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Of course, I remember. I remember everything. Your eyes, your beautiful expressive eyes. That gaze that caught mine and made my nipples bead the first time I ever glimpsed your face across the square.

Fuck. You had me right there, I felt it—the connection. You were sitting with a crowd of friends under a restaurant canopy, I was sightseeing with my sister, the last thing on my mind was a holiday romance, but I looked back, and so did you. The world around us freeze-framed as our gazes locked for the eternity of a moment. I remember it so clearly.

The hairs on my neck stood up as everything dropped back into life, sounds sights smells, the hustle and bustle of locals and tourists ploughed back into motion and yet we stayed still, staring.

At the exact moment your friends nudged you, my sister nudged me. We peeled our eyes away to smile at, and assure our companions that they had our attention, but it was only half true. As I began to walk away, I turned to see you turning to look at me. You lifted your glass and nodded my way making my chest inflate with a giddiness I hadn’t felt in years. Not since the teenage glory of long summers with nothing to do but flirt and party on the beach.

My heart raced and sexual adrenalin coursed through my body. I had to ground myself and reached for my sister’s hand as she led me away, weaving through the throng of eager sightseers, listening to tour guides and ooohing at facts and architecture.

I remember in those seconds, the fear that I might never see you again in my whole life. The fear that I’d missed you in that fleeting moment, but yet, the underlying certainty that you would be part of my life. Oh, Sylvan. Of course, I remember the figs.

Did you know what you did to me in those seconds of connection? Did I ever tell you that you awakened me so deeply, so purely, that my pussy clenched and my knickers dampened and when my sister and I stopped at a café for refreshments an hour later, I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

I bit my lip to remind myself to stay silent as I lifted my dress and gathered it to my waist. The flimsy fabric of my panties was sopping wet and my fingers skated across it, slipping into the side, pulling myself open quickly as the image of your beautiful eyes flashed into my mind. I knew by the way your jaw went slack that you’d be a great lover.

The delicate yet firm way your fingers grasped the neck of your wine glass as you’d raised it showed me that you knew how to use them. Strong, gentle, knowledgeable.

I pressed my own fingers to my cunt wishing they were yours. You’d already caught me in your spell Sylvan, and as I fucked myself in that bathroom, with urgency and sadness that I might have missed my chance to have you for real, I came hard on my fingers, wishing they were yours.

My breath caught in my throat as I pulsed and clenched around my digits, satisfied and sorrowful, a strange new mix.

Of course, I remember the figs…

I lie back, legs wide, shielding my eyes against the afternoon sun barely believing what is happening. Warm sticky juices trickle from between your clenched fist where a fig is tightly clasped, expelling sweet nectar as you drizzle it over my supine body.

You hold your fist high enough so each drop lands with a spatter, first my belly and I shudder giggling, and then my breasts. I go to cover myself with my hand but you gently peel my arm back up to my eyes.

“Shhh,” you say with that voice that could melt chocolate, “let yourself feel.”

And I relax, well, I try to as my insides flutter at the prospect of more ticklish splatterings. I sink into the wooden table we’d eaten lunch on just moments before when you’d picked up half a fig and stared right into my eyes while you suckled and devoured it suggestively with your whole mouth. You’d told me how much you want to eat me out and I’d blushed hard, knowing full well we wanted exactly the same thing. My pussy had been burning and we kissed across the table, rising up to meet each other and you’d swept everything—glasses, crockery, fig skins and all—off the surface with your strong sinewy forearm and I’d gasped as the world shattered around us and we climbed the table, kneeling together. The fig juice dribbled down your chin and throat and I lapped it up, sucking at your neck and fluttering arteries there, savouring your musky aroma tinged with the sweetness of the fig. Delicious. You pulled my dress up over my head in one swift motion and I smiled smugly when your eyes widened at the sight of me naked beneath.

“I want to eat you,” you said and now I’m lying back, waiting, buzzing for that first bite.

You open your fist and press the spent fig skin to your face feasting again before tugging the crook of my arm over my face. The strange bright red darkness of closing my eyes on a hot sunny day almost dazzles me—or is it the spark of that first touch as you finally trail your sticky fingers from my collar bone to between my breasts, then circle one nipple at a time, a tiny tweak of each before your flat palm smooths my tummy then down to cup my mound.

