In the Woods with Leila

When Leila laughs, the world sparkles. Is it her clear eyes that suddenly seem to fill with glitter, the light that emanates from her, so warm, so sunny, or her glowing smile, which sweeps everything in its path, hearts and gloom alike? Leila illuminates everything she touches with her radiance. To feel Leila’s laughter, beneath her lips, against her heart, is to bask in a shower of gold, to lick the rainbow.

I met Leila in Montreal whilst I was working there on a production with a Québécoise choreographer. One evening, after rehearsals, a friend of one of the dancers in the troupe joined us at the bar.
Leila seemed to effervesce like a glass of champagne, as sweet as she was tangy, as tender as she was tart. We hit it off straight away, talking without restraint, swaying on the dance floor, far too close for two strangers who’d only just met.
It didn’t take us long to realise we were “in it”. It’s quite funny how we instinctively recognise one another, we creatures of the night, companions in debauchery, secret agents of the demi-monde on a mission in Middle-earth. As if we were part of a secret caste, yet equipped with an extra-sharp radar, we could spot one another in a dense crowd—where no one, apart from us, would suspect a thing!
As we parted, we kissed each other furtively at the corner of the lips, and promised to meet again soon, here or there.
“It would be so brilliant if we could be on a date together!” I whispered to her under the music, which was far too loud.
“I’d love that, so much!”
We smiled at each other. That mischievous gleam in Leila’s eyes… The sort that could set a blaze alight…
To taste Leila’s skin and the flavour of her kisses, I thought as I drifted off to sleep that night, gradually slipping into parallel worlds, to taste Leila’s skin and the flavour of her kisses, to taste her skin…

A few months later, Leila’s warm, cheerful voice filled my ear, as if she were lying right beside me, snuggled up in my bed, rather than thousands of miles away, on the other side of the Atlantic.
“I’m off to Paris next week with a thoroughly respectable gentleman; I’ve told him about you and he’d like to see us both,” she tells me over the phone, her voice trembling with excitement. “For a lunch date and the whole afternoon together. Fancy it?”
“Fancy it? Are you joking?” I blurt out a bit too loudly, as lightning pierces me right through. “That…” How could I describe this sudden emotion that’s overwhelming me? “That… that… excites me!!!”
Leila laughs. Her laughter, I could already curl up inside it, but first I want to devour it.
“So we’ll have the meal together and then we’ll take you to the hotel… Can’t wait, my dear!”

On the day of our meeting, a misty haze hangs over Paris. It’s the sort of day when it feels as though the sun never rises, when dawn blends seamlessly into dusk. The clouds are heavy with threat, the air charged with electricity; it’s bound to rain, but with a light heart, I make my way to you, in a slightly sheer red dress, beneath which one can just make out my sophisticated lingerie.
In this magnificent Art Deco Parisian brasserie that I love so much, we meet over a platter of seafood. Leila’s lover is just as charming as she had described him. Leila, whom I’d only ever seen in jeans and a T-shirt, is wearing a flowing blouse that flatters her figure and a touch of make-up. She fixes her eyes on mine over our plates, her lover studies me with wonder; we know what we’re heading towards, warmed by the promise of what’s to come, the desire rising between the three of us, palpable.
As we savour our dessert and Leila’s eyes sparkle over the whipped cream, her tongue licks the spoon and her moist lips never seem to dry, our hands intertwine beneath the table. I run my fingers down her thighs and back up under her skirt. Her crotch is so hot through the damp fabric of her knickers that my sex begins to throb immediately, in time with my heart, which has suddenly started racing. I have a violent craving for you, to feel you tremble, gasp and moan beneath the flesh of my fingers, beneath the flesh of my mouth.
Leila’s lover watches us, his eyes darkening, his jaw slackening. He has seen where my fingers have slipped, hungry for more, impatient, and as I slide my foot up his thigh, I brush against his hard cock. I melt.

“…Ladies… Sir… Would you like a coffee?”

The waiter has just repeated his question for the second time, looking as though he’s wondering why we’ve all suddenly gone deaf. Or perhaps he’s sensed the sexual tension perfectly well since the start of the meal and is pretending not to notice, content to speak loudly and over-articulate to compensate for our inattention. I pull my hand away from Leila’s thigh, my foot from her lover’s fly, a touch too quickly, for I drag the tablecloth with me, and we hastily catch the glasses clattering onto the table with a loud clink, before they spill and roll across the floor.

“Er, no. We’ll have it at the hotel, well, later… Er… Somewhere else, then? What do you think?” I say. “Brilliant idea… At the ho… Somewhere else!” “The bill!” we all blurt out in unison, before bursting out laughing as the waiter walks away with that serious, professional air that hasn’t left him.

My cheeks are so hot I need to go and cool off. Leila follows me.
In the toilets, we throw ourselves at each other and kiss wildly, leaning against the sink, our skirts hiked up, our hips pressed together, our hands fumbling inside our blouses, not caring in the slightest if someone comes in and catches us.
“You turn me on so much,” I whisper.
“So much,” you echo.
We hastily pull our clothes back into place just as two overly primped women enter in turn. I catch our reflection in the mirror. Beneath our brown fringes, our cheekbones are rosy, our lips scarlet. When we return to the table, our hair slightly tousled, our lover gives us a passionate look.
“Allons-y Alonso !” I exclaim, imitating Belmondo in Pierrot le Fou.
As graceful as Anna Karina, Leila rises and glides towards the exit.

