Winter was over, yet the Paris drizzle had remained into April. Little sun, and the dark grey skies matched the mood of Mike as he scanned each passing female. Paris is so large. His failure to find one beautiful, much beloved, face, after seven months searching was dragging him down.

He strolled into a lane and headed for his favourite café, where, even though the sky remained grey, he was struck by instant sunlight.

“Mike! Can it be you, at last?” That unmistakable sultriness of voice, and the bright-eyed lovely face. His heart performed a dance at the curvaceous figure in the summer dress. .

“Fleurette? Oui, c’est moi. Mais tu parle l’Anglais?” So gorgeous in yellow. Gorgeous out of it, as he’d learned so many times all those months ago.
“Oui, je pris des cours d’Anglais. Tu?”

Mike breathed in deeply, “Oui, a course also. En Francais.”

Fleurette stood up from the table where she’d sat alone. and pressed herself against him , “Tres bien,” she whispered. “We let language split us apart.”

Her thigh pushed between his, and there in the crowded café they kissed their so familiar passionate kiss. Their audience applauded as their lips parted but their bodies clung. Eyes clouded, Fleurette looked up into his, “Je sens ta -er-hardness?,” she sighed wriggling against it. ”I’ve missed it so much.”

“Seulement pour tu. You’ve had no one else?” he asked.

“Ma vagin s’est senti seul. Now it leaks madly, for you.”

They sat, sipped coffee, and gazed at each other, craving to touch more than just hands. All their lost months to make up, their minds mutually leaping ahead.

”One rule.”

“Que?”

He kissed her furrowed brow, “So we never make the same mistake. One day we talk only English. The next only French. It will help both of us.”

Standing up, she nodded her agreement, “Bien. Aujourd’hui?”

“Today. English. Okay?”

“Oui. They both chuckled, as she quickly added, “Oh, I mean, yes.”

Fleurette laid her hand over his, as she asked, “Ou est,” she paused, “--your hotel?”

“Just around the corner. Big room.”

“I’m dying to see the size of it.”

“It’s just a bedroom,” he said.

Fleurette giggled, “Pas la chambre.”

Mike laughed, slowly standing, he stooped and whispered, “I’ll excuse that one. Now, to my hotel?”

Fleurette nodded eagerly, “Ah--privacy!” She glanced out to the street. “Oh, il pleut---rain.”

Mike was surprised to notice it was more than just drizzle that hit the pavement. He laughed at her slip-up , and held up his umbrella, “Mon. My brolly.”

Then, hunched close together, they hurried out into the downpour. The rhythmic patter on the canvas over their heads was almost soothing, especially when they paused on the corner to share a warm kiss, as though they couldn’t wait.

And they couldn’t. Hurrying to his up-market room, Mike held the door to hang out the “Ne pas deranger.” No disturbance of what he hoped was to follow. Turning, he was surprised to see a damp yellow dress draped over a chair, but his eyes were swiftly drawn passed it to the naked figure, standing arms spread wide in the pale light filtering from the rain-stippled window.

Fleurette’s exquisite body, moved slowly, seductively towards him. Those pink-tipped nipples already hard, he’d wager. His fingers itched to nip at them. He remembered how she loved that. And, below her shaved mound, the first hint of that sweet, creamy crevice, that already had him licking his lips.

Then she was upon him, and their mouths and tongues meshed, as they fought for the supremacy of space. Her hands groped for his belt buckle, while his hands clutched her wonderful buttocks, fingering into her crack, pulling her too close for any unbuckling.

When she breathlessly implored him, he relaxed his grip, his belt came undone and his pants fell. Fleurette was instantly on her knees, gripping the solidity of him.

“Oh, it is. Il est. It is.”

“What?”

“As big as ever.”

“Oh, I doubt---Aaagh.” His gasp came as she rolled her tongue over and around his throbbing smooth glans. Looking down he saw her lips gape as she moved to swallow his eager cock.

But what he was eager for at that moment was not that. Mike guided her head away, and bent to pick her up bodily, to place her, wide-legged on the bed. Then, he was over her, into her, with his full length.

“Mike, Mike. Mike!” She almost sobbed his name, as they plunged and threshed all over the bed. So much frustration for so many months had them rushing towards their massive climax.

Mike was pulsing just before she heaved, and it was a delight for him to hear Fleurette’s squeal of orgasmic rapture once more.

A short rest together then an agreed, touchy, feely, soaping of each other in the shower. And later, together they learned the control, the ecstasy of their promised love and lives together.

“Baise-moi. Fuck me, pour toujours.” Fleurette sighed,

“You know I will,” Mike told her. “ And I excuse your French