I gasp. So fast to be going straight to my pussy, but I’m yearning to be touched there, my legs are already splayed and I tip my pelvis up to beckon you in. You murmur something naughty and rock with me, one finger rubbing around my desperate clit, swirling near my entrance and I hold my breath as you dip in the tiniest amount and draw out my wetness to smear over my labia. Your other fingers join in, around and around flattening out and spreading me wide and a new sensation bewilders me for a moment as your thumb presses above my pudenda, a feeling I’d never experienced before. If I’d needed a pee it would be excruciating, but I don’t, so it feels earthy like you’re connecting somewhere deep inside, my G-spot perhaps? As the pressure and rubbing increase so does my arousal and a sudden rush to my clit has me arch my back off the table and you press me back down with your reassuring palm, taking a moment to massage my breasts.

It’s heavenly. I breathe and hold in the hot air, filling my lungs with the passion that seems to be all around us. Is it caused by us or are we ensnared in something bigger, more magical than we?

Even being here with you is a mystery. After losing you in that crowd, I want to pinch myself that we’re truly here, truly together. I exhale and bite my lip, the pain verifying that yes, we are. I swap my arms over my face and let my free hand wander to the edge of the table, fingertips searching for your warmth. You must notice my clutching and you shift towards me. I scrabble to catch the linen of your shorts, gathering the fabric in my grip until I reach the bulge I’m looking for.

“So hard,” I whisper, imagining the sound of my voice drifting on the salty winds to your ear.

“Of course,” you say, winding your hips and pressing into my open fist.

I worry at the zipper, and you yelp when I tug too hard.

“Wait, let me.” You release pressure on my breasts and swiftly unzip your flies and shift to drag out your substantial erection. My mouth waters at your scent and I want to bury my nose into the base of your shaft—to feast on the pheromones gathered in your pubic hair there.

I wrap my fingers around your cock, slowly moving my hand up and down, pulling the skin taut then loose over and over. It feels like warm velvet and I twist my hips from side to side, undulating to the same rhythm of both our touches as we masturbate each other. My pussy is dripping now and wet noises as you slide your fingers in and out makes me want even more. I pump harder on your cock and you go to work on my cunt, spearing me with two thick digits, over and over as my pussy squelches and squeaks with desire pouring from me.
“I need to taste,” you say, or it’s more like, you exhale, like there’s nothing else in this world. Like you will die if you don’t. It’s potent and heady—I’ve never been worshipped like this before.

I keep a grip on your cock as you pull away.

“No, let go, I’ll show you, you’ll love it,” you reassure me, “But first…”

I release you reluctantly and instead of heading down between my legs, you reach to the wooden fruit bowl that had been pushed to the floor.

“Don’t peek.” You chastise me and I press my elbow back into my face, pretending I was doing nothing of the sort. You kiss me gently on the mouth before bending back to pick something out of the bowl. The dark delicious scent of your sweat and cologne has me almost whimpering and I follow the direction with my nose.

More squelching sounds, not from me, and I know exactly what’s going on.

You press half a warm fig to my lips, rubbing it suggestively.

“I want you to feel what I feel when I fuck you with my mouth.” You push harder, opening my mouth with the succulent flesh of the fig. “Eat it out. Feast.”

And oh my god, it’s just about the horniest thing I’ve ever experienced. You take my arm from my face and squash my palm to the fig, thrusting the fig into my mouth and I work my tongue and jaw, imagining it was a pulsing wet cunt, just like mine.

“That’s it my angel, you feast as I do.”

You catch my gaze and keep your eyes fixed to mine as you finally move between my thighs, lowering slowly until my pussy is at the perfect height.

I’m shaking now, desire pooling beneath my ass cheeks, lust burning in my core. Just as you lean in to take your first taste, I slide two fingers into my mouth alongside the fruit and start fucking my own face hard, the way I want you to devour me.

Oh fuck and you do.

You smile then sigh out your hot breath onto my plump cunt, ruffling my drenched pubic hair, giving my one last tease before flicking out that clever tongue and falling upon me, laving my cunt from perineum to clit hood. It is everything I knew it would be, from the first time I saw you to you brushing my hand at the gallery, was it accidental? Or are we just meant to be together? Will we just always link up, through time and space will fate keep bringing us back to each other? The vision seems expansive, but all the portals feel open, energy is rushing from the top of my head, down my spine and out of my pussy into your mouth. I envision light passing between us, entwining and joining us for all eternity. I’m practically gagging on my own fingers, I’ve added two more, and you are hammering yours into me too. Like a four-finger spit roast. I feel both exalted and filthy. Like an enlightened slut. A dripping celestial mess of fuckery.

