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Overheated

Marcel was certain he’d never see any of these people again – not in the space of a hundred years. With that in mind, he willed himself to turn over. But, he just couldn’t do it.

 Instead, he looked across at the girl next to him, stretched out on her back. Her body was tanned the colour of chocolate. Her face was shaded by a pink sunhat. He’d met her the previous evening at a nightclub in Pigalle and when she suggested they take the fast train to the beach today, he’d been jubilant. He was infatuated with her curvaceous body, her cat-like eyes and her golden tresses. She was gorgeous.

Marcel turned and looked at the sea. It was brilliant cobalt - a reflection of the sky. He imagined how soothing the cool water would be, if he had the courage to go for a swim.

His head ached and his eyes were gritty. He had definitely knocked back one too many tequila slammers last night. Groaning under his breath, he buried his face in his towel, and before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep.

It didn’t take long for Marcel to become overheated. He woke up with a start. He must turn over. The heat was unbearable. He would have to conform. After all, this is Cap d’Agde, where clothes are prohibited.

In one swift movement Marcel rolled onto his back. When his sunburnt arse chaffed on his coarse towel, he stifled a cry. The pain was intense.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled a sigh of relief as the erection he’d spent all day hiding, withered.


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