Early autumn dawn. Chaumes shiver under the wind. I slip along the narrow path through the sea of blueberry bushes. Berries dot the landscape, bird snacks. Basket in hand, I head straight for that spot on the vast plateau. Winds whip my face. Childhood trails with Dad burned into my brain. Gold treasures hide here—chanterelles, those golden girolles no one knows about. Rarely, boletes under tall firs.
Ten meters off, the massive oak. Ancient guardian. No roads, pure wild. I stop. Eyes scan for Michel’s knife marks. Initials tangled, now moss-covered. Fingers tremble. Higher up, I feel it—the M wrapped in my C. Gut twists hard. Fuck, the rush hits.
The Awakening Pulse
Michel. Our years together started here. Under this leafy beast dominating the windy plateau. Life buzzes unseen—crawling, flying, scurrying in myrtle waves. Serenity earned. My hand strokes the bark. Mind floods with his touch. Brown-green eyes mist. My lifetime love.
Squirrel darts. Drops an acorn right where it happened. Heart pounds. Fingers trace the grooves. Blade dug the C after his M. Wind whispers his name. Memories crash in.
School gates. ‘What you guys doing tomorrow?’ Michel’s messy hair. Thursday, no school. Me, Claude, their girl. Not a tomboy. Eyes on me. He plans berry hunt on chaumes. Patrick bails. Marc waffles. I beg. ‘I know the shortcuts.’ Deal. Just us.
We climb. Steep. My legs outpace his. Alone. Joy surges. Wings sprout. Oak looms. Picnic spot with Dad. Sit on moss. He worries if I’m tired. Bullshit—he huffs. Air thickens. Heat builds between us.
Climax in the Wild
Fingers link. Pulse races. His hand hot, rough. Squeeze. Thunder in chest. ‘I need you, Claude.’ Chut. Monologue pours—glad no others. Walk endless. Hands locked. Afternoon wanes. Descent. ‘You’re my woman.’ Friends too? Bullshit. ‘Only you.’ Arms crush me. Lips graze cheek. Cloud nine home.
Now, bark under nails. Pussy throbs. Forbidden. Kid stuff turned fire. Alone. No one. Hand slips down. Jeans tight. Unzip slow. Cool air bites skin. Fingers find clit. Swollen. Wet already. Stroke. Imagine his boy cock hard against me. We didn’t fuck then. But now? Fantasy rips free.
Lean into trunk. Rough bark scrapes tits through shirt. Pinch nipple. Hard. Moan escapes. Wind swallows. Fingers plunge. Soak panties. Deeper. His voice echoes. ‘Together forever.’ Pump faster. Juices drip thighs. Hump hand. Oak witnesses. Initials burn under palm. Cum builds. Legs shake. Gush. Scream stifled. Waves crash. Soak fingers. Gasp. Body quakes.
Basket waits. Wipe hand on moss. Zip up. Heart hammers. Secret safe. Walk on. Edge of woods. Bosquet. Gold peeks—chanterelles. Pluck. Fresh, firm. Basket fills. Invisible hands guide—Dad? Michel? Both.
Talk silent to ghosts. Henri, Marine, Michel. Peace made. Alain waits. New cock, new fire. But this? Mine. Tomorrow, bed with him. Dare more. Today, girolles glow. Forest scent, my cum lingers faint. Smile. Turn. Whisper to wind: ‘Next time, bring him. Our mountains. My secrets.’ Peace floods. Alive. Pulsing.