Best Vacation Ever Ch. 02

Later that night, all three of us sat around their coffee table, still without clothes. Oddly enough, I finally felt relaxed. I think it was inexperience with these sorts of sexual encounters that made me feel uncomfortable. Hopefully, that would change. I told them of my recent online discovery and clued Etienne into my current troubles. When I told them of the address, they smiled.

"You know where it is?" I asked with optimism.

"Oh, we know. Don't we?" He turned to Nicolette and held her hand gently. He asked her a question in French that reminded her of another incident. She bit her lip and grinned shamelessly, eyes downcast. Even without any lingering sexual tension, I still admired her figure. Her small breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her breathing.

"Where is it? Can you help me get there?"

He asked her another question in French and she responded quietly in the negative.

"We'll be happy to take you. She doesn't have work for a few days, so we go with you," he informed me happily.

"Why? Where are we going?" I asked ignorantly.

"Barcelona. There's a little club, a discotheque. Really exclusive, but we can get inside." Nicolette giggled sheepishly when her husband said this.

"You'll see when you get there," he added. Etienne spoke to Nicolette and asked her to do something. She rose and made her way over to the phone. By now, the first hints of daylight made their presence known in the eastern sky.

"She's going to call her cousin, Elisa. She lives in Barcelona and we'll have to meet with her before going to the club. You'll like her."

"I haven't come across anyone I dislike here." I replied truthfully.

"Even the Ariana girl?" Etienne inquired.

"Let's just say she rubbed me the right way." The subtle euphemism was lost on Etienne, but he made the gesture with his hand and I nodded in reply.

Nicolette returned from the phone with an affirming look and Etienne stood.

"Let's dress. We have to drive a long while."

When we left their apartment building, we made our way down the street. Even at this ungodly hour of the morning, the city started to rise. Bakeries were the first to open and the one down the street was exceptional. Breakfast was a bag of croissants and fresh orange juice with a little coffee on the side. We made our way back up the street to a parked car on the curb. It was a late model Peugeot coupe with a dark paint job and darkly tinted windows. I stretched out in the backseat while the married couple sat up front, one working the stick shifter and the other working her husband's stick. I fell asleep listening to French pop radio. With that, we left Paris.