162 Naughty alley, image by midjourney
It was with a heavy heart that I began my summer vacation. So yes, I was very enthusiastic and excited about going to the Avignon Festival and performing with my troupe… But the backlash from the lumberjack stuck in my throat.
On the one hand, I was proud to have taken the initiative, to have spared myself days and weeks of torture waiting for something that wouldn’t come. Yep, I was even shouting from the rooftops about how proud I was to have opened my guts, to have matured.
But my ego was no less wounded. My mojo was in the toilet. And I had the unpleasant impression of going back 6 months or more.
Need a hug
In the end, my mojo and everything else was better before I met the man with the axe. I was happy on my own, I felt good about myself, I crunched when I felt like crunching, I lived my life with envy without emotional need.
When you’re deprived of chocolate for months or years on end, you get used to it and live very well without it. Until you’re allowed several squares every day…
For me, chocolate means everyday tenderness, affectionate gestures at the cinema, tender caresses on the sofa, arms that hug you and reassure you when you need them. For some people, all this is essential to life. For me, it’s a plus. I’m the queen of bachelors, and I only enjoy a few chocolate chips now and then.
And then, all of a sudden, it’s full on chocolate. For several weeks, I enjoyed the almost daily pampering, and rediscovered a tenderness I hadn’t enjoyed in years. And, of course, I got a taste for it.
So when it stopped, apart from my wounded ego, I was in a bit of emotional distress. I had to get over this sudden withdrawal…
When are we going out?
To overcome the lack of cuddles, I wanted to go out, party and hunt.
In short, if I didn’t have any shelves, I was going to steal the few nuggets I could find here and there in the evenings. I wanted to grab for the sake of grabbing. And unfortunately, more out of a need to compensate for an emotional lack than out of any real desire.
But for the first few days of Avignon, nothing. Nada. Not an outing worthy of slipping a little sweetness between the lips.
I really love my mates. I’m proud of this troupe and I have a great time with them. But it’s my vacation, and I’ve got a terrible urge to go hunting, so we keep to ourselves, apartment, bar, restaurant. My feet want to dance, my lips want to kiss and my whole body wants to be touched.
It’s so frustrating for me not to go out. And at the same time, the days are so intense, so busy, and I’m so tired without even turning my head upside down…
Chocolate chips in sight
I’m always on the lookout for little nuggets to sink my teeth into.
We share our theater with several troupes, and I spot several pretty boys. There’s the handsome dark-haired charmer, and a couple of really nice gray-haired ones.
The dark-haired one is in a relationship, but I have no idea what the marital status of the other two is. One’s from Paris, the other from Toulouse. We bump into each other, smile and joke. But there doesn’t seem to be any opportunity to try harder…
I like the one from Paris a little less, but he seems so nice. The one in Toulouse is full of charm, he has beautiful blue eyes and is very seductive.
I never miss an opportunity to smile and tease him when we meet.
But there’s still no exit in sight, and we rarely catch him at 3pm outside a theater…
An outing at last!
At last, my playing partners agree to go out to the Off village. I’m on fire.
After a few initial drinks at home, we head out and pour bottle after bottle of rosé. 12 euros a bottle, it may not be great, but it defies all competition!
We dance a little, then meet up with the other troupes in our theater.
I meet up again with the handsome, charming man from Toulouse. We chat, joke and, in the back of my mind, I think… Grrrr, I’d like to take a bite out of you. Then, in the blink of an eye, my hopes are dashed. Not only does he have someone, he has children with them. Ouch.
I pretend to smile. Try as I might, I avoid his mischievous gaze and his pupils reminiscent of the sea. After a few minutes, I move away, looking for my other potential prey.
The little grizzled Parisian isn’t far away, and in the company of my little friend B, I join his troop of boys.
Disappointment and mojo down
I quickly sense that if either of us were to interest them, it would be B. But you never know.
So one drink follows another, and soon the Off village closes. But the night is still young, and B and I let our troupe go home, to continue the evening with our new friends.
We wander for a few minutes through the alleyways in search of a nightclub… Closed. Too bad.
B and I suggest they come and enjoy the pool. The boys follow us home. Glasses quickly empty around the pool, where the men soak naked, and we in our swimsuits.
But I can see this is not my night. I feel fat and like a greasy doughnut. In short, I don’t feel good about myself.
And with all the attention the boys pay to B, I feel completely ignored.
So yes, I’m having a good evening, but my mojo is sinking further into limbo.
