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encore une fois

encore une fois

So I was in France.
I met there a very horny handsome Frenchman.
He called me sa petite.
I called him mon cher charmant.
We spoke the language. And understood each other.
Body language doesn’t need words. And actions speak louder.
Yet, I relearned his language.
And I experienced with him the art of chemistry. I remembered the art of chemistry.
It was kissing (with the) French.
French Kissing at her best, his best too. After all, a good start, is half the work.
It was French fucking. Yes…
A favorite sex position throughout the world. But the French were the first. And that night for me this particular horny handsome Frenchman was the very best. Soixante-neuf, baby.
That night was the world, you understand? So we ‘left’ France and traveled around, but really travelled, without even leaving the room.
He fucked me again and again and again and even then, it was still not enough. Was he still not enough. Was I still not enough.
It was French enjoying.
For me that means enjoying pur sang, carpe diem. Without any reserves, we were each other’s joie de vivre, but even more so, we were each other’s joie de lust.
It was coup de foudre, not especially solo at him, but at life in general, in her magnificent splendor, just everything in that moment, was at his right place.
I will always be sa petite.
And he’ll forever be mon cher charmant.
Thinking back of him.
Reminiscing the time we spend together.
I hear myself repeating in my head.
Baise moi.
Encore une fois.

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All artwork by Puck Rietveld

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