Girls.

Each time that I return from the bakery on my bike, my wife says: “My darling, it’s incredible, but each time you go for a ride on your bike, your little belly melts like margarine in the sun.

Last week, not only to give pleasure to my wife, but also to recover my musculature of “Mr. Ardeche 2008”, instead of my motorcycle, I grabbed my bike with the idea of jumping on it to go fishing.

A good ten miles of hills and valleys (especially hills is my impression!) and I finally arrived, exhausted, at the banks of MY river.

My secret spot. There, beneath a small oak tree surrounded by moss and spring grass, I stretched out cross-like in the hope of recovering my strength and to let my ass breathe after being tortured by the brutal, anvil like saddle.

My eyes were half closed when I suddenly heard the sound of voices. Feminine voices to be precise.

I lifted my eyelids just enough to distinguish two young women approaching my peaceful haven.

I think that my position and my immobility scared them, which is normal. I didn’t move and I held my breath.

“Do you think that he’s dead?”

“He looks dead… Do you think that I should call police emergency number?”

At that moment I thought I had better step in: “Hello my charming children. I was simply taking a little restorative siesta. You see that trashy bicycle? It practically killed me, the pirate.”

The two cuties began to laugh installing themselves near me, the more intrepid of the two said:
“You see, we are tourists. We come from the north and the Ardeche sun invites us to pay hommage. Would it bother you if we got rid our our wretched bras?”

“Absolutely not my dears, as you cans see I got rid of mine as well.”

The two girls cracked up, a good sign.

“Tell us sir, what do you do that allows you to be at the river while the rest of the world is at work breaking their backs.”

“I’m a painter”

“A house painter?”

“No. But believe me, sometimes I regret it. You see, I make paintings… how could I say it… artistic painting, as some would call it.”

“Like Picasso?”

“More like cavemen!”

(More laughter!)

“In fact, what I love to paint above all, is women.  I’m gaga about women. I adore them. All of them! I am so captivated by their beauty that in the street it often happens that, instead of following the path to my destination, like a hunting dog I follow a lovely lady who passes before me.  Believe me sometimes it’s embarrassing… one could take me for a sexually obsessed and I would end my days in prison when it’s only about pleasure for the eyes. At the same time it’s true that the temptation to use my hands is lively. To touch skin and feel it’s satiny texture is also part of innocent pleasure. Do you understand what I’m saying girls?”

“Oh yes sir, it’s nice of you to share that with us!”

“I thank you.”

And after a moment of silence I began: “It’s funny with the you two here in my company, half naked… and me, an old fart… I have the slight sensation of being in a painting of Fragonard or of Boucher. It’s all about gentleness and lightness, with a touch of sexuality that you can almost smell… Mmmmm, what a delight. Do you know the fabulous painting by Manet: “le dejeuner sur l’herbe”?

The conversation continued on, caressed by the music of light wind in the trees, perfumed by wild flowers, continuing until the moment when the sun disappeared behind the hills and I had to leave these charming ladies and hop on my bike for the return voyage home. That was when I realized that I had passed a few hours that were so delighful, I had totally forgotten the reason for being in that enchanted setting …and my fishing rod was still attached to my bike.

There is no doubt: women, there’s nothing better;
even fly fishing can take a hike.-