Vanishing Point ~ Guest Post

I have a wonderfully erotic story for you from a friend of mine I have got to know via Twitter. And for those of you sniggering behind your hand – yes I do still have some friends on twitter 😉

His name is Toolie and I have enjoyed his writing before. However, as he hasn’t got a blog I offered to host this sexy tale. Apparently the events are not completely fiction. But I will leave it to the reader to ponder over the real and the make believe.

The story – Vanishing Point – works perfectly for the Wicked Wednesday prompt of adventure too.

Vanishing Point ~ Short Erotic Tale

“…. it’s hard to believe there was a time when perspective didn’t feature in art don’t you think? Here, look at my sketch, see how the two parallel lines appear closer together as they get furt…”

I should probably explain why this rather pompous conversation was cut short. From my perspective it was because she’d just slid her hand up the inside of my shorts and her tongue down my throat. From her point of view, it was probably just to stop me talking.

This was at the end of the gloriously hot summer of 1979 and we were the only two passengers in the carriage of a train heading north towards Paris.

I was 19, and about to start a fine art degree. My mission, if you can call a half-baked idea a mission, was to make a pilgrimage to Arles. I wanted to see the Yellow House that Van Gogh had shared with Gauguin and visit the sites of the many works of art he’d furiously painted in the area. So, armed with a battered anthology of his work stuffed into my rucksack, I set off with only a vague notion of where Arles might be and with limited ability to speak or understand French. I hadn’t considered doing any research, but even cursory investigation would have told me that quite a lot changes in 90 years. Like a bomb landing on the Yellow House, 35 years previously, for instance.

A week of traipsing around the baking hot French countryside later and I’m heading home. I find myself waiting for a train in the middle of Provence. Deserted but for one other person. A rather smartly dressed woman so engrossed in her book that my attempts to impress her by furiously sketching away were totally ignored, my attempt to engage her in conversation met with silent confusion…

“Excusie madomselle, a’tiel est heure le train du Paree, sil vouls plait?”

Can’t think why.

The train finally arrived and I climbed into one of the empty carriages, surprisingly she followed, sitting opposite with her book. I tried again to engage her, this time with my knowledge of perspective…

Yes, I was surprised by her response too…

Things may appear smaller as they get further away. But I was discovering that things get quite a bit bigger the closer to a pair of cherry red lips they get. After 10 days of travelling on a budget I was grubby and unwashed. While this delightfully fragrant woman was the opposite – pristine and smartly dressed.

Caressing her deliciously heavy breasts through her crisp white blouse as we kissed, she teased me through my shorts. I was struck by the chiaroscuro of soft white flesh in sharp contrast to rough, sun-tanned hands, but decided now was not the time to mention it.

Kneeling between my legs, she released and unfurled me between her lips. A cursory suck, then her tongue slid up the underside of the shaft. Savouring the shiny head before taking me deep . Each time she bought me close she’d take me out of her mouth, licking the pre-cum from the head before going deep again. She seemed to decide the time for teasing was over. Relentlessly she sucked, gripping me in one hand as she pumped, squeezed and feasted until I had nothing left to feed her with.

Standing up she licked her lips, straightened her skirt and buttoning up her blouse she returned to her seat. Picking up her book she spoke in perfect English…

“This isn’t the train to Paris by the way.” 😉

Many thanks to Toolie who also owns the copyright for the header photo of the sunflower and French street sign .