Of course, I remember. I remember everything. Your eyes, your beautiful expressive eyes. That gaze that caught mine and made my nipples bead the first time I ever glimpsed your face across the square.
Fuck. You had me right there, I felt it—the connection. You were sitting with a crowd of friends under a restaurant canopy, I was sightseeing with my sister, the last thing on my mind was a holiday romance, but I looked back, and so did you. The world around us freeze-framed as our gazes locked for the eternity of a moment. I remember it so clearly.
The hairs on my neck stood up as everything dropped back into life, sounds sights smells, the hustle and bustle of locals and tourists ploughed back into motion and yet we stayed still, staring.
At the exact moment your friends nudged you, my sister nudged me. We peeled our eyes away to smile at, and assure our companions that they had our attention, but it was only half true. As I began to walk away, I turned to see you turning to look at me. You lifted your glass and nodded my way making my chest inflate with a giddiness I hadn’t felt in years. Not since the teenage glory of long summers with nothing to do but flirt and party on the beach.
My heart raced and sexual adrenalin coursed through my body. I had to ground myself and reached for my sister’s hand as she led me away, weaving through the throng of eager sightseers, listening to tour guides and ooohing at facts and architecture.
I remember in those seconds, the fear that I might never see you again in my whole life. The fear that I’d missed you in that fleeting moment, but yet, the underlying certainty that you would be part of my life. Oh, Sylvan. Of course, I remember the figs.
Did you know what you did to me in those seconds of connection? Did I ever tell you that you awakened me so deeply, so purely, that my pussy clenched and my knickers dampened and when my sister and I stopped at a café for refreshments an hour later, I excused myself and went to the bathroom.
I bit my lip to remind myself to stay silent as I lifted my dress and gathered it to my waist. The flimsy fabric of my panties was sopping wet and my fingers skated across it, slipping into the side, pulling myself open quickly as the image of your beautiful eyes flashed into my mind. I knew by the way your jaw went slack that you’d be a great lover.
The delicate yet firm way your fingers grasped the neck of your wine glass as you’d raised it showed me that you knew how to use them. Strong, gentle, knowledgeable.
I pressed my own fingers to my cunt wishing they were yours. You’d already caught me in your spell Sylvan, and as I fucked myself in that bathroom, with urgency and sadness that I might have missed my chance to have you for real, I came hard on my fingers, wishing they were...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Miss Frolic
Oh just WOW. This is THE most compelling erotic story I have ever read. I love the mystical elements, the sensuality of the fruit, the holiday context… in my eyes, a true masterpiece.