August night. Shooting stars streak the sky. Hilltop perch. Me and my man. Blankets spread. Sleeping bags unzipped. We hike the dark trail. Find flat ground. Lie close. Hands clasped. Gaze at infinity. Whisper wishes. A meteor trails fire. His…
Late afternoon sun beats down on Géraldine’s Var countryside house. Me and my three girlfriends—Amélie, Géraldine, Sophie—sip anis cocktails. No men. Just us girls. Talk turns filthy. Fantasies spill out. Mine? Exhibitionism. They pounce. ‘Perfect spot,’ Amélie says, eyes locked.…
Two hours out of Lyon. I’m shotgun in our Peugeot 407. Guillaume drives. Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’ fills the air. Memories flood—tears from Titanic. But my bladder’s screaming. ‘Pull over. Need to pee.’ He grins. Spots a…