He turned off the parking lights, sat back and sighed. He reached into the glove compartment. He swigged from the bottle of cognac. Next, he opened his zipper. He took out his semi-erect penis. He fisted it, squeezed it and began masturbating as he watched the passersby. Maurice especially loved to jerk off his cock while watching the trim ankles and the bare toes of strolling girls. This was a common and often spectacular sight in Monte Carlo. It was one of the best girl-watching locations on the face of the Earth.

Just as his pleasure was increasing, one particularly enticing woman walked slowly by. She was wearing a short skirt, nylons, and high- heeled shoes. Her ankles were slender, perfectly formed. He could see the bones jutting out to the sides of her ankles, and the strong bones that led from her heel upwards to her leg. She was fantastic, and walked with a slight sway so that her skirt blew softly around her upper thighs.

He moved his hand up and down his cock while concentrating on her legs, ankles and buttocks. He imagined taking her from behind, or having her massage his cock with her feet and toes. Yes! That's what she would do. Both would be sitting down, facing one another, and she would stretch her long legs into his lap, her toes wrapping around his hard cock, rubbing it. He imagined this as he continued to squeeze his cock.

He couldn't believe his good fortune! Just as he was about to come, pleasure rising like a fire in his body, she dropped something and bent down to pick it up, exposing the down swell of her buttocks, her panties moving delicately between them. Her legs, in this position were straight and seemed all the longer. Her buttocks were small and round, her ankles straining to hold her weight. He exploded into his fist, his come splashing on the steering wheel before him and then dripping off into his lap. He took another swig of the cognac and remarked out loud on his good luck.

Chapter Three

As the other members of the audience were returning to the opera house to continue their self-torture with the Puccini, Melissa and Steve were relaxing at a corner table in the open-terraced cafe. He was sitting next to her rather than opposite. They were enjoying a heady beer.

"There's more cold beer at home," Melissa said. Her thigh was touching Steve's. He could feel the pressing weight of it. Also, the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume was intensified by the sultry night, and the aroma of sweet jasmine seemed stronger. It was the way the small winds from the sea nearby were blowing, ruffling the palm fronds, stirring up the cigarette smoke from the ashtrays on the many white-clothed tables.

Steve flinched at her use of the word "home." He hadn't thought of the childish appellation "home" in a long time. And he hadn't yet associated Le Ne Trespassing as his home, even though he was beginning to realize he might be there for quite a spell. It all depended.

"Is that where we're going?" he asked.

"If you want to, Steve. If not, then we can do something else." Melissa looked away. She opened her purse and put on a pair of dark glasses. She'd seen several old acquaintances with whom she had no desire to become entangled at the moment.

"Like what?"

Melissa sighed. She pressed her thigh against his. He didn't flinch and he didn't indicate that he even noticed.

"Well, we could send Maurice after another bottle of cold beer or six. There are glasses in the car."

It was an open-ended sentence. "Would that be agreeable, Steve? We could take a little ride along the coast. It's fun. You've not seen it yet. Really, it's a fun thing to do. Maurice knows all the little places, the turn-offs, les curls des sacs."

Steven didn't know what les culs des sacs meant and he didn't ask. He did, however, feel a sudden thrill in his prick. He felt it stiffening and he credited this to the proximity of Melissa's warm body. He could see her ripe breasts snugly under the tight-fitting dress, which exaggerated her erect nipples, if he dared look closely. He knew she was wearing no brassiere. He could tell by the way her lovely breasts jiggled and bounced when she walked, when she sat down, and when she stood up suddenly.

As they sat there amidst the noises of the square, the passing of vehicles, the walking people, the whores, the pimps, the gamblers pondering their past and future, Steve couldn't resist the temptations his emotions were feeding.

He felt warm. He felt cold. He felt secure. He felt scared, especially when he felt the pressure of Melissa's thigh against his, or when she'd look into his eyes, or when she'd slide her tongue over her moist lips and then slip it back into her mouth.

He loved the smile in her eyes. He loved her long, tapered fingers, her pale pink nails, her thumbs. He loved the way she smoked with the long, distinguished cigarette holder made of pure African ivory.