It’s pouring with rain as we leave the restaurant. The storm has just broken, thundering and sweeping across Paris. The three of us huddle under the umbrella and rush into a taxi. In the back seat, Leila and I surround our lover. Our hands brush against his thighs, intertwine, drawn to the bulge of his cock that remains clearly visible through his trousers, to the damp heat emanating from our crotches, which seems to float like a halo.
“Kiss me, kiss me again,” Leila whispers to me, and we kiss, insatiable, just a few centimetres from our lover’s mouth as he casts impatient glances at the sat-nav to see how long it will be before we reach the hotel. I want you both so badly that my legs part without my control. Our lover’s breathing quickens as he slides his hand between my thighs and realises just how aroused I am. He slips a finger under my knickers, letting out a soft groan. The rain beats against the windows, making Paris invisible all around us. I kiss our lover, he kisses Leila, the three of us kiss; it’s raining, the rain is pouring down and rumbling. The driver stares at the road ahead, unflappable, whilst the windscreen wipers beat to the rhythm of our pulses.
It’s one of those moments when life—real life—meets my favourite films, in a rare collision between reality and fiction. That’s exactly why life is worth living, I think. For that, and that alone!

Once we reach our room on the sixth floor, Leila and I throw ourselves onto the bed, whilst our lover gazes at us, spellbound. The rain is beating down harder on the roof above us. Leila holds me gently around the waist, but her kisses are passionate, almost wild.
“Come!” we invite our lover with a gesture. “Join us!”
“I want to watch you,” he tells us, his voice hoarse. “Act as if I weren’t here…”
I roll Leila onto her back, towering over her with my whole body. I breathe in the scent of her hair, the smell of her neck; I run my tongue over her throat, down to the tips of her nipples, which are visible beneath her silk blouse. Panting, Leila tries to undo my dress. Our movements are jerky, made clumsy by our haste. I unbutton her blouse, frantically remove her bra, revealing her superb breasts, which I lick before moving down to her hot sex, throbbing through the tulle of her knickers, a damp, burning fabric against which the curves of her wet lips stand out clearly.
“Oh, I want you, I want you,” I moan in her ear, whilst she opens her eyes and smiles at me, her pupils glistening.
Our tongues entwine and our legs intertwine. I wish our kiss would never end. Naked, we run through the lush undergrowth, the air heavy with the scent of earth. Lush clumps of wildflowers, heavy and heady, line the path. Leila pulls me down beneath her in turn, holding my wrists firmly, a commanding gleam in her eyes. Under her breath, I melt. I desire her so much that my sex could explode.
“Surrender to me,” she tells me…
Under her kisses, my lips bud, sap courses powerfully through my veins, jasmine sprouts from my fingertips, my eyelashes grow out of all proportion, reaching towards the heavens. I tremble so much I want her mouth on my sex and that is precisely where she is heading, look how tall the trees are, feel how soft the earth is, touch these leaves bursting with sap, a deep, unfathomable green, my body bubbles like a torrent as the snow melts, I rear up, oh it’s so good, so very good, carry on, carry on, don’t stop.
Under Leila’s tongue and fingers, my sex swells, blossoming into gigantic pale petals. Through my half-closed eyes, the treetops form a canopy. The sky is clear up there; look, the rain has stopped. I could still hear it drumming against the roof just a few minutes ago, but the clouds have dispersed, oh how blue the sky is all of a sudden, and that smell of damp earth; I roll about in the bushes of red berries and gorge myself on blackberries. “Follow me,” Leila calls out to me, continuing to run naked ahead of me. Why is my body so hot? Why do these waves of violent tenderness wash over me from head to toe? “Follow me, come on, oh come,” sings Leila, drawing me along, holding my hand, her fingers intertwined with mine, and the giant petals swallow me up; is it my body or the surrounding forest? We have become one, mingled together; the pistils stand tall and dance in the dew after the downpour, until, without warning, the trees part abruptly, all at once.
I emerge into a vast, sun-drenched clearing; I cry out, the sun bathes my face, so blinding that I squint and I cry out, I cry out, the warmth of the air seizes me and soothes me, I let myself fall into the grass, Leila naked by my side, our lover beside us.

Leila, her lips still damp, looks at me and smiles. My hand has never stopped caressing our lover’s cock. A light breeze has picked up, laden with a musky, floral scent—the scent of spring, the scent after the rain, the scent before what comes next.
“Look, the rain has stopped, the sun is out!”
A golden ray floods the room. Birds are singing in the tree by the window, celebrating the end of the downpour.
“You’re the one who brings spring, Leila!” I whisper, before burying my face in her hair and rolling on top of her to kiss her again.
And with a burst of laughter, we throw ourselves onto our lover, who has no choice but to let us have our way…