GC-368 Tales of the French Riviera

Book Details

GC-368 Tales of the French Riviera – Plenty of sex from everyone from decadent countesses to failed artists to brutal would-be dictators. Sex of all kinds from needy and demanding to consensual and sweet to very non-consensual.

These seven tales explore the sun and sand of the south of France, the lust and desire, the thrill seeking and the humiliation, even murder and death.

Tales of the French Riviera
The Duchess Of Saint Tropez
Birds Of Cap D’Antibes
Festival Of Sparrows
Mistral At Corniche D’Or
Last Days Of Jean-Luc Perregaux – a five part novella
Goddesses, Gambols, And Gunnar Asche
The Summer Storm Of Emperor Jones – a five part novella

Excerpt: Tales of the French Riviera

The Duchess Of Saint Tropez

SOME asserted she was an Englishwoman who had married a wealthy Parisian, then poisoned him in order to secure his fortune. Others swore her to be a Prussian Duchess, at one time Goering’s mistress, who at war’s end closeted herself for three years in an obscure hunting lodge in Bavaria. The one fact Stone could verify was her wealth; that she owned a massive villa in the hills above St. Tropez, Michael Stone had confirmed on his own.

In his rented VW he combed the hills to see if there were such a place. It was said to be modern: a soulless conglomerate of glass and pink aluminum panels where once a French manor house reigned. He found it, surrounded by an ancient stone wall, kneeling cantilevers against the hillside to command a view of the sea. But was it hers? For that matter, was there really a malign and notorious Madame de Giens? In the cafés of St. Tropez the crowds gathered to gossip about her, all professing the joys of her acquaintance, while many were bursting to impart the lurid details of Madame’s weekends. Inevitably, no pair of stories matched, which caused Stone to dismiss everything as a joke. And then, he had been told French humor was partial to put-ons, which was what Giens had to be. The inconsistencies outweighed the persistence.

He heard numerous descriptions of Madame’s aristocratic presence; he had also heard her called a roly-poly travesty of Gertrude Stein. While A exulted in her blondeness, B raptured over Madame’s brunette tresses. She was old; no, she was young. She was dictatorial; no, no, altogether gracious. A spurious legend, in short, a vapor rising from someone’s gin-soaked imagination. Yet the scandalous details of supposed orgies persisted, and he had seen that villa up in the hills. Who owned it? Probably some retired couple blissfully ignorant of the joke.

Stone welcomed the joke; he admired the underlying attitude inherent in that brand of mass gullibility. It made for an added difference to his holidays. Unlike most first-timers abroad, he hadn’t charged from town to town in a frenzy to gobble more continent per dollar. He chose to party intensely on the Riviera. The place to go, they said in New York, if you want plenty of action. Action there was; copious the word for le cock hard. Copulation while U wait, and U won’t have to wait very long, monsieur. Les girls are everywhere, and everywhere and any way U want it. Yr. credit gd. here. Get it today, morning, afternoon, and evening five ways and prompt delivery.

He leaned his weight back against his café chair and lit a Kent. Had to jet back to Manhattan on Monday and make with more TV commercials to entice the big spenders in Consumersville. Hooray. He’d rather spit in their eye. This crazy place, this El Dorado of roving eyes and hands, and masses of swarming flesh. You couldn’t get enough of this kind of thing in two weeks; you needed a year or two. A swinger’s year on the beach, and what a beach. At the far end of Tahiti Plage they didn’t bother about bikinis; they did it nude.

Only two days left. Make it good. Two hot days and nights in this mirage of brown arms, yachts and wine.

Excerpt From: Jay Trevor. “Tales of the French Riviera.”