Temporary Secretary

Part 52

Sorry! Sorry it's been so long! I meant to put all these out at once, but uh, life things got in the way of editing haha. It seems like it's at a standstill, but hopefully the story will move quicker once they're out of France.

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21 June 1981

9:00pm Sunday

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It wasn't too long a walk from town to the house you were staying.

There weren't many cars, you noticed. A couple in the town, but not a single one had passed so far on the road you were walking down.

It had started out pleasant, walking together.

It wasn't hot, like earlier in the day, but not cold either, so you weren't snuggled up to him quite. Not one for PDA.

However, getting out of the city, the buildings getting further and far between. The surroundings were becoming more that of the French countryside you were situated in.

Paul's hand was slipped into yours, had been since leaving the restaurant, the gesture routine enough. A good wholesome gesture.

Having since left the town, however, the grip had begun to get a touch more suggestive, his thumb, lightly grazing the back of it, his tone more so.

"So..." He said.

He linked his fingers with yours.

No subtlety. Not to say his charm didn't work, but there was nothing subtle within it. He had no capacity for transition.

Maybe he didn't need to learn the skill, as irresistible as he was.

You squeezed his hand, reciprocal, turning your head to look at him. His mouth was open, as if just taken in a breath. The corner of his mouth then twitched, as if keeping back a smile. You could see it reach his eyes.

"Yes?" You said.

Paul made a growling sound with his teeth. He was always on the very edge of embarrassing.

He squeezed your hand.

His eyes drifted up.

"Y'know..." He said, voice teasingly slow, feigning thoughtfulness. "If I recall... I believe I remember you bemoaning the fact you'd passed up your chance... to fuck in the street... it slipping through your fingers..."

His tongue moved over his teeth, sly eyes directed at you.

"You said I'd be too preoccupied with the hard pavement... but the ground's nice and 'soft here, don't you see..."

He drug his foot along the edge of the paved road, the soft grass at the very edge bending beneath it. It was softer than the city streets.

You shook your head, amused.

"I couldn't... not here." You said. "It's horribly open. A French-type car could run right over us, snapping both our necks whilst intertwined in sexual ectasy."

Paul giggled.

"Not a bad way to go." He said.

He leant toward you, body nudging yours, cheek brushing your forehead.

He smelled nice. He didn't use scents, or aftershave. Soap and water did the trick for him. He had a very clean smell, like a freshly shampooed show dog (in the most flattering sense). A very sunny aroma.