Holiday memories

Back from Ischia, my skin still carries the sun. The days moved slow, warm, full of quiet and the way bodies slip against each other when no one feels watched. Two girls shared the villa with me—one fair-headed, one with hair that caught the evening light. We didn’t plan anything. It just happened. Afternoons we stretched out on towels, naked, legs open because the air felt good there. Tongues replaced fingers. Wet sounds filled the quiet between the waves. The blonde climbed over the redhead’s face and let herself be tasted, hips rocking slow, the other girl’s mouth shining every time she came up for air. Later the redhead lay between my thighs and licked until my back left the ground. We took turns, mouths greedy, fingers sliding where tongues couldn’t reach. No one kept score. Just heat, salt, and the soft, filthy relief that comes when friends stop pretending they’re only friends.