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Eva in the Bois (09 January 2011)

It is almost five o'clock on a Friday afternoon in late spring. Eva, having finished the day's work, scrupulously tidies her desk. Then she gets herself ready to leave. When everything is prepared, she slips her feet into practical, flat-heeled shoes and puts on a white trench coat, buttoning it carefully to the throat and tying the belt loosely at her waist. Then she leaves her office.

She says goodbye to the matronly receptionist in the outer room.

"I'm leaving now, Thérèse," she says.

"Have a nice weekend", says Thérèse, smiling.

"And you too," says Eva.

As she walks through the corridors of the cramped publishing house, Eva sees that most people have already left. She wishes those few who are still at their desks a good weekend as she passes them on her way downstairs. Then she walks to the station and takes the metro to Porte Maillot.

***

The carriage is crowded, but she finds a seat. While the swaying, squeaking train is passing through the black tunnels, she studies her reflection in the window glass. She sees a woman past thirty - not ugly but not a beauty either. She thinks her eyes are set just a little too closely together, and her nose is a bit too long. She has always thought this.

Her hair is black, cut in a short bob. Sensible. Not a style to attract attention.

She is, she thinks, unremarkable. She is happy about this.

Eva studies her reflection, musing, until the train arrives at her destination and she gets up to leave.

***

Up in the open air again, she walks across the wide, windy spaces of Porte Maillot to the corner gateway into the Bois de Boulogne. It is still daylight, of course, and will be for some hours. The weather is mild but overcast – and the air is humid. She walks purposefully into the Bois.

At first, there is a wide paved avenue between trees. She walks for perhaps a minute without seeing anybody, and then encounters a prostitute – probably one of the first to arrive this evening.

The prostitute is middle-aged and plump. She is wearing silver hot pants that expose her broad, brown-stockinged thighs. Her belly protrudes a little over the waistband of her pants.

The prostitute gives Eva a stare, and for a moment seems about to greet her as a sister. Then understanding dawns in her eyes. She continues to stare, but does not speak as they pass.

Eva gives her a tiny nod in greeting. It is always good to have someone in the vicinity, and the prostitutes are very watchful of each other.

After another minute's walking, she comes to a side path. This path is narrow – only just wide enough for two people to pass each other comfortably – and gravelled, not paved. The undergrowth is thicker here too.

Eva does not hesitate. She has been here before.

A little way along, the path enters a clearing, and there is a rough concrete bench set off to one side. The bench is stained and cracked, and somebody has scrawled unintelligible graffiti on one part of the back.

Eva sits down. She looks round and notices old cigarette packets and condoms in the grass.

She waits. She is quite calm.

She has to wait a long time, maybe fifteen minutes, before she hears the crunch of heavy feet coming along the gravelled path.

She looks up expectantly, and waits for the stranger to arrive.

***

It is a round-faced, youngish man - perhaps in his middle twenties. He is a little overweight, and is wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie. He has an attaché case clutched tightly under his arm, as if he fears someone will rob him.

As well he may. The Bois is a dangerous place.

Eva decides he's a young bourgeois – an office clerk, perhaps, or a junior government official – come to the Bois for furtive pleasures.

She is pleased that he has come.

The young man glances at her, and there is a moment of shocked recognition in his eyes – but he is so nervous that he hurries past her and disappears into the trees on the farther side of the clearing.

She waits again, counting.

One, two, three ... A hundred, a hundred and one ...

And he reappears, looking white-faced and somehow bent. The attaché case is now clutched in front of him, as if it were a shield.

Eva has already undone the buttons on her trench coat. Now it is only held together by the loosely knotted belt at her waist.

She releases the knot and the coat falls open. She opens it further, adjusting the folds carefully and shrugging it back a little from her shoulders so that it will not fall closed again. Beneath it, she is completely naked.

She parts her thighs to let him see her pussy and the sparse dark hair of her bush.

