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his
fingers walked their way up her calf, then onto the marble-smooth skin of her
thigh. “Touch me,” she breathed, a husky hot breath and they were kissing and
breathing and moaning and Franco’s hand slid up the inside of her thigh as she
massaged him through his ragged combat shorts. She unbuttoned the torn shorts,
tugged them free and Franco stood proud and huge and true. Her hand curled
around him. They lay down together on the sofa, a mutual floating of magic,
their meal and expensive wine forgotten. Melanie gave a little sigh as Franco’s
hand moved and he found the soft slick hot place. “Do it.” He massaged her.
Gentle. Firm. She squirmed in his hand, hot and wet and thrusting.
     
    “Oh Melanie,” breathed Franco.
     
    “Oh Franco,” said Melanie.
     
    “Oh Melanie!”
     
    “Oh Franco oww Franco oh, ow, ow
bloody hell Franco, it’s burning, it’s burning!” She sat bolt upright, horror
acid-etched on her face as she peered frantically down at her throbbing raw
genitalia. She leapt up and ran for the bathroom.
     
    Franco groaned in horror. “What?
What happened?” Idly, he reached down and toyed with himself, keeping his proud
Roger erect in the hope that whatever was burning his true-love’s chuff would bugger
off and allow him the pleasure of consummating their relationship with red
hot fiery sex.
     
    Suddenly, a shiver washed over
him. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Something was warm.
No, not warm, but hot. No, boiling! Burning! His cock and balls started
burning furnace-hot. Throbbed, as if pounded in a door. Pain smacked him with
waves of raw screaming heat and he kicked himself free of his shorts and ran
feet-slapping to the bathroom where he stood side by side with Mel and together
they splashed cold water on their bits, ululating soothing ums and ahs, and
then, in a flash of inspiration, splashing water on one another’s genitalia
with cries of easing cooling soothing relief... until, after long and torturous
minutes the hot and fiery sensations finally, ultimately, abated.
     
    “What happened?” panted Mel.
Sweat glistened on her brow.
     
    “Well,” scowled Franco, calming
his breathing, a now very limp Roger in his hand, “I’d like to have said
we were both on fire with lust, but it was something much simpler. I used fresh
chillis in the cooking. I chopped them—by hand. Obviously, chilli juice doesn’t
wash off that easy. I am so, so sorry.”
     
    “So... you gave me a vaginal injection
of red hot chilli peppers?”
     
    “Ha! Only the best for you, my
sweet.”
     
    Mel laughed long and hard. “I can
see life with you is going to be far from dull!”
     
    “Life with me?”
     
    Their eyes met.
     
    “Come to bed,” she said, taking
his chilli infected hands.
     
    And for the remainder of the
night, they really did experience a union of hot and fiery lust.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    It
was later. Much later. Four days later.
     
    Franco lay on his back, in the
dark, staring at the ceiling. Beside him lay Mel, curled up against him,
snoring gently. She was naked, and he touched her flank. Her skin was cool.
Gently, Franco reached over and grabbed the thermal liquid-marble blanket,
pulling it over Mel’s exposed flesh. It hissed like a river over pebbles. Mel
sighed in her sleep, and turned a little.
     
    Wow, thought Franco.
     
    Just... wow.
     
    Said it would never happen. Love’s
for schmucks. Never happen to me. Take ten or fifteen girls to pin down this ol’
wanderer. No single woman could possibly have all the attributes this old
dog’s looking for in a gal. Never happen. Never ever ever happen. Shit. Well,
it had. And now it had, Franco was over the moon. He’d become a walking cliche.
Now, he brushed his teeth every morning because he didn’t want to be
stinky for his new true-love. He even had a regular bath. And that was not Franco. In the scheme of reality in the universe, as all his friends knew,
Franco did not do baths.
     
    But it got