Around the World in Eighteen Lays Ch. 01

AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTEEN LAYS

CHAPTER 1: THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE

Since our travel, and probably our sex life too, has been so circumscribed by COVID, let's go for an armchair journey of sexual exploration with our hero John Donne.

John's girlfriend Melissa puts him up to this challenge. He has eighteen days to fly around the world, 25,000 miles. That means between 1500 and 2000 miles a day, since he won't be able to travel in a straight line. Every day he must get to his new destination and find a girl to spend the night with: he can't stay at a hotel. Each night he must use a different position and report back to Melissa, along with a nude picture of the woman.

But there is a condition. If he finds a beautiful, sophisticated woman who responds passionately to his advances but will not go all the way, he will have to check into a hotel and have cyber-sex with Melissa. Then he gets to fly back to London, mission accomplished.

Why does Melissa set him this challenge? For one thing, she wants to see if he has the stamina for it: five or six hours travelling every day, chatting someone up, getting them to invite him home for the night, probably not getting much sleep. For another, she wants to get off on the pictures and descriptions he sends. And for yet another, she wants to have lots of lesbian sex while he's away. So we'll visit her from time to time and see how she's making out.

Maybe John will eventually decide to look actively for the woman who is both beautiful and chaste, to get a good night's rest and fly back to Melissa.

Are we ready for our journey together? All right, let's go. The story begins the night before John leaves. He and Melissa have farewell sex, using the missionary position (Position 1) since he is going out to spread his seed through the world.

Fanny-loving Melissa du Pont, long-legged, agile and ingenious, has one last meal with John Donne before he departs. They meet at an exclusive French restaurant in Mayfair, well beyond their means, but it is a special occasion. John Donne is to take up the challenge set by his namesake, the famous poet and preacher, four hundred years ago. There are many impossible things in this world, the poet declared, and the most impossible of them all is to find a woman both fair and true. If she's beautiful, she will betray you. If she is faithful to you, that's because she isn't beautiful enough to find a lover. This is a frightful calumny against the female sex, but Melissa is humouring him.

"Eighteen days you have, my love," she said, looking the menu over while sipping an aperitif. "And no cheating. No hotels, no brothels; you have to find a pretty girl -- correction, a fair woman -- OK, a fuckworthy princess if you must -- and she has to invite you home. You can't suggest it, it must be her idea. And she must understand that this is a one-night stand. She gets you once, or however many times you can manage in a night. You can sleep on the plane if you have to."

"Every man's dream," he replied, with a hint of irony. "I think I'll take Avocado Ritz for starters, he nodded to the waiter, and continued: "If I have to fuck my way around the world I might as well have something familiar before I leave."

"Something familiar? Missionary position tonight."

"I can live with that. Comforting, intimate. I can look you in the eye when I come."

"Can you look me in the eye and tell me how much you love me?"

"Accepting your challenge must be the greatest proof of love. OK, I'll be enjoying a lot of other women, but my seduction skills are going to be tested to the limit. Do I get any nights off?"

"A man asking for a night without sex? You'd better ask your poet friend if that is an impossibility!"

"Well, I didn't say without sex, I just said without having to seduce anyone."

"Flying solo? No, this plane has to have a passenger."

"I hear and I obey." He was a good-looking fellow, John Donne, with a sense of humour. Floppy-haired, admittedly, but on the whole quite well put together. If he played his cards right, he could probably strike it lucky almost every time: choose the right woman, give her enough breathing space to catch up with his lust, don't get too intense, all those things he had learned well before Melissa made him free of her loins.

They lingered over the wine and the roast duck and the petit fours, with a dash of port to follow. Melissa paid the bill with a convincing nonchalance, even though she knew that the really rich always bitch over the bill. They took a cab to her apartment and there she laid herself down on her spacious bed and invited John to ravish her.

