Not the intention 7: Remembrance and Goodbye

Grinning, Antoine and Jerôme stand looking at me as I seem to be quietly wasting the afternoon on a terrace opposite the cathedral with a Kro-pression [Kronenbourg from the tap] in front of me, while Diane has her after-meeting at Uni.

“Ah bonjour!” and they give me bisous à la pelle [literally: kissing with the shovel] before sitting down. Antoine does it bent over, leaning two hands high between my thighs, thumbing my balls. Jerôme squats and feels my now full crotch, while kissing.

The pretty boy, who serves us, arrives without question with large glasses of white wine for them. Antoine strokes his ass “merci, mon frère!” [thanks brother] and gets a pat on the back of his head from Luc, really his brother, when I see their faces side by side.

“Where’s your nymph?” I’m asked and I explain that this afternoon she gave a guest lecture at the University on African sex initiation rites among the Guyanese bush blacks. “I was so proud of her, I sat beaming in my bench like I was her grandfather. She was good, and there were at least a hundred listeners. But she’s coming soon, they still had to evaluate. If she’s giggling, that just came to boozing…”

Armed between two study buddies, Marc and Louis, they arrive, happy and elated, pull in a few more chairs, and suddenly we’re a big circle.

She looks at me with big expectant eyes. “You did a great job! Not only your story, which I had already gone over with you and <grinning horny> tried out. But also your presentation! Understated and oozing sex.”

Louis, who had been sitting next to me in the lecture hall with Marc, chimed in “And your Guyanese patois, so sexy! With your stories you got the whole room up, hard and longing. I whispered to your amant, that we were the only three there, who really know you!” Jerôme raises his left eyebrow questioningly.

“Last week” I explain “on my back terrace, while having afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches and scones with strawberry jam and double cream, we had a discussion about who could stay small the longest with such a beauty. Of course, we were already out of our clothes. That didn’t last long, because Diana was doing all kinds of seductive poses and then she was chased by these two all over the pelouse with a drawn sword. And when they got her…”

Diane closes her eyes and I see her galvanized memory. Antoine-he was his first husband-wants the details, who, what, where. I had been watching hornily, give a detailed account of rolling around on the lawn and we are soon all too tight in our jeans. He interrupts me with questions like “How long? How deep? On the back? On hands and toes? In turns?” And when I mentioned that Marc was the cucumber of their sandwich and they were -bareback- double creamed, I saw Jerôme just about cum in his panties.

So Antoine invites the boys over for a game of man play if they’re in the mood. I gesture to Luc to pay but he fingers no and points to his brother from behind. We stand up and I go around tkissin he circle, leaning back and rubbing crosses firmly together. Diane feels them ride up against her belly and gets the ‘pelle’ from each….


We are driving just outside the city, into the mountains and I suddenly turn onto a dirt road, sloping and curving, until we are out of sight of the D-route. I grab a blanket from the back seat and I take her by the hand, leading her to the edge of the plateau. We look from beneath the light canopy into a ravine of tall, straight pines on the other slope. A stream gurgles in its depths. A perfect place to play together on the quickly spread out blanket.

We don’t need words, our lips are already too busy with each other and our tongues equally so. Eagerly we undress each other, as if it were our first time. Our hands caress each other’s backs and stomachs and lower, more intimately. I find a nipple and hear her sucking in as I pinch it between my lips. She fingers my nipple, small, but stiff, and I feel it in my lower abdomen. We kiss each other everywhere until I discover her lady lips, pry them open gently with my tongue and taste her love glaze. She tongues my glans inside the confines of my foreskin. She sucks on the spout as I push my tongue into her opening. She moans, no, purrs like a cat should.

Then suddenly we turn and merge, with the painful friction of the not yet lubricated skin and opening. She also works against it with her kegels and I feel my foreskin being pushed open tightly and my glans tensing. We lie still enjoying this initial opening, like a rose emerging from the bud. Her love-ring gently urges me into action and first with millimeter motions, then gently inches up and down, then screwing from glans-deep to balls-deep to full throttle I shake her. She giggles and I stroke her pleasure button. She rolls over and rides me, stately straight with rhythmically rotating breasts, arms raised and yodeling. The gorge answers happily.

She hops off me and folds her wet cleft over my mouth, rolling over my belly and taking me deep into her mouth and beyond. Divine, a just-to-be-fucked pussy on your nose and mouth, getting dripping wet cheeks and feeling your rod held at temperature for the finale.

And it came, me in a cross-legged position, my key in her lock, kissing deeply with my cheeks smelling of our previous fuck. She springs to her crouch and milks me, I twist her nipples and we discharge our climax into each other. Silenced, we look into each other’s eyes and slowly I watch her pleasure fade away until only our after-fuck grin remains. We sit in this embrace for at least fifteen minutes and my semi-small comes up again.

“Neeheehee, now it’s done!” she says, standing up and assembling our scanty clothes. “Straight home, right?” and sits down on the leather car seat with her wet, seeded ass. I’m glad we’re passing by back roads and deserted villages with no traffic lights. Naked, we step out inside the garage and shower together. So wonderful to wash her from the back. She squeals when I raise my middle finger inside.


