Holidays in France - III

Summer has been a chimera this year. Except for the holidays. More than the sun, more than the see drying salt on my lips, a circus has remained impressed. They announced themselves with a megaphone, mounted on a car driving at walking speeds among the mobile homes; they promised exotic animals, acrobats, magicians and clowns. They gave us a dream. To occupy the empty space of the square was a silent exercise, that took a complete sunny afternoon. The magic was inside the space of the yellow tent, hiding the impossible to the non-paying eyes.
A man, his wife, 2 guys coming from an impossible part of this world, and a young girl captured our attention for 3 hours. They did everything, from equilibrium tricks, to acrobacies, and domating wild animals. They gave us presents, they sang for us. They let us touch their serpents. They brought us somewhere else, in a place that did not exist, but was created by their simple presence. And now I am full of yellow.

To escape the hypnosis I visited the beach. The sand was fine and white, the water fresh and blue, the girls were beautiful and topless. I have never seen so many naked tits crowded in so little space. It was exceptional, I could not help but stare. Nipples, tits, navels, asses - my god! I have learned an amazing number of dissimulating techniques to allow my staring to prolong above any decency limit; some included sun glasses, or the participation of my kids in astonomically boring games which were targeting solely the contemplation of 20 years old breasts reacting to the temperature of the sea water. The most advance techniques that I developed consisted in actually staring at the very tit, but doing it so evidently that it did not seem real, or looking just a couple of centimeters below, or above, or before. Every cell of my retina has been exercised. Any form of dissimulation failed when I saw her. The silicon tit. No magazine can make justice to a real round shaped, rock-solid Si-tit. Its unsensitivity to every external stimulus, including gravity, the spherical shape, the tense nipple. Unbeatable. I turned around, only to find a 40 years woman, not a single cell of fat on her body, incredible smile and transpiring that luxury that only 40-years divorced and rich women possess, instructing her 2 horny teen-ager daughters on which boy to lock with the view of their marmorean naked bodies. Not me, in any case. Needless to say, my observations were purely esthetical.