiar twitching in his groin that signaled arousal when her hand reached behind and brushed the bits of sand from her ass cheeks, and his thoughts were reduced to utter debauchery, while another part of him fought to regain self-control. She rose and turned to leave when he came quickly off of his chaise, and, with the plastic fish card in hand, he walked down to her, smiled and said "Allo," introducing himself. She said nothing, only looked at him, her lips slightly parted. He explained that the card could be used for snorkeling, then offered it to her, asking only that it be returned tomorrow, Jeudi matin, if that would be alright, oui? A smile to remember, mouth opening to reply, and aquamarine eyes all responded at once. Oui! Certainment...et merci! she answered, and pointed to two or three of the fish pictured to indicate she'd already seen those here. Yes, and her husband (!) had seen a large barracuda yesterday. Another Merci, and with that she returned to her palapa holding the card as though a precious find, turning once and waving back at him. He stood there a moment longer, surrendering to the sight and sound and – yes! – even the smell of her, then returned to the chaise to his collect his things. He left the beach and the living image of her at about the same time her man was making his way back through the shallows. It wasn't until he was washing sand from his feet on the walkway that he realized he'd forgotten to ask her name. Who was this youthful creature, this sensual beauty that held his mind captive, he wondered. Well, he could look forward to seeing her again when she returned the card Thursday, if only for a moment. Scene Four He saw nothing more of either of them that day, but recurring images of his encounter with the dark-haired girl on the beach continued to preoccupy his mind. He did the two-tank dive that afternoon to clear his head, but the boat ride and dives on Carribe Reef were uneventful, almost disappointing. Colorless coral formations at shallow depths with an almost total absence of small pelagics, and he took an extra minute to note this fact in his logbook back at the room. Almost evening now, he showered, dressed in a last clean shirt and slacks, and drove the short distance to the coastal town and dinner at a favorite restaurant overlooking the town square. A noisy crowd of vacationers arrived part way through his meal, and the rising volume of their competing conversations stole any semblance of atmosphere from the otherwise enjoyable surroundings. He finished and had to pay his bill with dollars when he realized his pesos had all but run out, then left quickly. He walked several blocks out of his way on purpose, stopping now and then to examine the shops mostly selling pottery and leather goods, and dodging the night-time crowds and kids hawking jewelry. And all the while he managed to fill his mind again with the memory of her, deeply tanned with raven hair and blue-green eyes, a piercing smile and soft, beguiling voice. Once, he tried to release her from his thoughts, concentrating instead on the nighttime traffic flow that met his drive back to the hotel, but he could not let her go. It was as though she had somehow taken control and held him captive within her grasp. He slept fitfully that night, rising once at four a.m. to the sound of rain, and, fully congested, he resolved to cancel the morning's two-tank dive. Sleep came only after he forced his eyes closed and the dream of a lovely French mannequin visited once again. Scene Five He ordered breakfast in, and when the strong coffee took hold and helped clear his nasal passages, he phoned the dive shop before eight and cancelled his place on the boat. Eduardo was surely going to lose patience with him. The rain had quit hours before, but there was no sun yet, and the air held onto the tropical humidity outside when he made his way to the hotel's cashier to exchange a few hundred dollars. The woman in the booth was counting out his pesos when he happened to glance to his left just as she came into view. His fish card in hand, she waved it in his direction while seemingly dragging her companion along with the other. He watched as they approached – a flash of a smile, her long brown legs capped in loose-fitting white shorts. And her little waist and flat tummy rising to a halter top and almost bared shoulders. That precious face with lips that said, "C'est jeudi Matin, non?" and a little smile that etched itself in her lovely features. Then, almost an afterthought, "...et mon mari, Gilles." The two men shook hands, and he managed an embarrased, bonjour, Gilles. She handed him the plastic card and extended her hand with "Thank you, it is fun!" Her husband added his own Merci, and with that the two turned to leave. He almost made the mistake of quickly returning to sign for the pesos, but paused when he felt her hand touch his. Opening his grasp, he gently took her hand in his, recalling the European custom of a fond farewell – and felt her place a small folded paper there. She returned the pressure for a moment, making certain he'd received her note before releasing his grasp and strolling off, arm-in-arm with her man. The two disappeared under the morning shadow of a majestic palm, as the sun fought to burn away the last of the morning's clouds. And he stood there, motionless, wondering what had just taken place. Scene Six He was stunned, at first believing this to be either a jest or, less likely, a bit of day-dreaming on his part – pure fantasy in which all of the characters, or at least the ones that matter, perform their roles according to one's every wish and desire. He remembered so well her profile of tanned flesh on the beach chaise and now the playful sway of her womanly center as she walked away with, 'my husband, Gilles.' And he replayed the brief encounter over and over again, attempting to decipher her expression, the way her fingers moved in his hand, and wondering all the while where this might lead. He sat at the small cantina table near the beachfront and ordered coffee, and when it came he opened her beautifully penned note once more and read: suite 4308, a dix heure ce matin, s.v.p. C Well, he was getting