Summer turns dark green with leaves and we enjoy each other’s presence and body every day. I realize that there is an end to waking up snuggled and lapped by my beautiful black nymph. An end to frolicking on the lawn, with always that fierce ending. And then just the memory.

“Come see you, later. Don’t know what time yet, flight plan has yet to be approved” says the inevitable app from Robin, just now. She turns me towards her and presses my head on her bosom.

I’m keeping tough, I think, but my shoulders begin to jerk gently. “Is good, little boy. I’m only a plane ride away from you. Now go do to you what my granny did to me, put me in a hot bath and make me eat peanut soup.” She hops out of the bed, I hear her rummaging in the other bathroom. I close my eyes and watch her go around. Practicing my memory for later. She comes in bed up against me again with her cooled body. “You’re still nice and sleepy,” and I shiver at her cold hands on my rod.

And she’s still holding those when, a moment later, she pulls me into the bathroom, the one with the big spray-and-bubble bath. Now she has closed the curtains and all the candles from the house, large and small give the filtered daylight that hot glow of water sex. Also the Easter candle from by my Love’s coffin, given to me after the absoute as a reminder of her, but surely not to light this play.

I sit on the bottom of the bath and she on the women’s seat. I pack her with foam, which then sinks slowly down over her breasts, revealing pront, tense nipples. Again and again, we laugh. I massage the inside of her thighs with outstretched fingers, stirring her lips all the time.

She sits with her eyes closed as I turn on that nozzle array in her seat, specially programmed to pulse from soft to harder from anus to clit. She hadn’t tried that one before and “hoeiiii, that one is intense” she surrenders to this water cock. I enjoy watching her imminent climax rising in her face and think, this will be the last time.

With a sigh of pleasure she sits down next to me on the bath bottom and we hold each other like I imagine with twin fetuses. Warm and in a cocoon of love. Bubbling, flowing and foaming. And so we sit ambivalently between sadness and pleasure of lovers in each other’s embrace, never to let go. “I want you, now” She grabs a silicone lubricant syringe, stands for a moment, smoothes herself out and plumps down on me, hungry, while she still can. I nuzzle the bosom in my face to approving sounds. Thus we build our excitement for one last time together like this. And then suddenly the finish line was there. I’ll take a rain check on the peanut soup.


Robin reports that they may land at the small sports airport nearby at around 3 o’clock, but only to load Diane with her luggage.

For someone who arrived with one red suitcase, we now have a lot to pack. Fortunately, I still have two large overnight bags and they fill up with ease. She leaves me the vib, which she often teased me about. And yet packing hurts me, though I’m happy for her.

When we turn past the small hangar at the taxi-place, a car from customs is already there. We get out and walk towards them. Surprised, I see Benoît lower the window, who in this setting asks, matter-of-factly, if there is any luggage to check. Very different from the other day, naked, hard and horny, but now he’s also wearing a uniform.

I drag the luggage onto the concrete and his partner, stern as a dominatrix – I immediately get an image of tight leather suit and open in strategic places – lets me unpack everything. Benoît explains, that this sport plane was once caught on a drug shipment, two owners ago. “Not taking a risk with those Amsterdammers, my chief said! But I was able to allow landings, because it’s for you and Diane, that’s all I could do for you. Next time come by car.” he smiles flirtatiously at Diane. He gets a poke from his partner, who winks at me.

And then the plane lands and snorts at us, stops and the door opens. Benoît is standing right next to it, but can’t stop Robin from jumping out and running straight for Diane.

“Young love” he shakes his head at the sight of the unashamedly kissing and wriggling couple, he a head taller and a shoulder width wider. Dominatrix watches their flapping in amusement as I hand the luggage to brother pilot Steven. She sternly tells them not to fuck on French soil ( ne pas d’interaction au territoire), because that’s where things seemed to be going for a while.

Then I get two more kisses and hugs and they get in. Benoît puts an arm around my waist as Robin closes the door, and Steven sets the course back into the air. We stand silently following them until they are long since no longer a speck.

Benoît takes me in his arms, kisses me and says “Mémé wants to comfort you quickly. She can do that!”


Behind the castle, it turns out there is a small lake twenty meters below. And on the other side of it a pavilion, a folly, I estimate it 18th century, from its classical shape with Doric columns and the tympanum above it. Octagonal and from above, the floor plan looks like an anch sign. How could it be otherwise in this family of wild sex worship.

As I walk onto the front terrace, a pretty boy of about 18 comes out of the vestibule “I’m Jules, Mémé is expecting you” and points me inside. He has only a gold shiny speedo on, tight, with quite a bit to hide in it. He gestures for me to undress and put on a silk kimono, blue, with dragons. Comes to halfway up my thighs and barely closes around me, well.

The dome is bigger than it looks from the outside. Apparently built as a sort of musical theater or banquet hall for those orgies from before the revolution. At the eight corners are sturdy, masculine columns with straight and curved niches in between. Covered with a wooden dome vault and above the entrance a music gallery with graceful steps leading to it.

