Courtesan, London Mistress, Travel

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of…

Soft laughter (mine) and small cries (his). I am back from my trip away near the Pyrénées where I experienced a sensualist’s delight. To give you an idea, here are some snippets of a scene, each one a moment in my life that can never be repeated except by memory.

I remember the fragrant scent of lavender by the villa, the bushes adorned with butterflies and bees and then the earthy scent of rosemary by the pool where I would frolic naked- silky water on soft skin and the weightlessness in water. The weight of thighs on shoulders.

Enjoying the view...

Enjoying the view…

All set to the soft thin chime of goat bells in the woodland nearby and the crickets in the grass below. The warmth of sun on my breasts. Fields of sunflowers swaying in the growing breeze, their heads hanging heavily.

Later, the snap of a latex glove, electrical insertions, fearful eyes, featherlight touches on the dial, sweat in the afternoon heat.

In the evening another form of electrical play, not mine but Nature’s. Relentless sheet light overhead, turning the lights off indoors to see the outdoors show better. The occasional roll of thunder and then the crack of a heavy whip; forked lightening striking the garden outside. An almighty bang. The room shaking. Eyes wide open. Blue steak and Bordeaux.

A morning stroll in the fresh cool air, espresso in the morning sun. Simple food done well at a local restaurant and wine tasting at a local Domaine. Eating figs freshly plucked from the tree. Juice running down my chin.

Cool needles sinking into warm flesh as we watch the clouds rolling over the mountains in the distance. Feeling very much alive as the sun set, silhouetting the Pyrénées.


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