La Suite by M. P. Franck

desire to reach out and
caress Gabi’s exposed sex.
    “Because you
deserve it. You looked so sad that first day I saw you. I didn’t
think that was fair. And also because I like you and over the past
few years, it’s true that I’ve had fantasies about sex with you,”
Gabi said, pulling the tee-shirt back down.
    “So you wanted
to meet me to see if I could be tempted?” Gaëlle couldn’t keep the
budding anger out of her tone.
    “Please don’t
be cross with me,” Gabi pleaded. “I do like you and, honestly, I
have thought of you during sex. But that apart, I knew, as soon as
I saw you in the street, that I had to find out whether the
incident with the egg was a one-off, or whether that was the real
you.”
    Gaëlle calmed
herself down. “Since it appears that it is the real me, you’d
better tell me what you’re looking for.”
    “To know you
better, first of all. Now I know a little more, I have this itch to
hear about your sex life with Jérôme, if you’re prepared to tell.
Will you?”
    Gaëlle thought
for a minute. She reflected that it might be good for her to talk
about what Jérôme and she had experienced together. The thought
that it could excite Gabi also crossed her mind. Eventually, she
nodded.
    “I’ll tell you
some of it, but it will be over supper. I need a few days to work
out what I’m ready to tell, but if you’ll come round next Sunday
evening, you’ll get enough to keep you happy.”
    Gabi hugged her
again, her eyes shining.
    “Next Sunday. I
can’t wait!”

Chapter
Twelve
     
     
    Gaëlle spent
the day in question cooking and preparing the apartment. She set
the table for two, putting out her best table linen and cutlery.
She hummed to herself as she polished the wine glasses and realised
that she hadn’t been as happy as this for an age. When the entry
phone buzzed, she hurried to open the door. Gabi was dressed quite
soberly, in a white skirt and jacket that set off her olive skin
and black hair.
    “Very smart,”
Gaëlle said, looking at her appreciatively.
    “You, too,”
Gabi replied, scrutinising Gaëlle’s pale green blouse and flowing
black trousers. “A bit of a change from when you came to my
apartment the first time.”
    “I couldn’t let
you think I always dressed like a vagabond,” Gaëlle said. “You’ve
given me the courage to dress properly again.”
    They ate almost
in silence, as usual. At last, Gabi finished her last drop of wine
and sat back.
    “That was
delicious. I’m ashamed. I could never put on a meal like that. Not
only are you my work guru…or should that be guruess…but now you’re
my domestic heroine too! Do we wash the dishes before we discover
to what extent you’re my erotic idol?”
    “We load the
dishwasher, that’s all.”
    Five minutes
later they were sitting on the sofa side by side. “Ground rules,”
Gaëlle began. “I don’t know how my body will react to what I’m
going to tell you, but I’m fairly sure it will turn me on. So, no
touching. I’m not ready for that. Agreed?”
    “I suppose so.
Can I ask questions?”
    “Of course, but
if the answers don’t fit into the order of my telling, I’ll say so.
You’ll get to know, but in my own time. I’m not promising that I’ll
tell you everything, either. Clear?”
    Gabi nodded and
sat back as Gaëlle began. She told it as she had lived it, the
early experiments in showing in public and the thrilling
realisation that it gave her a massive kick to look and feel sexy
in unusual public places. Much later that evening, when she
finished recounting the events at the Blue Parrot, her topless
dancing and then the night spent with Jérôme and Magda, Gabi
interrupted.
    “And have you
done that with men? A three, I mean.”
    “That came
later. All in good time.”
    “I just wanted
to ask, because I don’t think I understand.”
    “You don’t
understand what?”
    “What’s the
attraction for a man in seeing his wife, or girlfriend or whatever
having sex with someone