I placed a reassuring hand on one of her bare thighs, and her dress rode up slightly, just below the “playroom,” as they say in France. We were in Toulon in 1976/77, where we lived. She was practically naked. It was common at that time to go braless. It was rocking so much that it didn’t give us time to get sick, our minds busy trying to keep our balance. To maintain her balance, Sylvie had to spread her legs, allowing the men to see her little pussy several times. We reached Toulon, at the marina in the city center, where the quays, a promenade for tourists, are lined with bars and restaurants. It was rocking so much that it didn’t give us time to get sick, our minds busy trying to keep our balance. She found a certain pleasure in pressing the fabric against her body, pretending to dry herself. Lathering the soap, I massaged his body through his dress. I let her walk a few meters ahead of me to admire her nakedness, silhouetted in the sun through her light clothing. She turned on the shower faucet and stepped inside, fully clothed, under the stream of water. I reached his kitten, and my fingers sank into its soft fur.