closer to learning her name, he laughed, and he sat there for ten minutes guessing at C-names that might or might not be suitable for her. But by then it was already after nine, and he left quickly for his room and a shower, forgetting to pay for his coffee, returning to do so, then off again, suddenly reminding himself to slow down, relax! telling himself again that really, this was nothing. Lost in thought, he almost didn't hear Ricardo from the dive shop calling his name, then realized he'd need to reserve a seat for Friday's dives. Working his way around a group of young women – probably student divers, their equipment lying unassembled in piles on the dock – he returned morning greetings from the dive crew, and signed on for the next day's run to Palancar. Scene Seven It all seemed so unreal, almost laughable, from the moment he found the laundry cart at the entranceway to #4308 with the door open and clearly some activity going on in the front hallway. A wet mop in motion! – where was she? No sign of Gilles, either, hmmm. He was suddenly consumed with nervous excitement. Was this to be some kind of bad joke on her part? Then focused again, he side-stepped the wet mop and the housekeeper who was intent on making a path to the door, closed it quietly behind her, and he stood there – alone. He surveyed their room with its stylish furnishings, the huge bed dominating everything else – where the two of them had undoubtedly put the mattress to the test with their lovemaking – open suitcases that lay across low chests of drawers, a pair of lone sandals left beneath a coffee table cluttered with books and magazines. Off to one side a full kitchenette was equipped with sink and counter space, a small range and refrigerator. This was indeed a suite, much more spacious than his own, beautifully appointed. He noticed movement through the curtain, as she rose from a balcony chair outside, scraping the marble surface. Memoir of Claire He rushed to open the outer door, but she was quicker. She was wearing the white terrycloth robe the hotel had proudly provided, monogram and all, and her hair was wrapped in a bath towel, her facial tan contrasting so well with the snow-white fabric. Un visage bronze! he thought, realizing to his delight they were quite alone. Closing the balcony door behind her, she extended her hand, smiled and said simply, Claire. Thanking him for coming, she motioned to the love seat in the sitting area, and, as he sat, questions that would not dismiss themselves came all at once. Who was this lovely woman perhaps only half his age? Why had she discretely invited him to her suite? And where was her husband, Gilles? Just as he began to blurt out the first of these, she settled into a colorful chair opposite and began an embarrassed attempt at small-talk. She: "Voulez-vous quelque chose a boire?" He:"Je...non, merci, Claire." Perhaps reading his mind or expression, she began in lovely, halting English to explain herself. "Je suis...ahh, I am an economist in Jardin du Mer, not very far from Collioure in the south of France. Gilles aussi! And the work is often....tres dificile, do you know?" He became inquisitive and asked about the economy of her region, and she responded with, "...l'industrie principale de la region est le cine, mais aussi le trafic des armes et la contrebande." He smiled, said something about it being dangerous at times to live there, and this seemed to give her the confidence to continue. " We both suffer from fatigue...le surmenage intellectuel, and so we made a holiday here in Mexico." She looked at him before answering another of his questions while playing with one end of the towel, then at once unwraping her lovely brown hair. "Gilles, he loves to swim, but for me it is not so much amusement. So he is there and I am here." Her right hand reached across and touched his arm, then lingered for a moment before returning to her side. Then she surprised him. "You have...un visage melancolique, when I saw you at breakfast or on the beach, yes? And I thought to myself, c'est possible this man is alone, and this is why he is sad. Then, when you gave me le guide du poisson, you smiled,,,and you are smiling now, yes?" He hesitated with his answer, then said with an embarrassed laugh, "Vous avez un physique agreable, Claire, un beau chassis, oui!" Good, she thought, he is attracted to me as I am to him. She became very still then, just looked directly into his eyes, and he regretted having chosen those words – "God, if she's a feminist, I'm through....she must be thinking what an old, degenerate fool I am." Her eyes left him to look downward, and she spoke again, softly, playing with a lock of her hair. "Gilles and I, we want to have un bebe,...(pausing now) and we are trying avec le coit, do you know? She stopped, not wanting to be misunderstood. Leaning forward, he encouraged Claire to continue, and when she did her voice was a throaty whisper meant only for him. "Gilles baise moi bien, mais...," she hesitated, then told him in English that her husband does indeed take care of her very well, sexually, however, and here she became emphatic, "J'ai une forte libide...desire ebais amoureux." And she looked at him, quite honestly lost for words, pleading with her eyes for him to understand her. He felt the sting of uncertainty, not knowing if she meant what he hoped she meant. So, quite stupidly, he asked, "Que voulez-vous, Claire?" "Tu le sais fort bien!" she thought to herself and looked directly at him for a moment, then downward again, hands to her face, a little sob and a flush of embarrassment. Rising from the chair, "...je pense....un moment, s.v.p...," and bumping her leg on the coffee table, she disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the faucet splash while she freshened her face, and he pondered his situation, wondering if she would be able to go on, when he heard her footsteps. Expecting her to return to her chair, he turned to see her standing at the bedside, her back to him, removing the robe, gathering its soft folds and laying the material across the bed cover. His lips again formed the words, un beau chassis.... Stunned, he watched her young body move and bend