Directly opposite the entrance, Mémé in also in kimono sits on a wide bed against the headboard. “My lover, who seeks comfort on my old breasts! Welcome to my debauched temple of pleasure!”

“May I?” and she gestures for me to sit next to her against the headboard. She watches me expectantly, as I let my eyes wander around the room, to the three large marble statues in the arched niches. To the left of the bed a David, but large-headed and à point, to the right a Venus with one leg bent supporting herself on a rock, giving insight into her cave. The third is Bacchus, sitting bent over, tipsy and just spent.

“It’s all décor, plaster and effect, so not nearly as old as you might think, 150 years, at most.” she laughs. “My great-grandfather was a friend of Ludwig of Bavaria-yes, that flamboyant one-and had this rebuilt after a fire, to accommodate him in style. He came here mainly to soak up the virile powers of the Rocher. And here? Here then was an orgy with young men and young ladies. Ludwig would point out who had to perform with whom and then watch pleasingly as he played between my great-grandfather with 3 boys. Up there an orchestra played Wagner, all night. “

“Here, in this bed? And that’s where we’re going to play?”

She smiles mischievously at me and continues “A family story goes, that on a return visit at his Linderhof (Bavarian Alps), they had a threesome with my great-grandmother in the Venus cave in the boat.”

“I remember that cave, I went there once with Lief in ’83 or so. Had that kind of idea for that boat back then.”

“Much later, I was sitting here as a little girl between my grandfather’s bare legs watching nude ballets, dansing going into the core, but I was used to seeing that around me. On either side of us my ‘aunts’, mistresses of my grandfather, who came with me from Laos on the run from the Japs, but also because they were pregnant. We played together, we slept together and yes, they were my first ones.

Grandpa would often put me aside at one aunt’s house and go into the other aunt’s, if it got too much for him. And always that little orchestra, up there.”

She claps her hands and Jules comes over. “Champagne for me and this Dutchman will want a Kro, the heathen.”

“Noooooo” I protest in a small voice “Kronenburg does not comply with the Reinheitsgebot, Kir Royal for me.”

Each gets a silver tray next to us with the drink and small triangle sandwiches with egg-and-cress, cucumber and tuna. Finger food. Jules is stroked by her over his speedo in the front, yes, “Just think of your Louise” she says and immediately he grows out of his waistband, gee, it’s big!

The doors open and eight little boys about ten years old come in, red kimonos halfway up their bottoms. “I’ve also arranged for an orchestra now, because of the tradition here.” They giggle a little, as they walk up the stairs and release their belts. Wonderful, watching those bare asses go upstairs.

À capella they sing Palestrina’s Cruda mia nemica and a few other songs written for castrates. I am amazed. “They are good, aren’t they, my students. Too bad they only have those beautiful voices for such a short time. They are sexually active far too soon now. And then it comes earlier. Do you want their musical accompaniment when we play, or do we send them away?”

“I am planning things with you that are not for boys’ eyes. They are also a bit of the secrets of life, which we older people have amassed. And it distracts me.”

She laughs at me for this flirtation attempt and with a small hand movement she gestures the boys away. They wave at us and giggle, wishing us “Joyeuses baisières” [joyous fuckings], “bon gicler” [good spraying] or “extrèmes joiissances” [extreme cummings] , the naughties!

Jules closes the curtains and lights candles, also incense from Saba on coals, which creates a Gregorian atmosphere, solemn and serious.

Only now do I notice the carvings at the headboard, a tangle of naked people, active in the act of love. I am reminded of Vigeland’s column in Oslo. And I say so.. “Yes, my grandfather commisioned this to him for the tympanum, outside, but it never got beyond this wooden preliminary study because of the war. And Gustav died in ’43.

She slides the kimono off my shoulders as I kneel down to look intently at all the details. “I won’t do all those poses, today, I warn” I smile and see her now naked body, with creases where age got a hold of it, but she is not finely wrinkled. Of course, her breasts, once pront, are now handbags with nipples as pressure clasps. Her belly is tight, with old stretch marks, telling of children, now old too. She spreads her legs “Come see my little garden and indulge in my still-flowing spring.” And indeed, she is shiny and smooth as a woman of thirty. I look into her eyes and her eyelids give me permission to explore there with my fingers, to kiss there gently with my lips. Not the tight springiness of youth, but soft, yielding and enveloping, as sex between old people should be.

Her garden blooms and my old tree stump, so abused by Diane, I place on her belly and we let our tongues meet in the air. “Come, it’s time” and we unite, softly but pertinently. We move to the side, the cross of pregnancy, hold hands and look into each other’s eyes, increasing our rhythm with agile movements. Continue to watch and feel our climax build. Not rough, not savage, taking all the time it needs to come. Until it is there and we merge into each other. So good, so good.

We talk in each other’s arms about our life partners, those we lost and those we once played with. The sadness, the emptiness, loneliness, even though there are so many people around you.

She wants to know how much I miss Diane and if I can manage on my own. I keep tough, but she pricks through it, because she lives in the same bubble.

“We need to do this often, scouring souls and warming up to each other” she concludes and kisses my tears away.

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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