AUGUST 22, Calanque de Sormiou:

Today, there were only two things I wanted to do: work on the puzzle and fuck you.

We spent the morning like hunter gatherers, sifting through pieces looking for colors to match a hub-cap, the board walk, the sky.

You sat naked in the heat, sweat beading on your chest, making neat mounds on the bedspread while I filled in the puzzle’s edges.

When I slotted the final piece of the frame in place, I let out a little squeal of glee and clapped my hands together.

You looked over, mildly bewildered.

“What team work!” I exclaimed and jumped up. My head crashed against the ceiling, and I dropped to my knees.

“Ouch,” you said and pulled me onto your lap. I nestled my forehead against your chest, feeling somewhat wounded but mostly stupid.

“Where does it hurt?” you asked.

I pointed to the crown of my head, and you kissed me there gently.

“Anywhere else?”

I pointed to my elbow.

“Really?” you asked. Then you drew my arm up to your mouth and kissed me there while looking me in the eye.

“Is that all?”

I pointed to my collar bone.

“There, too? Am I going to have to kiss you all over?”

I nodded mutely. You unbuttoned my blouse, and drew it off me one arm at a time.

Then, you lay me on the bed and stated, “I’m just going to start from the bottom and move up from there. Any place that really hurts?”

I brought an arm behind my neck and propped myself up. “Everywhere,” I stated, drawing my free hand around in a circle.

Your lips were at my feet, kissing my toes, then drawing them apart and tickling me with your tongue.

I watched your meticulous work, felt the brush of your caress. I brought my free hand to your side and rubbed my knuckles against your ribs.

I thought that I didn’t deserve you and that this thing we were living felt like the right kind of thing to be living.

Your penis started to rise. I stroked you gently and admired the tight quadrangles of your abs while you kissed a shin.

I wanted to taste you. I came up on my elbow and pulled you closer to me.

Your knees upset piles of pieces, undoing most of the morning’s work. “The puzzle!” you implored.

“Fuck the puzzle,” I retorted, taking the smooth rounded head of your cock in my mouth.

I pushed you toward the trailer’s side wall. Your ass was compressed against the window’s screen, your head bowed beneath the ceiling.

My knees and shins dug into the dull, hard edges of puzzle pieces while your hands traveled the length of my body.

After we walked down the dirt lane to the restaurant.

We had made the most limited efforts at being presentable. I could smell you on me, my blouse was misbuttoned. We were turning feral.

We both ordered oysters, and you asked for a mignonette. I chose to eat them as they were.

I slid one off its shell and into my mouth, registering the liquid of the sea and the limp weight of the offering of its body.

I swallowed it whole, and felt as it cleared a path down my throat and into my stomach.

“My god,” I said.

“Uh, huh,” you responded, chewing in a kind-of bovine rapture.

As if on cue, we leaned toward each other. Your hand came to the nape of my neck and our tongues were in each other’s mouths.

“Wait,” you said, pulling back and laughing. Holding your hand up, you showed me a puzzle piece that was caught in my hair.

“We’re really letting ourselves go, aren’t we?” I asked.

“It’s exactly as it should be,” you responded, drawing the piece’s edge in a line down my forearm.

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