The waves crashed against the glistening, black boulders, that lined the Cornish coast. The wind from France howled it's queer comment ca va, through the whispering sea grass. It blew Garlanda's silken skirts against her long, slender, legs. Inside her was a passion as powerful as the rolling waves, as strong as the wind on the sea. Her loins throbbed as she thought of Dirk, the virile Scot who had captured her passion.
Suddenly he was there, striding along the cliffs, his eyes glistening, as the French wind ruffled his thick corn gold locks. His skin tight trousers betraying his intentions.
"Dirk!" she moaned, trying vainly to conceal her desire. "They told me you were sailing with the tide!"
"They were wrong," he wispered, huskily, ripping open her silken bodice, to reveal her creamy bosom.
Garlanda sighed as he pushed her onto the sand. She knew this would have to be their last encounter. She was running out of bodices.