The man stops, transfixed, perhaps two metres from her. They regard each other silently. Eva remains calm; the man is trembling visibly.

He can do anything he wants to her. That is her contract with herself. But she thinks she knows what will happen here.

She hopes he will not speak. She likes to avoid the obligation to speak before any sexual act.

***

The young man puts the attaché case under his arm again – the right arm. Then, awkwardly, he unzips his fly with his left hand. It takes a long time. He can't quite get purchase on the tab with just one hand – but he won't put the attaché case down on the ground to free the other.

Eva does not laugh. She looks on, calmly.

Finally, he gets the zip undone.

He will not meet her gaze. At first he simply stands there, head bowed and staring at the ground. Then he brings his penis out. It is small and semi-flaccid. The ragged foreskin covers the glans like a lamprey's pouting mouth.

There is a long moment of indecision. Then he begins to rub his penis quickly between finger and thumb. The end shakes up and down with the movement. He is still looking down. She sees that his face is reddening, and that his neck also has a wide red flush across it, almost like a burn.

Eva reaches down and touches herself between her legs. She is already moist.

She is always moist, of course. She woke up wet and she has been wet since she masturbated in bed this morning. She hasn't touched herself since then.

She coughs - and he looks up.

And now, when he is finally looking at her, her fingers part the petals of her cunt, to let him see the red darkness disappearing within. He takes a step closer. She catches his smell – sweat and fear.

His cock gradually engorges and swells. And when he is properly hard, it no longer seems small; it is simply there. The glans has emerged through the rolled-back mouth of the foreskin: an urgent, tight, pink acorn.

Uncertain, he looks into her eyes as if he is searching for approval. Eva's face doesn't change. Then, trembling and blushing, he begins to play with himself in earnest – sliding his fingers back and forth on his shaft and brushing the underside of his glans with his fingertips. His thumb bumps the helmet at the top. She hears his excited breath – a dog-like panting in the clearing.

The attaché case is still wedged under his armpit. His torso and upper arm are rigid. This tension seems to exit through his curled hand as his fingers move compulsively back and forth along his sex.

He looks so awkward that he appears almost crippled.

The young man's face is set now and his eyes are staring. Abruptly, he takes a half step towards her, then stops. A desperate contortion appears in his face. His mouth grins open – an involuntary rictus. She sees that he is about to come - that he is trying to hold it back. But he can't. The spunk jets out downwards from his penis and spatters on the gravel at his feet. It continues to fall for a long time – almost, she thinks, as if he is pissing. He seems to be in pain. He must, she thinks, have had a lot of spunk saved up in his swollen balls. Perhaps he has needed this all day – or for several days.

When the spunking stops, he stands there, his cock in his hand. Already, he is becoming limp again.

She gestures to him to come closer. He does so, obediently. When he is close enough, she leans forward suddenly and takes the limp, sticky cock in her mouth. He gasps.

Eva continues to masturbate with her right hand as she takes his cock between the fingers of her left and holds it steady. She continues to suck and lick at the cock, even as the glans withdraws behind the foreskin. She cleans him scrupulously with her tongue as she rubs herself off.

And then she comes. She lets his cock fall from her mouth and she arches backwards against the back of the bench. She doesn't make much sound – just the usual straining crepitation that always runs through her larynx at these times. She feels the fluid gush between her legs.

Then there is a silent, frozen moment. They are enclosed together in their private capsule of empty space. The young man stares. Eva looks back at him. They are naked and timeless. There is no pretence between them.

***

The moment passes. Eva stands up and the young man steps back quickly. He seems about to speak, but she raises a finger to her sticky lips. Then, with a matter-of-fact, practical gesture, she closes the trench coat around her and methodically does up all the buttons. Finally, she reties the belt and takes one last look at him.

He has put his penis away, and is struggling again to zip himself up with his left hand. She does not help him. Instead, she turns and walks off down the path, swaying her hips a little. She does not look back to see if he will follow.

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