Free Tales of Sin & Fury, Part 1 by Sonia Paige Page A

get any browner. My hair was a bit darker blond than theirs and my skin was pinker, so I was a slightly different colour. Every so often I would peel, like a snake changing its skin. Day by day as the angle of the earth shifted, the sun got hotter. They dedicated hours to sunbathing, could have been studying for a degree in it. At night Joris’s capable hands moulded my body, then he drove his message home, if you know what I mean. There was a neatness and precision about the way he deposited his sperm. In the daytime no look or touch acknowledged this private transaction. Mostly we just lay there all day and drank tea and ate occasionally and swam. Time passed like a boulder rolling slowly across a desert.
    â€˜One day it was Joris’s turn to go for water and other supplies, and after our hash tea Sigurd and I were lying in the sun. I had finished reading The Great Gatsby and started on Tender is the Night . All the time I lay there sun-bathing I was half in another world, with these rich people leading elegant lives at champagne parties and posh hotels, gilded with angst and self-loathing. The jazz age of the 1920s. They hovered glittering in mid-air somewhere between the sand and the blue sky. Scott Fitzgerald.’
    â€˜Who’s he when he’s at home?’ asks Debs.
    â€˜The author,’ I say. ‘He was part of the jet-set, he moved in those circles.’
    â€˜He’s not important,’ says Mandy. ‘Shut up, Debs, let her get on with the story.’
    â€˜After a while my arm started to ache holding the book. I went into the tent to lie on the sleeping bag in my bikini during the midday heat. I could see the sun high above through the orange canvas.
    â€˜Then Sigurd came in and sat beside me. He flashed the smile. Joris shaved, but Sigurd had only some fluff of a goatee beard starting to show on his chin. I guessed he was about nineteen, that would make him a few years younger than me.
    â€˜â€œJoris and me,” he began, “In usual, we share everything.”
    â€˜I carried on reading.
    â€˜â€œYou like me?” he tried next.
    â€˜â€œYes.” I did. He watched me reading.
    â€˜â€œYou like books more.”
    â€˜I shrugged. There was a silence. Then I felt the paperback being pulled gently out of my hand. He had the corner in his mouth and he shook it like a little dog worrying a bone. I had to laugh. He dropped it and growled at me. I growled back. He seemed to take that as some kind of agreement and next minute he leapt forward.’
    He closed his teeth on my nipple, through my bikini. Worrying it. Not hard enough to hurt, but the sudden impact of pleasure was agonising. I tried to push him away; he hung on. I smacked him on the head. He bit harder. I pushed him away but my bikini top came away with him. Hot mercury streamed through my body.
    â€˜He was a mouth man,’ I tell them. ‘Everywhere but on the lips. Licking and breathing, nuzzling and nibbling and teeth and the suck of a hungry baby. I looked down and saw the top of his blond head with some sand in it. He had his tongue in my belly button. His hair was tickling my midriff. He gave me a love bite on my stomach just above the bikini line. I was trying to kick him off but my legs were shaking. He got my bikini bottom off without me even realising. I’ll never forget his mouth between my legs. It was a first for me.’
    Where did his tongue learn to do things like that? Where did his nose learn to do things like that? My entrails seemed to be unravelling. I was a pleasure queen in a Bedouin tent. I couldn’t move, I lay there while he sucked away my resolve.
    â€˜When he stopped I opened my eyes to see what was wrong. He was poised for the next bit.
    â€˜â€œYou like it?” he asked.
    â€˜As best I could, I nodded. You bet I like it. Then he was in, speedy and airy, his skinny hips undulating, his breath blowing into my ear.’
    He didn’t take much