Second Chance
Two days later, it’s the end. Last night of the festival. We’ve only got one show left the next day, and then Avignon will be over.
I’m sorry, but I can’t come back from a vacation spent in a city teeming with young actors, no doubt very naughty, without tasting the pleasure of the flesh at least once.
I know I’m in a strange mood. I’m putting the pressure on myself to get laid. But it’s important for my psychological recovery, okay? So I tell myself that a kiss will suffice, or a dance, yes just a dance at least.
After a brief tussle with one of my mates, which ends in a few tears and a bloody hand, we’re finally on site. We’re finally there.
It’s a classic evening of drinking, dancing and chatting. We keep to ourselves.
The return from Toulouse
A detour to the toilets brings me across the Toulouse crowd. After a few dozen minutes, I sit down and have a chat with them. I ignore the handsome, blue-eyed man a little, so as not to be too tempted.
Until our eyes meet. Ouch, the desire is quickly born between my loins. No, Mymy, don’t touch him, he’s a couple. Think of Karma… And we all know that Karma is a bitch.
He asks me to dance later in the evening. There, fine, perfect. Just one dance and that’s enough.
I ditch them to join my own troupe. On the way, in an instant, I meet the gaze of a young man in his early twenties. We exchange three words, then without warning, we lean towards each other and exchange a kiss.
Just like that. I smile at him and leave without looking back in search of my friends. They’re there, and the evening resumes just as pleasantly, with one less pressure on my shoulders.
Yes, I know, what pressure?!? I get tired sometimes too!
One dance too many
From time to time, I leave the group to go dancing. I ask a handsome young man to dance with me. It’s a nice moment, although frankly, I’m rather clumsy.
We part without more than a smile. And I confess, I’m a little disappointed. But when I look back, I see the handsome, blue-eyed man from Toulouse.
His eyes are laughing and his smile is infectious. “Will you dance with me?” “With pleasure.”
And here we are, dancing, our hands clasping, our pelvises beginning to graze each other in rhythm. In her irises, I see the same spark of desire I feel a little lower down.
Too much desire
Ouch, didn’t we say no?
He glances over his shoulder and spots one of his troop. So he pulls me away from the crowd, away from this unwilling spy.
Our bodies jiggle, and milimeter by milimeter we get closer. As for our faces, they too begin to approach. Our gazes never leave each other. His hand comes to rest on the nape of my neck, and our lips throw themselves over each other.
The kiss is pretty sweet, until he decides to insert his pointed tongue straight into my mouth. I’m not quite sure what to do with this over-sheathed tongue between my lips.
Uh, what are you doing? After several attempts, he finally follows my kissing rhythm. People are moving around us, the evening is over, the village is closing. But for us, it’s impossible to let go.
So he pulls me by the hand and we leave the festival grounds, getting lost in an adjoining alleyway.
The alley as playground
He presses me against the wall, and our kisses redouble in intensity. We cling, we devour each other. His lips lose themselves in my neck, and his hands defy my modesty by slipping under the flaps of my combishort.
His phalanges caress my buttocks with envy, and before long his fingers find their way under my panties. I want him so much right now. Alley or not, I don’t care.
As his tongue assaults my cleavage, giving the public a glimpse of my nipple, a group of people come to stand a few meters in front of us.
The alley isn’t dark enough for our games to go unsupervised. And as our kisses redouble, with a glance, we decide to change location.
A few dozen meters further on, in the corner of a dark alley, we start our mischief all over again.
Cuni alley
The alley is dark and anonymous. Our kisses don’t stop, the top of my combishort has been pushed aside and my breasts are now at the mercy of her tongue.
In fact, that tongue, so sheathed just ten minutes earlier, seems to want to continue the workout. His lips move down from the nape of my neck to my crotch.
With his fingers, he pushes aside anything that might be in his way and tastes my forbidden fruit. There’s no doubt he’s enjoying it immensely, and mine is starting to rise too.
Here it is, my first cuni in an alley. Probably my last too… though…
I arch my back in pleasure, he continues, I moan, he continues. He puts his heart into it, and I bite my lips to keep a low profile.
I want to please him too. But too much alcohol, and the beast isn’t as sheathed as his tongue.
He kisses me again, apologizes for not being at his best downstairs and adds, “I could lick you all night. I love pleasing you.”
It’s late, time to go home. We exchange one last passionate kiss before parting…
“See you tomorrow…”