as she spread her robe open, naked but for a wisp of red undergarment at her waist that disappeared between les fesses – those lovely arse cheeks that so well define a woman's sexual maturity, flushed in bronze from the sun. Her body, so deeply tanned from many hours outdoors, a long delicate neck of Venus, so enticing, shoulders and arms only a sculptor could shape, her legs of particular beauty. But his eyes kept returning to her center and the sudden flare of hips and jutting derriere, as she bent once more and climbed onto the bed, all in one quick motion. Reclining then, propped up on an elbow, her eyes locked to his, and in the softest of voice, "...venez ici, S'approchez..." And he felt the same sensual heat as before, only this time it was having a definite hardening effect on that part of him. For the moment, he forced his mind to wander to the classics he'd studied so long ago at university only to escape her heat. On composer Carl Maria von Weber's accomplishments, Oberon was Weber's final opera, and unusually it was an English-language work commissioned in 1824 by London's Royal Covent Garden. By this time Weber knew he was fatally ill with tuberculosis and was desparate for any project that might earn substantial money for his wife and children... This wasn't helping, he thought to himself. Her every movement as she arranged herself enticed him that much more. Thank You for this sweet and, I suspect, not-so-innocent body I'm about to taste... Lying there before him was a sun-warmed vision of feminine youth and, he guessed, considerable carnal sophistication. His thoughts now on hold, overwhelmed by her beauty and richness of her skin tone, a youthful face – le minois – and a neck line plunging delicately between squared shoulders, to shape her open breasts – les poitrines petit – small, yet shaped so perfectly. Breasts with large roseate circles in their centers, each deliciously crowned with un bout de sein, nipples large and passive, but now each one flushed with arousal. Each one boldly asking to be wetted with tongue and suckled, soon jutting proudly from her flesh, pointing, begging to be suckled some more. He thought of Gilles – you lucky dog! – and how often he'd tasted her lovely niplets with his mouth and tongue. Realizing there was no longer any hope of resisting (and why should he, after all?), he bent near her to capture the fragrance of her hair, the sweet scent of Eau-de-toilette about her body, and he nibbled her ear until her lips found his and offered a kiss – at the very moment his roving fingers found her titty and played awhile with the nipple there. Her breath came out all at once against his cheek. She told him how she willed him to meet her eyes as he passed nearby – hier matin, en centre du exercise – and yes, he had turned back to look at her at the exact moment. And then she knew it! "Knew what?" he puzzled, then told himself to shut up, for this was clearly a time for no more questions. She came up on her knees and opened her mouth to his desperate tongue, while her hands bunched his shirt in front and lifted it over his head. He loved it when she unbuttoned his pants as he stood beside the bed, his fingers exploring and teasing the taut skin of her back all the way to where her panties disappeared into la crevasse. She let him know with a sigh and a soft kiss that she was enjoying his touch. At this point, she began an exploration of her own, managing to insert her own hand into his undershorts, feeling his swelling, twitching nervously, then swelling some more. Somehow they were lying beside each other on the robe she'd spread, both suddenly aware of one's own nakedness against the other's body and the mild discomfort of chilled air racing out of the room's air conditioner. As if in response to the sudden cold, she huddled close to him while keeping them both on the opened sortie de bain so as not to muss the bedspread, he guessed. But when his fingers went to slip inside the front of her panties, she stopped him. Seeing the look of hurt in his eyes, she sat up again, calling a momentary halt to his gentle survey of her young body. Quietly, she explained her actions, borrowing from the nursery fable, the tale of the wayward rabbit – le lievre – who one night discovered a burrow that was occupied, and rather than taking shelter there, went off until he found un autre terrier, whereupon he spent the night. And the next morning he was so delighted with himself that he'd found shelter of his own without dislodging a fellow rabbit. She laughed at the puzzled look on his face, and then he understood the meaning of her story! She blushed a bright red in embarrassment when her finger touched herself in front and said, "Mon vagin, c'est pour Gilles, suelement...pour notre bebe. Mais mon autre....," her hand now caressing her buttocks, "...c'est aussi une organe sexuel, non? Pour votre lievre, n'est pas?" She said the last part in a low whisper he could barely hear. Then a devilish laugh, throaty, stimulating him even more. He wondered if her questions were merely rhetorical, then realized he was being ridiculous. So he placed a finger at her lips, embracing her, then he kissed her, tasting her sweet innermouth, her tongue suctioning his own. And he imagined his tongue at work entre les fesses incroyable! and willed himself to believe that it might...no, that it would happen. She asked him if she could suck him, and, without awaiting an answer, rearranged herself on the bed and took his cock in her mouth. He teased her with 'bon appetit, Claire', and she gave him a wicked smile and a little bite with her teeth in return. What seemed a bit odd to him, though he had no complaints, was the manner in which she held his penis – un membre viril! she told him with appreciation. She didn't grasp him in a fist, her open palms instead held him captive, first examining le faisan, as she called it, lips parting only to warm his cock with her breath, then finally when he could stand her teasing no longer, opening her lips and gently massaging him avec un fralement, all the while with open paumes adding gentle pressure to the base of his erection. She did not use her tongue on him until she worked