This story has been translated into French.
The pearly white village ran down the stony outcrop and dipped a toe into the crisp azure sea.
I was seated upon a wooden bench, reading a newspaper.
I saw her first as she rounded the bend up the hill, pedalling gently. The age and character of her battered bicycle drew contrast against her bountiful youth.
She was smiling, and she shared her happiness freely with all who looked upon her. I saw her wave to the café owner, as he laid his broom aside and wiped his brow she gleamed at him, and his gruff old face broke into a charmed grin.
She was wearing a soft summer dress that floated in the air and inched ever higher as her soft thighs rose and fell. As she approached I caught a sliver of a glimpse of her lace panties, before looking away in a vain attempt to protect her modesty.
And as she rolled to a halt and gaily alighted before coming to a complete stop, she planted a wet kiss upon my cheek and said “Hello, how are you?” in her foreign accent. My English student had arrived. She was only 15 years old, and I was about to embark on yet another hour of anguish and irrepressible desire.