“Harder,” I wheeze through fingers and saliva and you obey, fucking, licking, nipping, filling me up and taking me to the brink, stars begin to twinkle at the edges of my vision but you stop.

I roar.

“Patience my angel,” you soothe, fingers still jammed inside. As my teased cunt pulses around your thick hands I wonder if I could take your fist. I feel like I could take anything right now. You’ve got me so fucking high on sex I am just gone.

“Fuck me Sylvan,” I implore and your jaw goes slack. Just the way it did at the bar. Mmm yes.

You rise, your big cock in hand holding tight around the base, restricting the blood flow, making the already substantial girth strain and grow. I lift my legs high and spread them wide to the sides and you grab my hips and drag me to the edge of the table. Oh yes. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.

You stare into my eyes, your look so intense I lose myself in that look. Jesus Sylvan. Save me.

Your fisted cock is nudging at my entrance now, as if you’d meet any resistance. I clench hard, wanting to tease us both. You press on, thrusting in shallow beats to open me up. I hold on.

“Let me in,” you say, your whisper so sexy, so soft, but so commanding.

I relax for a second and you take your chance, forging in, right up to the base of your sweet dick, impaling me as I swallow every single inch of your meaty flesh.

“That’s it, that’s it, now I fuck you.”

And you do. Oh how you do. You hold my ass with one hand to keep me in position and with the other, you press my clit with your thumb, rubbing just off to the side and I’m seeing those stars again.

Holy fucking shit. Where did you learn to fuck like this? I’m mute, riding the wave of pleasure that’s surging in, around and through me. Your cock stretches me and I feel every ridge all the way in and back out as you drag everything inside me, hitting my G-spot in time.

My stomach clenches and I rise again, rounding up to meet you, trying to reach to your ass to pull you in deeper but I have to make do with grabbing at your forearms. Muscle skating beneath flesh as you frig me off.

Higher, higher, harder, I’m there, I’m there, that place. Everything is clear. Everything is beautiful. Everything is still.

Then

I fall and crash and burn with the strength of my climax. My cunt is raw with the power of your dick and I gobble it up, greedily sucking and clenching as I come, harder, gushing, squirting out my pleasure all over you.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it, you’re so sexy, so sexy, I love you.”

And then we fall silent as you buck and spasm, filling me with your spunk, over and over, that delicious slack look passing over your face again. You’re gone too. We’re gone together.

“Oh my god,” you say when the quivering and panting has finally subsided. “Don’t ever leave.”

As you withdraw I sit up and the empty fig skin falls to the floor.

I stare at your photo, those soulful eyes staring out, making my heart flutter and clench with pleasure and pain all at once.

You believed we’d be together forever. I see that now. With seduction skills and access to as many female tourists as you could handle lining up, I truly thought I was another notch on your bedpost. To be honest, I don’t think I could have been so brazen and open to fuck if I’d believed otherwise. I opened my cunt but I kept my heart closed. Even though we’d had that connection, I pretended it was because holiday magic does that, and that’s just what happens when you’re relaxed and free from your everyday confines. But the hollow ache that has followed me ever since has me winding in my sheets at night and keeps me fevered with dreams of you and those days we spent together. Hot and horny. Fucked and fucking. Feasting on food and sex as the sea breeze kept us cool and the city nights kept us thrilled.

I don’t know why I gave you a false number. I have never regretted anything in my life but the changing of a single digit as I pressed my number into your phone has haunted me ever since. When you said you loved me, Sylvan, it felt real. And that was too much for a holiday fling. I felt it too Sylvan. I felt it too.

When you pressed that photo into my hand with the words, “Remember the figs,” scrawled in your haphazard passionate handwriting, my stomach lurched, you hadn’t left your number, you’d trusted I’d given you the correct one. You’d believed me. The tannoy had called my name and I was ushered by my sister and rushing crowds to the gate.

I’m so sorry Sylvan. Of course, I remember the figs. I’ll always remember.

I miss you.