downward to his sacs, les bourses. It was only through sheer concentration on a subject of total irrelevance that he found he was able to postpone release and keep from erupting in her mouth. He watched her, fully entranced, feeling himself harden as much from the sight of her tongue and lips wetting its length as from the electric sensations whenever her mouth engulfed him, and he felt its knob rubbing the back of her throat. Then, "I will have to be mouille before you fuck me," she told him, almost casually as though she'd just asked for a lump of sugar for her tea, adding, "Je desire la languette bien la-bas." It wasn't very long thereafter that she, satisfied (as was he!) with her part in preparing le penis, turned over onto her tummy and, reaching for a pillow and propping it under her middle, slipped her thumbs under the waistband to push her little panties down below her mounds to offer him her divine arse cheeks – joues jeunesses. Now he marveled – again – at the sight of the red fabric as it pulled out of her crease where it had so recently hidden from view. The sun's artistry was nearly complete, the skin of her lovely mounds colored with the same hue as the small of her back, arms and thighs. It was only her telltale crease that had escaped the summer's rays; a tiny patterned triangle of pink had been left there whenever modesty convinced her not to go without a bikini bottom. He continued his examination. A little mole graced the upper portion of one buttock, the sole invader of her otherwise unblemished skin, and he touched it with a fingertip. Crouching over her body on hands and knees, he let his thumbs spread her joues apart to expose the petit fleur inside. And he found her secret place, a perfect well of reddish-brown flesh accentuated with little creases in the shape of a tiny starfish, asleep now, awaiting his touch. Lowering his face, he felt the glowing heat from her bottom, and, tasting the passageway with his tongue to moisten her as she'd asked him to, he began to gently open her. Her breathing quickened and she tightened a little, unaccustomed he guessed to his purposeful tongue as it sought to penetrate the little wrinkled bouton. He reached his fingertips to her exposed neck and drew them down over the skin of her back, then repeated this, calming her. Kneeling backward, he raised both of her legs together to pull her panties fully off before his hands spread les cuisses well apart – those beautifully rounded, bronzed thighs that left him breathless while she posed on the beach, yesterday. And he got down to lay prone between her thighs, hands spreading les fesses wide apart. His heartbeat raced with the carnal anticipation of again using his tongue in her and wondering how she would respond to his entering her. It took every ounce of self discipline in him to avoid tasting the milky juice of her vagin, a lovely pussy that glistened now from her own ministrations and that seemed to him to yearn for his attention. She had shaved herself there; only a few moist hairs formed soft shadows on her labia. As if she sensed his struggle, she reached one arm underneath and cupped la chatte with her hand as though to protect its folds from involvement - intentional or otherwise – while she gently encouraged him instead to continue playing with her derriere. He glanced at the tiny pubic curls that had worked themselves between her closed fingers, and he bent and kissed her fingers, lingering long enough to smell her sweet musk. Her delicate fingers had become quite wet, and instantly he was overcome by the heady fragrance of womanscent that spread from her vagin. But now his tongue was restless to return to l'autre terrier and the lovely wrinkles at the entrance to her brown bouton. "Gouter les fesses feminin – toujours savoureux, toujours sensuel," he said more to himself than for her, and he spread her once more and tasted the exposed creases that disappeared into her very center. This caused her hips to begin a rhythmic, circular movement on the bed, and he had to hold her still to allow his tongue to do its work. When he managed at last to press inside her pinched ring and kept inside her for a moment, her hanches erupted in motion and, with head thrown back, she cried out in wonderfully colorful banc gauche French – words he'd never before heard from a woman's mouth. She tasted the sudden, metallic tightening at the base of her throat as he continued his probing, and she recalled the other times she'd been made love to in this way, once or twice even with a protesting Gilles, submitting herself at first to their experimentations, then yielding to the delicious sensations that somehow carried her to prolonged orgasms. Now she so wanted to have this lovely man forget his apparent loneliness and smile again. Oui, she would make this happen. She would have him go deep inside her until she felt again la extase, and this would be her reward, at long last! When he had thoroughly explored her little hole with tongue and she was nicely moistened with his saliva so that she opened easily to one, then two of his fingers – and he began wondering how it was going to feel to put his prong inside her – she whispered to him that she wasn't quite ready, and he realized, foolishly, that he'd overlooked using some protection. As if in answer, she came off the bed and, taking his hand, led him to the alcove. Instantly, he was mesmerized by the jiggling movement of that part of her that just moments before had been the focus of his foreplay. He marvelled at the glorious shape of her naked bottom, pantyless, each golden hemisphere caressing the other with every barefoot stride she made across the carpet. Un frissonement de volupte! This of course only resulted in an animated forward pointing of his penis, throbbing, as he followed dutifully behind her. At the vanity's double sink she deftly opened one of the little foiled packets she'd taken from a bag of cosmetics and dressed him in soft latex – "...un preservatif pour le lievre," she told him. He kissed her, her sweltering nakedness against his body, and feeling his obnoxious member squeezed between their stomachs. She laughed and teased the glans with two