We fall back for a few minutes to regain our composure before deciding that now it’s time for fresh peaches and cream accompanied by a glass of sweet Muscat.
We bring our bowls of ripe peaches covered in a sheen of cream back out to the table and slowly consume the sweet peaches, washing them down with an occasional swig of wine.
“About Paul,” I say.
“Yes”.
“You really like him don’t you? Do you want to go on seeing him?”
“Yes, I think that I’d like to get together with him periodically.”
“More photographs?”
“Maybe. Would you like that? you reply archly.
“Of course. Now that you know you like being photographed why stop?”
“And Sandrine?”
“What about Sandrine?”
“Are she and Paul an item? I don’t really understand their relationship.”
“I don’t think they are in a permanent relationship if that’s what you mean, but they are lovers and they do have sex together, lots of it I think.”
Our conversation lags as we share the softness of the night, the beauty of the Milky Way and the intermittent sparkles of the fireflies. We sit for a while longer, wrapped in a satiated sexual reverie, holding hands, caressing each other’s fingers and exchanging murmurs of sweet nothings until we both mutually decide that it’s late and time to throw ourselves into bed together.