And ravish her he did, worshipping every inch of her superb body so that he could remember it in detail for those eighteen days they would be apart. Like his namesake, he had to decide whether to start at the top of her head and make his way down, or to begin with her toes and work his way up. The crown-first itinerary would be the long way round, with stops at the forehead, the eyes, the nose, the lips, the neck, the shoulders, the breasts (a long stop-over, maybe a weekend), midriff, navel, mount of Venus, the clitoris and then the final resting place, the harbour where his ship would ease into her berth. But the scenery would be spectacular. Ankles and calves had their attraction, too, and everything would get better and better on the thigh-way to heaven. And then "Loch Lomond" came into his head and the crowds swaying to Runrig and he thought he'd better just get on with it.

Melissa was amused by his dilemma, secure in the knowledge that he would satisfy her. And then that would be enough cock for a while and she could concentrate on pussy for the next couple of weeks. A welcome interlude. And she could do the kind of things to herself that it was better that John didn't know about, or at least that she would leave to his imagination. A girl needs some privacy.

She took hold of his quick-rising and (to be honest) quite impressive member, and steered him into her expert cunt. She'd seen better, and his technique could do with some improvement (that was a good reason for him to get some more experience), but on the whole, yes, he was a bloody good lay. The most important thing, he would never come before she did. Not once had she slept with him without an orgasm. Some more intense than others, of course, but you don't need Mount Vesuvius every time. Look what happened to Pliny's uncle, for instance. Yes, their sex life was high-octane and she looked forward to resumption of diplomatic ties on his return. Ties, hmm -- they hadn't tried that yet.

His cock glided smoothly into her and her cunt gripped him cunningly and they timed it perfectly, their bodies rocking to a delicious climax and languorous wind down. As if they hadn't had enough expensive drinks already, Melissa poured him the last of the Lagavulin and they sat in their bathrobes, contented against the pillows, and talked of the days to come.

The next morning, grey and showery as usual, she acted out a cliche and saw him to the door in her nightdress and waved him goodbye. His plane sped away from Terminal Five, heading west. At least she had made him that concession. Jet lag flying east might mean limpness and lassitude at night.

Since his name was John Donne, it had to be Newfoundland for first stop, though it was the deuce to get there, Air Canada and all. He was going to put a stop to all those lame jokes about newfies. His partner tonight would be his America, his new found land, happiest when with one man manned.

The new world he discovered (or rather uncovered) was magnificent. She insisted on straddling him, which made the choice of Position 2 easy. There she was above him, every splendid part of her on display and worth the viewing. At any moment he could reach up and let his palms rest on those full, poised breasts, prominent of nipple and classical in form. He didn't like them Playboy-plump but preferred thirty-something deep, like this. Her eyes were bright and she tossed her hair gaily as she took her fill of him, and when she came, unspectacularly but joyfully, he thankfully let go of his load and was satisfied.

Anna's cabin (it had to be called a cabin, even if it was in fact quite a decent-sized house with all the amenities) was a good place to spend his first night. She made excellent coffee in the morning, lots of butter on the pancakes and a happy session of mutual pampering before she drove him to the airport. There, they sat at a table at Starbucks with a world atlas and considered his options. He'd already covered 2300 miles so there was some flexibility about the next stage and he had heard a lot about North American women. California could wait. Montreal? Syracuse? Concord? Boston, even? He thought of the Cambridge ladies and mused.

And what of Melissa? How was she to get her daily dose? She thought she would take it gently so she sat by herself in a gay bar at a corner table, surveying the scene. Her eye lit on a slim dark-haired young woman at the counter. She was making out with another woman, more buxom and more flamboyant, but that just added to Melissa's watching pleasure as she discreetly worked her non-drinking hand into her neat, close-fitting knickers, found the spot and quietly but oh so delectably eased her tension. Afterwards, she licked her fingers and took another sip of her cocktail. The woman she had briefly lusted after was looking straight at her. Melissa winked and the young woman slipped a hand under her shirt in conspiratorial recognition.

Next time: Where will John fly to from St John's, Newfoundland? What kind of a woman will he find there? And what position will they choose?