fingers, while one of his hands slid down behind her, and, finding her little opening entre les joues jolis, pushed his middle finger inside her asshole, feeling her tightness again. "Oh! Le lubrifiant, ma Crème de la Peche," she cried, then reached across for the colorful tube that could have been mistaken for Bain du Soleil. She put a droplet or two on a fingertip, her lips forming a coy smile, and asked him to taste it. Qu'est que c'est...mais, voila! When she put her finger between his lips, he was surprised by the sweet flavor of country fresh peaches. The creme was edible and rather appealing to the tongue. With that she reached down between her thighs and applied more of the crème to his middle finger as he continued his playful insertion. And a hundred thoughts rushed into his consciousness, not the least of which repeated itself over and over: "What if Gilles should return and find me screwing his lovely Claire?" But then, would she have let this go on as far as it had if she thought it mattered? As if in response to his soul-searching, she relaxed herself even more, and the pressure of her anus along his finger's length lessened. She interrupted his thoughts of the moment, pulling slowly away from his probing finger to turn and bend over the vanity counter, a reflection of her smiling lips caught by the huge mirror, her nipples now prominently stretched, and her right hand sweeping behind her to enter the crevasse, spreading more of the crème between her arse cheeks. She opened les fesses with both hands and urged him to kneel behind her and to put his tongue inside her again, mais lentement, and he was quick to do as she asked. Electric sensations from the sweet taste of her lubrication and the resilience of her puckered opening shot through him; he took himself in hand and stroked its length in anticipation. Only once did she interrupt him, "...l'ouvrez avec le pouce....ahhhh, oui!" She wanted so badly to see for herself his tongue and thumb at work, an image to match the exciting heat that was coursing through her body, but she was met only by the wanton face of her own carnal desire reflected in the vanity's mirror. And her expression reminded her of Draghixa's own Pornographique. "Yes," she laughed to herself, "my body is beginning to feel again exactly what that lucky girl-woman has so often enjoyed!" She touched herself below and told him she was sorry he could not play with her palourde, adding to convince them both that she knew he understood. "Anyway," she said to herself, "I will have a marvelous orgasme when he fucks me the other way, non? He doesn't seem to mind the alternative...I am so very happy to have found him...tres joyeux." And the sensations of the moment brought her back to l'universite and her Professor of Economics who, she learned too late, was obsessed with her. In second term, he had appointed her as his aide on the pretense of improving her grade standing and a promise to submit her for Societe Economique. In time, the professor had indeed made good on his promises. Additionally, as they became lovers, he introduced her to a technique of lovemaking she'd only heard discussed in whispers. Memoir of Claire The professor managed in due time to have her overcome her fears and submit to his anal play. That first afternoon when he'd sat her in the soft armchair with her legs raised while he knelt in front and quietly fucked her in her anus, it brought little tears of pain to her eyes. She remembered all too well his depucelage de les fesses! Eventually, though, and with the use of la crème savoureux and her own meditation, she grew to enjoy his 'penetration d'arriere, un phenomene de societe,' as the professor referred to the act. But their tryst had lasted for too long a time – she was left out of a social relationship with others her age, even sex – and she was quite relieved when he left to assume a position Nationale in Lyons. That was at first. Then, only a few months after his departure, she began to miss the lovely way he made her feel when he fucked her entre les fesses. And to this day, her craving went virtually unfulfilled. A sudden rush of wind brought a downpour of rain that rudely interrupted their loveplay. "C'est le vent en rafales avec une giboulee," she told him, laughing, then thought to herself, "...sont les larmes du Ciel. Are the tears sent from heaven for what I am, une femme de petite vertu? Une morue?" He sensed a slight hesitation – what was she thinking? – and he rose from his knees at the very moment she straightened, and, turning to face him, he bent to her and their lips met. She looked down at his stiffness pressed against her stomach, smiling then, leading him back to the bed. "...mais personne n'est parfait...j'ai une conscience tranquille," she told herself, all the while her eyes staring deeply into his, drawing his soul into her. "Too late to be concerned, Gilles be damned," he told himself, and they lay down together, lips joined again in a tongued kiss, while two of his fingers tugged on a titty nipple. He let her take a position she seemed comfortable with, and she quickly warmed to his suggestion, turning on her side away from him and opened her soft bottom flesh with one hand, exposing the glistening target for him. She was confident he would not hurt her with his penetration, for she'd learned from her t'ai chi ch'uan classes en ecole to control the muscles of her buttocks and anus through concentration, and, later, with exercise. Assured now that he was about to give her a lovely fucking, she relaxed her body, youthful Venus in repose quietly awaiting their sexual union. He moved in beside her, knees just touching her thighs, and pressed the latex'd head of his cock against the little depression that held her rosebud. With gentle pressure, he pushed the glans into her and instantly felt her pinched tightness of earlier. Only this time he was beyond playful penetration with fingers and tongue, and he wondered if she could take in his full length. Sensing his hesitation, she buried her face in the robe's soft terrycloth and thought of the waves of pleasure that would soon replace the momentary pain.....and she opened her petit fleur to her lover's