Take a nip

Chapter One

Sitting opposite Michael at the Louvre station of the Paris metro, I was looking out the window while waiting for the train to move on, when I noticed him standing on the platform. In fact, notice isn’t the right word, because it was he who steadily forced me to meet his eyes.

He was a beautiful man and not just because he happened to be extremely handsome. No, a little something in the hardly noticeable smile on his lips and the magnetising look in his dark, intense eyes made him beautiful and urgently desirable.

He stood very still, his lean body proudly erect and elegant in a fashionable suit, as he gazed at me. I tried to look away, stunned by the intense sensual magnetism between us, but he forced my eyes back to his. He obliged me to feel his erotic attraction to me and answer it with mine.

Afterwards, long after the train had left the station, all I remembered was that everything around us fell away and that – our eyes locked – he and I slowly and tenderly and without any hurry began to make love.

We kissed and touched, we felt and fondled and tasted even the most intimate part of each other’s body, until the need to come together became urgent.

Neither of us moved. He stood on the platform, I sat on the train, but through my eyes I opened up my body and he penetrated me. He drove deep inside, I met his thrusts and we moved to and fro, in and out, deep, deep, deeper. I put my legs around him and curved up my pelvis, I pushed down his buttocks with my feet and opened my mouth to his, met his tongue and…

Our orgasm was a long, rolling spasm. It was like the surf of the Atlantic and we rode it together. Not fiercely passionate, but tender and filling and fulfilling and when it was over our eyes languidly fondled and kissed the epilogue of our copulation.

I felt drowsy, my body contented and lazy and, for the first time in many years, sexually satisfied. I looked up and from the platform his eyes smiled at me from under sleepy eyelids.

We were total strangers. Yet, we knew each other so well that it had been normal to love and mate within the timespan of just a few minutes.

Little by little and still holding each other’s eyes, we became two separate beings again. Two people surrounded by other people. Two intimate strangers.

When the metro moved out of the station he kissed me goodbye with a hardly noticeable nod and I kissed him by touching the window with my fingertips.

“Gorgeous station, eh, Rox,” Michael commented and I agreed with him.

I’ve never forgotten that man and during the sexless years of my marriage often thought of him. It was such a lovely memory and filled with so much tenderness, that it helped me get through some very down and lonely periods.

Throughout the years other men have been attracted and attractive to me. Let’s face it, I’m a young and good-looking woman with an interesting body to say the least. I am Roxane Fontaine, famous theatre and cinema actress. I am a star. Stars attract men like honey attracts bees.

Some of those men almost succeeded in waking up the sexual woman in me, but I remained loyal and faithful to Michael to the very last minute of our marriage. Nothing to brag about, it’s just the way I am.

I don’t know if our marriage ever had any value, but I do know it outlasted itself. Apart from our work and the many films and theatre plays we did together, he and I shared very little. Even our sex life dwindled down to the nothingness of two people only sharing a bed to sleep. We hadn’t touched each other for years and I had reached the point of forcefully forgetting what sex was all about.

In the beginning there was frustration and physical craving, but out of sheer self-defence I soon turned off the sex switch altogether and I wouldn’t even allow the thought of going to bed with another man to cross my mind.

We never talked about it. In fact, we never talked about anything but our work. It was the love for our work that kept us together for fifteen years. Our work and nothing else.

I don’t know how Michael lived those celibate years. Maybe he had a mistress, maybe he helped himself. I don’t know. The subject was never broached in the sporadic, calm and kind and always reasonable discussions we had about our marriage and the possible, or impossible continuation of it.

But then, one day, I woke up and knew with absolute and calm certainty I no longer wanted to live with Michael. It was as simple as that. That very same evening, over dinner in our favourite restaurant, I asked him for a divorce.

Poor Michael. Good old Mikey who’d been brought up to believe that being unhappily married is always better than a divorce. He was knocked for six and it hurt me to see his handsome face so unhappy. Still, he acquiesced and six weeks later we were no longer man and wife.

And that’s how it all starts…


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