Nouvelles Vagues 4

Lots of people were queuing outside the nightclub. Which is odd, because nobody's used the word nightclub since the '80s or so. But never mind.

Inside, the atmosphere was in full swing. The deafening music brought the bodies closer together, and the trance-like crowd moved to the sound of the heavy bass in the room. But an attentive spectator would have noticed, in a small corner, a little quieter, a couple of dancers quite mismatched.

On one side, Jean-Yves, an accountant in the throes of a mid-life crisis. And in the midst of a divorce too. A little paunchy, a little balding, he'd put on his best white shirt in his Levis jeans, and taken his best bender. Tonight, he was letting loose, and it had been a long time since he'd done so. And it was a good thing he'd chosen tonight, because in his arms right now was a beautiful woman.

She looked 25 at the very least. Standing 1.70 m tall, she was sublime, with her long blond hair, a lock of which flowed down her face, giving her a mischievous air. Her little upturned nose was a model of perfection, framed by two piercing gray eyes that she could turn into lethal weapons with a simple flutter of her long lashes. Her black dress molded her, enhancing her generous curves, which she was currently rubbing against a Jean-Yves who couldn't believe his eyes, or any of his other sensory organs, for that matter.

He felt like the plumber in the porn movies of his teenage years. It was too good to be true. In 20 years together, his wife Carole had never teased him up like this. The beautiful stranger kissed him on the mouth, on the neck, nibbling his lips and fingertips, while her hands caressed and palpated him everywhere, even in places that hadn't known a woman's affection in a long time. He didn't mind enjoying it too, the alcohol and the darkness definitely helping him overcome his shyness, and he indulged in a thorough palpation that would have filled the most persnickety customs officer with pride.

“How'd you like to find a quieter spot?” she whispered in his ear, punctuating her sentence with a tongue-lashing that made his brain twitch. Not believing his luck, he couldn't reply with anything other than a nod, and let himself be guided by the young woman towards what appeared to be an emergency exit, leading them outside.

Once there, Jean-Yves found himself with his back against the wall, literally. The woman was on him, caressing him and devouring him with her eyes.

"You're so sweet. I'm going to make your day."

Jean-Yves couldn't believe his erection. Intoxicated by the situation, he said simply:

"Can I call you Carole?

-Do as you like, I'm not here to argue."

As she spoke her beautiful words, heralding a colorful program, she set about undoing Jean-Yves' fly and squatted in front of him, licking her lips, revealing teeth so white they almost seemed to glow in the dark. But Jean-Yves couldn't see them; he had closed his eyes to give himself over to her pleasure, while his hands closed over the blond hair of the woman he would call Carole for a very short time.

Then he heard a little wet noise, and instantly felt a sharp pain, right in his manhood.

"Hey! Take it easy! What are you playing at?

-I'm not playing. Not with food."

*Extract from the TV news of August 7, 2017*

"And finally, news item: the lifeless body of Jean-Yves Galempion was found yesterday morning near La Tranche-Sur-Mer, where he was spending his vacations. The body of the 50-year-old was found completely drained of blood behind the Fookin Blue Boy nightclub, where according to witnesses he had spent his Saturday evening, although examination of the surveillance cameras has so far turned up nothing. No leads can be ruled out at this stage, and the investigation is continuing.

Coming up, here's Tom with the weather."