penis. Once, then again the wrinkles stretched open to form a perfect ring that surrendered to the lubricant and persistent intrusion until its tip was inside her. She turned her head to watch his labors, unable to see the progress of his cock, but captivated with the ever familiar sensations growing inside of her and the look of sheer joy and wonder on her partner's face. "S'introduire! Encore! Ohhhhh...oui!" she whispered, encouraging him to go farther in. Breathing harder now, he told her, "C'est passe de justesse!" Her anal canal felt incredibly warm, a tightened sheath that could milk him it seemed at any moment. And as he watched more of his cock entering the nether world between her sweet, youthful ass cheeks she held apart for him, he forced his thoughts to yet another mundane subject in order to prevent a premature release. It was the Centre Pompidou, it seemed, that began to give modernism a good name in Paris. Nothing changed overnight, when Renzo Piano and Richard Rogers' extraordinary high-tech cartoon of a building was finished – there would still be that awful underground shopping mall at Les Halles, suggesting that the French hadn't quite finished copying American mistakes – but finally there was a contemporary building people were talking about that didn't seem to have been put up to destroy the image of the city that everyone loved...Tout le monde aime Paris. He wondered then if she'd ever visited the Centre Pompidou, if her solemn beauty had ever.... But his attention soon returned to their sexual union, when he found he had managed to give her nearly all of his cock, almost to his bourses. And with that, she released her handhold on les joues jolis, and the lovely tanned pillowflesh closed around his prong. His hand went to work kneading and squeezing the sponge-soft globes that sprang back with every press of his fingertips – enough to elicit a squeal of joy from her. Her eyes caught his in an instant, and the unspoken message there was unmistakable; "Baise moi, b-b-baise moi...maintenant! And so he fucked her, at first with a careful insertion as he felt her inner passage widen for him, then giving way to his longer strokes when there was no resistance, and she moved her arse to match his every thrust. "Ebats quelqu'un avec frenesie!" To coax him on, she flexed the muscles of her derriere, and, apart from the delicious throbbing he felt when she began this technique, he was treated to the visual feast of her taught, sun-browned ass cheeks alternately closing, then opening around the exposed length of his cock that was now happily tunneling inside her arse. He understood then how she had managed to relax so quickly and without the slightest protest to his foreplay: The girl had no doubt been made love to in this way before, and now she was obviously enjoying the unspoken pleasures of it all as much as was he. This Claire, truly a woman of sexual sophistication! And he wondered to himself as they fucked, "Where and how had she learned so well the art of anal pleasures...and at such a young age?" He discovered the sweetest sensation of all, the way her inner passage closed with each withdrawal of his cock so that, without fail, each subsequent entry was met with a delicious pressure that tickled the glans and sent little electric charges of pleasure through his groin. He'd never before experienced a feeling like this! He was, in one sense, the adolescent who'd known nothing at all of the techniques of lovemaking, and, here, this deliciously young French woman with a girl's body, in less than one hour's time, had introduced him to the prima corso, the ultimate lesson in sexual union. Her right hand was busily massaging her clit and coaxing the folds of her labia, while she willed herself to accept more of him. She thought to herself what a perfect fit he was inside of her, even better she decided than those times in bed with le Professor, and she urged him to continue fucking her with, "...creuser! rapidement.....oui, ohhh oui!" even reaching once behind her to guide his penis in and out of her netherhole. He was so caught up in their delirious, uninhibited sex that he was unable to hold back any longer, and he felt the explosive release at the end of one particularly deep thrust. She felt it happen and held still with her fesses spread wide against his abdomen, wishing at that very moment he'd been without a condom. When she turned to look at him, the sparkle of her eyes did not for an instant betray her disappointment in the abrupt end to their fucking. He knew she had not reached orgasm, though she must have been very near to one. Slowly, he pulled out of her arse, seeing at once the bulbous end of the latex filled with his liquid seed and the stretched flesh of her petit fleur contract, then close once again. She turned herself to face him and her hand went behind to touch herself there, a little smile with lips parted, head propped now with a hand lost in a tangle of dark hair, the other hand resting on the swell of her hip where it joined her thigh, a sun-bronzed beauty in naked repose, and all the while her eyes penetrating his own. Then quite suddenly she was embracing him, then a kiss with an opened mouth and her excited tongue searching his own. Without another word, her fingers deftly peeled the condom from his cock and, in a single motion, placed it and its milky fluid on the robe behind her, long fingers of one hand never releasing him, stroking his length, pulling then squeezing his sacs. His fingers found her titty nipples, and he pinched and pulled on them in unison until they stood out proudly again. "They want you to play with them," she told him. * * * * * After a time, she whispered something to him he did not quite hear, and she moved quickly to the edge of the bed, found and slipped on her panties before getting up and walking to the suite's kitchenette. "A boire? Boisson gazeuse?" she asked as she bent over at the minifridge, and he answered that he'd have some of hers. She knelt then and gave him a generous view of her arse-in-stretched-panty before she rose with a bottle of Evian in hand and returned to the bedside. He stretched and felt again the dull, lower back pain