If you have not read our postings I'll tell you what we look like. Firstly, this is all real. We are an early thirties couple, I am 5'10", in reasonable shape. My wife Gail is an exceptionally beautiful and intelligent woman, soft spoken and very shy. She is 5'7" with a young girls figure, long shapely legs, small breasted, and a picture perfect behind. Her light brown hair blondes in the sun and she has the loveliest green eyes. Hadrian @ All rights reserved
Introduction
We arrived in France two weeks ago at the start of our holidays. A week was spent on board a stately yacht in Cannes. We met the yatch owner through Tamara, a delightful and sophisticated British senior who, despite the age difference, has become a close friend of my wife, Gail.
Tamara introduced us to Charlotte and Duncan last year, the owners of the yacht, and they invited us to spend our holiday aboard. Eventually we accepted, thus our week on board. The yacht stay did not work out for us, so we drove to Monte Carlo to spend the next week, then we would travel to Greece for the last part of our holiday.
During the first days on board Gail and I shared sexual experiences with Charlotte and Duncan. Later, Gail had a liaison with a young man named Richard, and her first experience with two men. Unfortunately, I was not one of the two.
If you would like to know more about our holiday preceding this Monaco stay, you may turn to Literotica - Stories & Pics - Authors Index - Hadrian M - Gail surprises Rian and Gail dives with Richard.
The Story
Gail and I were comfortable in the hotel in Monte Carlo, and well into a daily rhythm of the beach, lunch in boutique restaurants, and playing tennis every day. Evenings we tried new restaurants, Thai and Vietnamese food, a Swiss restaurant for Fondue Chinoise, and we played, Gail flashed outrageously, and we made love at every opportunity.
Our friend Peter returned to Monte Carlo on a Thursday. Peter was an American business man we had met in France three years earlier. He had expanded his interests during the time we knew him, and was now operating his business in the USA and in France and Italy. He kept an apartment in Monaco and Gail and I had used the apartment for a few days, prior to his return.
We still had several days remaining, before we would fly to Greece with Giancomo and Gabriella. Phyllis did not arrive with Peter and when we asked where she was, he informed us that she had to remain with their daughter. He indicated Phyllis might not make it back in time to see us. We later learned they were supporting their daughter through some trying times.
The first evening Peter was back we met him at his apartment building. We invited him to a Vietnamese restaurant we had found, and then we went to a small café just around the street from his apartment. It was the hangout and drink spot for most of the tenants in his building. We sat and talked, Peter asking lots of questions about Gail, about my recent promotion, and what we had been doing since arriving in France this year. At one point he commented, "It seems like the only way I'll get to spend time with you folks is if I buy a boat."
"I'll choose dinner tomorrow," Peter suggested. "Come over for drinks first, I want to show you something."
We didn't play tennis the next day. Gail lolled around in the sun at the hotel pool. I sat nearby under an umbrella reading. At one point Gail ordered a mineral water, and a Pernod water for me. When the drinks were delivered Gail leaned over to pass the drink, "Don't look now," she said. "The man across the pool tried to start a conversation yesterday. He actually got out on our floor just to keep talking."
I immersed myself in my book for some ten minutes, then remembered Gail's comment and raised my eyes, without moving my head. The man was probably late thirties, with a very retired hairline. He also had a very hairy chest, and arms, and looked like he worked out regularly. His whole body was beautifully toned, not body building heavy but muscular. And, I noticed that he took the time to look up towards Gail every few minutes.
Not one to let an opportunity go by, Gail moved her kegs, first placing her left leg on the ground to lean over to the table, then bending her knees and slightly spreading her legs. Each time he had to be gazing straight to her crotch and I could only imagine the state of Gail's bikini between her legs. Many of the guests at the pool were topless. When I mentioned to Gail that we should leave soon, she reached behind her and undid her bikini top, and sat topless the rest of the time we were there. The hairy man sat, awestruck, now even more conspicuous with his starring.
We took a nap in the afternoon and when I woke up Gail was sitting in the bath. I ordered drinks, sat at the tub and chatted with Gail, and we both took a leisurely two hours preparing for dinner.
I watched Gail for some moments just before we were ready to leave. She looked bewitching. She wore a light red dress that had white stripes on the top, with the bottom part a solid red. The top fit snugly, the skirt part was loose and flowing. hanging just above her knees. It had a button down front from neck to waist, and she left the top two buttons open. She wore sandals that had little colored stones, mostly red, and her toenails were painted red as well. We had carnations in our room and one of the yellow flowers was pinned to her hair. She had green and white color around her eyes, and bright red lipstick. Her coloring, from a day in the sun made her look fresh and much younger. "You look so beautiful," I commented, more in awe then as a statement of love.
When we arrived at Peters apartment I stood in awe once again. Peter looked like an Italian fashion figure. He was wearing a beige linen jacket, dark brown pants and a blue cotton shirt and tie. I laughed, "Peter, you look like a European, where are you buying your clothes. They look great."
Peter laughed, then looking at Gail said, "Do you like the change?"
"Very stylish," she responded, "Are they Italian made?"
Peter shook his head from side to side being silly, "Brioni, Roma," he said, trying to use an Italian accent.
We opened and poured champagne for three. Peter went into his bedroom and returned with a small portfolio. "I've gone into the wine business," he announced, and he handed Gail and I a small brochure that had a list of ten or fifteen wines. "I'm buying wine in bulk, in Australia and selling it here in Europe to those producers, and he pointed to the brochure. "I'm getting paid in finished wine which we will sell to the USA." Peter stood waiting for our comment. When there was none, he added, "And, I'm going to make you my Chile agent."
Peter took us to dinner at the Hotel Paris. We were so accustomed to seeking out new and stylish restaurants that we often missed the old great names. As we were led to our table men stopped eating in mid fork to stare as Gail breezed by. Peter knew some of the staff and was particularly flamboyant. I guessed he didn't often walk in with anyone as enchanting as Gail, and he made the most of it.
Selecting our wine was a story in itself. When the sommelier arrived Peter began a discussion about which white to choose as a starter, and which wine with our meal. I was amazed at Peter's knowledge, and even more surprised at the wonderful wines that he selected that evening. We left the restaurant two hours later, very pleased with the dinner, and lightheaded as well.
We moved from the restaurant to the lobby where Peter insisted we have an after dinner drink. We followed in a line, Peter leading the way as we walked toward a seating area. The guests, mostly a little older crowd, turned to watch as Gail walked through. Halfway there, Peter leaned backward toward Gail, and commented, "You're like a fresh breeze passing through the hall." We reached a seating area with four sofa chairs around a table. Peter placed his arm on a chair waiting for Gail to sit. Gail stepped in front of the chair and when she was seated Peter leaned closer and said, "I was dazed for a moment when I saw you yesterday, I forgot how beautiful you are." It was all meant for Gail even though he spoke loud enough for me to hear.
Gail's head was tilted downward, she looked up at Peter, the way a person does when looking over their glasses, and gave a half smile. Her lips tilted to the left, and she blushed from face to neck, her green eyes flitting over Peter, and whispered, "Thank you Peter, that's nice of you to say."
Peter ordered Port. We informed him that we were fast becoming Port experts, since our host in Cannes continually served Port. Forty five minutes later we left the Hotel Paris, and Peter drove us toward our hotel. We stopped at a traffic light and Peter turned to look at me. Gail was sitting in the back. "I'm going to a vineyard tomorrow, to a wine maker, would you care to come along?"
"Is it an all day thing?" I asked.
"We'd be back late evening, maybe at night," Peter said.
"I'll pass," Gail chimed from the back, "if you don't mind?"
