Friday, July 17, 2015

Riches to rags

"I have to show my face in Saint-Tropez" he says, "don't ask me why".

As soon as we get there he changes his posture and the way he holds my hand when we quickly walk through the marina. Someone calls his name and he flinches, I haven't seen him that worried since the first time I met his sister in Paris.

We end up on one of the smaller yachts by the Quai Jean Jaurés, he nearly gets in to a fist fight but manages to talk his way out of it, as he always does. The threat of violence triggers something in him, I see it in his eyes and we make our way back home in the humid summer night. He starts undressing me in the taxi, the sex is the best we've had in months.

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