whose origin was no mystery, and he lay there spellbound at the sight of her. She drank from the bottle while brushing a wisp of hair that had fallen over her eyes, dark nipples reaching out, and all the while her eyes gazing into his. He took note of the sensual quickening in her breathing, and his eyes wandered down to the tiny 'v' where her wetness left an imprint of her cunt lips on the panty silk. "Such a pretty palourde that belonged only to Gilles. Gilles!" he said aloud, and this startled her. In a moment of near panic, he asked, "a quelle heure...?" But she was quick to calm his fears, sitting down beside him and explaining that her husband had taken the morning boat, pour les enseignements d'aqualung....aaa, scuba...., and was not expected to return until one o'clock. Then, glancing at the bedside table, she added, "Mais c'est suelement dix cinquante!" and a devilish grin formed at the corners of her pretty mouth. He was relieved beyond words to hear this, having thought all along that Gilles was at the beach only steps from their suite and might decide to return at any moment. "....and more likely than not, just at the moment my cock was entering Claire's lovely arse!" he thought to himself. But then he realized she'd played him along, wanted him to believe this, perhaps to heighten the excitement of their sexual play. That was it, and he laughed to himself at the mischief his lovemate might be capable of. Then a lingering fear: the dive boats sometimes returned to the dock early for any number of reasons.... But again she'd seemed to read his thoughts, and she placed the Evian to his lips, adding softly in his ear how she desperately wanted him to stay with her. And with her fingers at work now on his baguette et sacs, he was quite pleased to feel again the sensation of hardening below. So he surrendered himself and watched in wonder when her head bent down there and wetted the tip before giving him a brief but enthusiastic cocksuck with her lips and tongue, while her fingers again played happily with her pussy. Now she made an effort in haste to straighten the robe on the bed covers and rearrange the pillow she'd used under her, while he got up in search of another condom after flushing the first. He looked at himself in the vanity mirror and asked himself again how this could all be happening to him – and how amazing it was going to feel to fuck her again – as he made his way back to the bed. She asked him to remove her panties and to use his tongue to wet her before applying more of the crème entre les fesses, confident that he was going to enjoy every moment of the foreplay. And did he ever! He went about preparing her as before but this time with an expertise that surprised him, and he didn't stop until her puckered fleur was able to take his curled tongue and then his thumb and then two fingers with ease. More focused than before, he gazed at her beauty, noticing the tiny silken hairs – sunbleached now – that grew from her lower back, even crowning the little brown mole on her arse cheek. His fingers explored the downy layer there without quite touching her skin, then traced the subtle path they made into the crack of her derriere, finally adorning like wetted silk the outer rim of her sweet anus. At one point during this, she turned her head to look at him, somewhat puzzled, and asked him what it meant, "...une piece de l'ass?" a phrase her girlfriend told her had originated in America. When he raised his mouth from her crevasse and started to explain that it was slang for ebats amoureux, she interrupted him and said it was silly and why shouldn't one have all of a woman's ass, "....je ne cette comprend pas!" But she soon forgot her confusion when she felt the full effect of his ministrations and read the desire in his eyes to fuck her again. Now he took the lead in positioning her on her stomach so that her tanned buttocks jutted outward like twin hillocks and her long legs stretched from the bed's edge with toes touching the deep carpet, below. The pose created a lasting image for him of les fesses jolis. This was the most delicious of his fantasies, and she played along willingly, keeping her thighs and derriere pressed together exactly as he told her to, showing not even a hint of her secret passage. His part in their loveplay was to slowly press his cock between her fleshy folds until the glans found her opening, all the while avoiding any such contact with her pretty palourde. He knew if he were to be this close to her incredible body much longer, he very likely would not be able to resist a taste of her taunting oyster slit. But, after several attempts to work his member between her tight fesses, and in spite of her excited urgings, he realized this wasn't going to work for them. "On ne peut pas toujours faire a sa guise...." She told him with a little girl's laugh, and she turned over to face him and repositioned herself on the bed. Now on her back with knees bent and spread wide apart to receive him (and her hand once again casually protecting la vagin!), he pulled her to the edge of the bed and readied himself to enter her. He let her guide its swollen length to the partly opened target, surprising him when he slid past her ring and into her arse with only the slightest resistance. Then, another attempt at distraction: His gaze across the room followed the line of expensive contemporary furniture, the intricate woodwork of each piece, highlights from sun glinting off the occasional brass inlay, then a framed watercolor of Mayan ruins nearly swallowed by an approaching thunderhead, final rays of sunlight illuminating the centuries-old stone...... At once he felt the dual pleasures of her anal tightness and warmth of before, the creamy lubricant easing his entry while he held her legs apart. Now she assumed the lead, pressing her mid-section forward, then withdrawing almost to the point of losing her penetrator, then again and again. And he marveled at watching her uncovered vagin open and close of its own will in perfect rhythm, her clitoris swollen, its tiny pearl shining, bobbing in and out of the wetted folds. He looked at her lovely face, perspired now with angelic strands of her