I decided to meet Sarah from work. She worked in a beach bar about a mile from home and not being able to sleep in the hot summer night I set off.
The walk was pleasant enough. Phosphorescence flickered on the surf as it slapped the sleeping sand. Couples lay in the dim light from a new moon gently writhing. The streets of the fishing village were emptying as homeward trod the servants of holiday pleasure. This resort had a reputation for sexual ease. it was almost impossible to avoid getting laid - eventually they say.
As I neared the beach bar I heard laughter and recognised Sarah's tinkling tones. In front of the bar was a wide terrace full of empty tables and the debris of another Mediterranean night out. I stopped to listen. To earwig on the conversation unseen. They were talking about customers and their sexual antics particularly passionate kissing and fondling under the tables. Some were such obvious duffers at kissing. Awkward and stilted. Others melted into each other gently but irresistably.
Sarah was sitting at a small circular table with Javier and Serge. She was wearing her white filigree lace dress through which her bra-less breasts were just visible. It was knee length with long floppy sleeves.
Javier was a muscular Spaniard in his 40's who was never without a very much younger adoring acolyte in tow. But not tonight. Serge was of indeterminate age and nationality. Possibly French. They both worked in bars for the summer and went who knows where for the winter. Perhaps like swallows they flew south. Serge exclaimed that he was the best kisser on the coast and had often been told so. Sarah and Javier laughed loudly and Javier leaned across and kissed Serge firmly on the lips. Accompanied by much laughter Javier made a great show of wiping away this assault on his manhood.
