Violet dusk cooled the desert air. Twigs crackled in my fire atop the dune. Pure silence otherwise. I’d fled the tacky Mirador hotel in Djerba. Flashy lobby, magnetic keycard buzzing open my room door. Pot-bellied guys in floral shorts, cackling wives. Hated it all. Wife missed trip for funeral. Daughter partied poolside. I craved escape.
Beach at night was mine. Gray sand emptied. Waves hushed hotel disco beats. Spotted her there once: Odette, kneeling for photos. Annoying pest from another hotel, switched to ours. Mid-40s, plain: messy waves, small tits under tee, tight pants hugging pert ass.
The Stopover
Midweek 4×4 excursion: perfect out. Me, quiet couple, her. Bumpy ride, dust-caked jeep. Laughed easy. She spoke little, smart words. Camp: comfy tents, tourist setup. Dinner done, I hauled wood up dune. Stars exploded overhead. Waves of sand to horizon.
The Transit
She appeared. ‘Mind company?’ Sat close. Silent awe first. Shooting stars streaked. Talk flowed: her social work with sick kids, divorce scars, self-doubt. Soft voice gravelly sometimes. Eyes hazel, serious then sparkling. Listened mostly. Laughed her off shadows. Desired her soul, body. Brassens lyrics hit: fleeting women. Heart pounded.
Felt bulge harden. Stood abrupt. Grabbed wood, thick blankets. Back, shoulders wrapped. Chatted more. Fire died. Stood. Eyes locked eternal seconds. Arms opened. She pressed in. Soft belly met my stiff cock. Hands cupped face. Kissed: velvet lips, tongues danced. Pure fire.