hair plastered to her forehead, eyelids partly closed and lips forming words he could not hear, lost in the moment of the heated, oft-forbidden sex she so loved. The wondrous sight of his full length inside her little asshole, fucking her, while two of her fingers played quietly in and out of her chatte was enough to force him out of his passive role, and she felt the change come over him as he quickened the pace. When he bent over her to meet her lips, she told him in breathless words how wonderful he felt inside her, "...ooooohh, c'est collant! c'est collant. B-b-baise moi! Ohhh, oui!" When she began a lovely tightening of her anus in splendid concert with each of his inward thrusts and knew that he was near release, she reached down and withdrew his penis with careful fingers and peeled the condom from it before placing his cock inside her again. She accomplished this so quickly he hardly realized it had happened at all. And with one more deep thrust, he felt himself let go with two, three, then more jets of hot spray that filled her canal. Her pussy was awash with her liquid climax that ran to her fleur and mixed with his sperm when it came out of her with each contraction of her round anus. He watched, transfixed by the beauty of her womanly parts. What had only moments before been stretched to take all of his length was now closed and creased, never letting on it had served as the tightest vessel to receive his cock, a final trace of whitish droplets in the tiny hairs of her puckered anus the only evidence of the sex they'd just shared. Claire spread herself with her hands and allowed her searching finger to squeeze into the place he'd just vacated, teasing the inner flesh, and reliving the delicious sensation when he came inside her. Her little breasts pouted and blushed like bronzed medallions of her womanhood, twin nipples straining to match her climax, face aglow and mouth opened in a breathless smile that signifies complete sexual fulfillment. And he bent and kissed her fleur one last time before they embraced. Later, she led him to the shower, while she held her panties bunched against her bottom to prevent any unsightly drips on the carpet. He thought this a bit silly after what they'd just done to the terrycloth robe and the bedspread underneath, but he said nothing. In the shower together with the fine spray turned up, and clouds of steam beginning to form below, he held her to him and she kissed his chest, then reached up and pulled his head lower to find her mouth open for a kiss. Turning her back to him, and standing on tiptoes, she held herself open once again to let him inside her. He watched tiny rivulets of water stream over the curvature of her back and down between her spread fesses. But this time it wasn't to be; he was truly spent, wilted, and he had to be satisfied with holding her body and recalling how incredible it had felt to be inside her. And this time, without feeling his penis stretch her secret opening, her hands released her ass cheeks, and the delightful cleavage of her buttocks formed a natural valley for the shower water once again. But oh! how she had wanted him to fuck her entre les fesses under the warm shower! "Tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe," she told herself. He was certain he saw her lips form a pout as Claire pulled aside the curtain and stepped out of the tub, taking a fresh towel and carefully drying herself. He did the same without a word between them, and when she finished and wrapped the towel around her breasts, he realized, sadly, he'd just seen the last of this young French woman's sensual body. When she went out to the vanity to dry and style her short hair, he finish toweling, then found his clothes near the bed and dressed quickly. She was waiting for him, dressed now in another robe, this one no doubt belonging to Gilles. She told him they would soon be leaving for Cancun – perhaps tomorrow morning, and he said he thought they'd enjoy the beaches there. She searched for le mot juste, but could think of nothing to say. It was only when he bent and kissed the curl of her ear that she whispered, mon petit lapin...merci. So he went out, knowing somehow she was watching him with little teardrops at the corners of her eyes. As he walked along the hotel corridor, he fought every temptation to turn and look into her hypnotic eyes one last time. Not wishing to tempt his soul any longer, she lowered her eyes and quietly closed the heavy door,.....and determined to leave him something to stir his memory. Memoir of Claire * * * * * Scene Eight – return to the present He was first to clear the gunwale and make his way with camera and equipment along the boarded walkway while the crew was still tying up the Melanos II. Behind him, crew members were already removing the empty tanks and bringing them up for refilling. He found the freshwater tubs and tossed his dive equipment in to soak, then made a direct path to the dive shop's photography center. A shower and change of clothes could wait; this last dive had gone very well with excellent visibility and fine examples of marine life, including the young spotted moray. Now he was anxious to develop the film and examine the results. Julio had already mixed the solution; all that remained for him to do was to remove the 35mm roll from the RS-1 and process the film. Holding the film strip to the light, he examined each frame, then stopped, blinked once or twice, then focused again. He turned the film, looked again, and could not believe what he was seeing. So he went to the light table and tried that, but it was still there. Was he hallucinating, he wondered? There before his eyes, between two consecutive frames he'd taken of a colorful queen angelfish, was an image of his Claire, her back turned toward him, wearing only a pair of little panties and smiling at him over her shoulder. At some point, he quit trying to explain to himself how her image had gotten onto a roll of film he'd just exposed at a depth of 80 feet. Then he looked at her again and a sudden warmth came over him when he noticed her panties were rolled down to her thighs, exposing the partly opened crease of her lovely tanned arse. End