Stella Maris had fallen ill in winter. Her internist prescribed antibiotics and declared her cured in spring. Nevertheless, her belly was often painful, especially during cold wet weather. A short spring holiday in France in a small second home her folks bought, brought us occasion for much more sex than at my dorm, where she felt everyone might hear her orgasms. There the weather was lousy, another reason we were often between our sheets. We evened our record set in winter, of mating eight times in one day. Despite the hardships, or perhaps thanks to them, our bond grew stronger. One night I woke up from her crying. Another pain attack, I assumed. Stella Maris reassured me. She cried realizing how much she loved me, how happy with my taking care of her.
The mental part of helping her to fully cure from pain attacks clear, the physical part seemed to be a long stay in hot weather. France our destination for food and culture, we chose Corsica for a long summer stay. To make ends meet, I proposed her to fool her folks, who covered the relative expensive costs for the room she rented, but hardly used, as she preferred her cure in my double bed in the dorm over her small one. So we cancelled her room before our holiday, intending to tell her parents she would get a room in my dorm next September. Those few months worth of rent would pay for our train tickets to Marseille and back, plus the boat to Corsica both ways. Our monthly allowance should be enough to live on the cheap there, we figured.
Arriving in the port of Bastia, we took the train across the island. A stay at a campsite in the central old capital Corte ate our funds a bit too fast, so we went next for camping out in the wild. Travel by hitch-hiking went very well. No wonder with a tall tasty ballet belle at my side.
One hot night we spent at the lawn of an unfinished house, not bothering to set up our tent, we smoked the last bit of hash I had secretly smuggled, which made us incredibly horny. First time Stella Maris could scream her lungs out in her long orgasm, which turned me on tremendously, while the wine we drank made it hard for me to orgasm as fast as usual inside her. So I kept pounding her hard, smacked her boy-ish bottom merciless and kept her coming till we both lost count and almost our conciousness. Next morning she could hardly walk. We waited long at the roadside till finally some 'camion' stopped. The driver introduced himself as Charlie Charlie, a 'pied-noir' (literary 'black-foot', a white guy who grew up in Africa, in his case the former Belgian colony of Congo). Charlie was a smart charmer, about my age. We told our story. He parts of his.
As many people we met there, history of war and narrow escapes. However, as a Belgian national, he was seen as neutral by all sides of the many warring fractions, which all fought each other in their fight for independence to liberate the island from French occupation. He knew a place where we could be safe, camping out wild. Behind a row of dunes, we were close to both the beach and a small supermarket beyond the 'vignobles' - grape fields. Charlie was right. We felt both free and safe. Our daily brunch was 'creme fraiche' with fruits. Dinner varied between grilling at the beach or surprises by Charlie Charlie.
Every other day Charlie paid us a visit, bringing a dinner of grilled chicken and french fries with some wine of his choice. Other evenings we went for some salad and steak from the supermarket. Old wine stocks and drift wood from the beach for a fire, few stones around it got hot enough that the steaks would be ready in few minutes. Plastic bottle of 1.5 liters young wine enough for the two of us. Stella Maris loved our cure for her, daily dose of dozen hours of sun, enough olive oil to protect our skin from sun-burn, sea to swim and cool off after another hot number on the beach, which was very often deserted. At times she felt a bit embarrassed, when Charlie showed up earlier than expected for a swim, and my sperm was still dripping down her legs. Also she would blush, knowing her bums were still red from my spanking, which had become her favourite forceful foreplay for ferocious fornication. Charlie pretended he did not notice, complaining that he let the 'moon shine', referring to his white ass amidst our bronzed bottoms.
After a few days, we found out why our hide-out was relatively safe. Charlie had brought us to a part of the beach only a mile away from a large regular nudist camp site. Where we went every couple of days, to use the showers there for free and treat ourselves to a few drinks at the terraces of several bars along that part of the beach.
