French girls are cool

Last week I met a Spanish girl who was raised in France, and now works in Perthe, Australia as a stripper/masseuse, to save money for traveling. She was a wonderful enigma of sorts, full of spark and life. We spent 3 days sailing around a chain of 74 islands. The moon was full throughout that entire trip. No clouds, no rain, just perfect days of snorkeling & wonderful nights of cuddling.

The night we returned to shore, we went to a Brazilian party adjacent to her hostel. Together we owned the dancefloor, like you know I always do. People marveled at our synergy, cheered us on, and gave way for our sexy twirls and twists. We snuck back to her room and broke the damn bunk bed. Despite the crash, we stayed for a bit longer fucking, completely immersed in each another.

I am currently 12 hours away from that beach town. Yesterday, she randomly checked into this new hostel. Last night, after listening to an awesome ensemble of digereedoo and acoutsic guitar, we wandered down to a coastal look-out-point: a jacuzzi-size platform, 40ft above the sand, nestled between palm trees, with a panoramic view of the shoreline. The moon was half crescent.

Her skin is olive brown but the moonlight tinted it mystic blue. I held her tight as we kissed. The town turned off hours before so her almond-shaped eyes reflected every consetellation. Intimate carresses quickly evolved. We became too hot for clothing and carefully, tenderly, we disrobed each other. The warm evening breeze licked softly across our naked skin. The dark ocean backdrop seemed to stretch forever. I covered the rough wooden railing with my shirt; her moist breasts sprung to life as she backed against it. I stared into her hazel eyes as we fucked for 2 beautiful hours, though we transcended time during it all. Her English is elementary at best— her moans were steamy French nothings. People walked in on us twice, but it only turned her more on.