Not the intention 2: Diane

Travel unobtrusive, I had said. Diane with a red suitcase in a signal red, tight fitting and too short dress, which only accentuates her dark body, is a beacon on the drab platform when I wait for her train to arrive. Even my chaste bisous get envious glances from the men around me, who quickly walk on with a visible tent, contracted on the train, I just imagine.

“Hungry or hungry?” I ask, stopping for a sandwicherie. “Tuna, raw ham, garlic-stiff salami? Or are you a vega-vagi?”

“No, I like meat in my vagi” she laughs, stroking her mound “do that dry sausage. And tuna.” I return with two half-baguettes, – called sandwich here – and steaming coffee.

Outside the city, driving in my 4×4 through the narrow, deep valleys, winding and rocky, I stop at a nice little parking lot. We get out and sit on the bench to eat. I break the sandwiches in two and we eat silently and sip our coffees in a green and bird-tweeting bubble..

I stare unabashedly at her bosom, how thick crust crumbs fall on her brown-black breasts and into her cleavage. In the corner of my eye, I see a squirrel on a branch peering with me. I whisper “don’t move. Squirrel in the tree to your left. Must be a male, looks just as horny at those crumbs on your tits as I do.”

She turns her eyes to the left and smiles. “Would he dare jump on my shoulders and grope me with those little grasping hands until all the crumbs are gone and search around in my décolleté some more?”

“Oh yes, and if not, I would. But I have cold fingers and from those in your little valley, you get stiff nipples and we should not have that, so without bra. Is that actually called ‘command’ for girls?”

She bursts out laughing and the squirrel jumps away, no doubt with a stiffie. She grabs my left hand and feels my fingers, one by one from bottom to top. “Soft they are and long” she says dreamily, her nipples now poking into the red fabric of her dress. When she lets go of me, I casually skim along them with the back of my fingers. She gives me a quick look of “fuck me now!” and then it’s back to normal between us.

As she strokes my bare forearm, she says “You’re going to hide me well, I think. And it’s beautiful here!”

“Rugged, especially, I warn you, rural and no nightlife. Restaurants are only open around noon and no way clubbing. You’re stuck with a guy three times your age.”

“Aaaach, kinda safe right? Just my grandpa…. His hands always strayed to forbidden places when he hugged me. But otherwise harmless.”

“I’m mostly touchy-feely and cuddly. But that can get out of hand, did Lizz tell you that?”

She grins “You were hanging out the young god with her a few months back, right? And taken her on every horizontal surface in your house?”

“And against the standing surfaces. No, you see that wrong. I had promised my brother to take care of her as well as he did before he died. When I needed her in my grief, she was there for me. And yes, I do exaggerate sometimes…”

“You don’t expect that from me, do you?”

“No, you have your own room and you really will have to seduce me if you need me. But don’t blame me if I peek and enjoy your body and little Desi waves to you in appreciation. ” For the umpteenth time already, I try to picture her nipple-crowned, pronged breasts, her tight little ass and -no, stop now, Desi.

She stands up, kisses me on her forehead. “Old man!” she says, as I stroke her beautiful buttocks.


Continuing on the road, she tells of the pressure and tension, but also fear of the last few weeks. How they actually didn’t dare go outside anymore, a friend had been shot in the street, and another friend’s girl raped by three boys when she was home alone. Not a circle to continue living in, quite a few things have to change. Tears of fear. I caress her shoulders for a moment, not too long in these short, sharp turns…..

She is still tense, although she has inspected the house, enjoyed the view, freshened up, and lies down on the couch in a long t-shirt. In what I call a hedgehog position, all curled up. And shaking her shoulders, she cries silently. At last she is giving way to her distress.

I arrive with proseccos and plop down next to her. “You can exhale, you know. Just relax. Robin will manage, they won’t do anything to him, right? ” I gently massage her neck and she sighs deeply. She gets up and looks at me through her tears, puts her head on my left shoulder against my head and we put our arms around each other.

Much later, when she is breathing calmly again she says over my shoulder “I don’t know, it needs to cool down for a few weeks. If the next deal goes well, it will blow over. I hope, those guys are pretty vindictive, but they need Robins’ money laundering.”

previous chapter:
1 – Panic!

to the index:
Not the intention

next chapter:
3 – Le Lendemain

Gepubliceerd door Desiderius Lustig

Ik zet mijn hete dromen om in verhalen vol genot en liefde. Mijn fascinatie is vooral de herinnering aan mensen, ontmoetingen en gebeurtenissen, maar dan omgebogen naar intense lichamelijkheid. In mijn verhalen ben ik daarnaar op zoek en herbeleef al schrijvend, wat er had kunnen zijn of bijna was. Als er maar......

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