Holidays in the Sun

On the positive side, if she had been peeking at me she obviously wasn't for running away.

Supersized nipples or nay!

'Notting Hill,' I echoed. 'Do you often bump into Hugh Grant?'

'Never,' said she. 'And I'd prefer to bump into Julia Roberts. Where do you live?'

'I'm from Keighley, up in the grim north. You've probably never heard of it.'

'Isn't that where the Yorkshire Ripper comes from?'

'No, he's from Bingley. That's the next town down the valley.'

'Okay, doesn't Alastair Campbell come from there . . . And the Bronte sisters?'

'I'd rather lay claim to the Bronte sisters than that old spin doctor. But yes, you're right.' Still studying Izzy, I asked the million dollar question. 'What is it you do to have a lifestyle like this?'

'I'm a computer geek,' she said mildly.

'Get out of here! My ex is a geek and you're nothing like.'

A slow grin worked its way across Izzy's face as we reached the house and she escorted me to a seat on an impressive veranda. 'Wait here while I fetch wine. Is Chenin blanc all right?'

I agreed that it was and messed around in her absence. That seat was a swinging one, you see. And I hadn't been on a swing of any sort in ages.

A swing made of some kind of wicker. Oh yes, yes please.

'You never answered my question,' I resumed as Izzy returned with two glasses and a bottle sat in a bucket packed with ice.

'Which question was that?'

I pondered a moment. 'Okay, so I didn't ask a specific follow-up question. I disputed your claim to be a geek. Please tell me more.'

Izzy sipped wine before speaking again. 'I can't be specific but I work in the City. I find it very dull but I keep getting money thrown at me. I guess I'll give it two more years and then retire.'

'What, you'll retire still in your twenties!'

'No, I'll retire on my thirtieth. And I'll move out here for good. The weather's a lot better than London, if you haven't already noticed.'

I'd noticed her nipples showing signs of temperature recovery. And of sexual interest, come to that.

There again, we were two naked strangers thrown together by fate. I'd have been disappointed if she hadn't been at least a little excited. I certainly was.

'What do you do for a living?' she demanded, back in mildly aggressive mode.

'I'm a vet.'

Cue another slow, sweet grin. 'My god I wish I was a vet. It was my childhood dream.'

'It's not all it's cracked up to be,' I cautioned, not really meaning it.

'When I hit the big three-o let's swap jobs,' Izzy countered.

'You'd need five years at uni before you could start,' said I. 'And I'd probably need about a century to master anything more complicated than Excel. It is a nice idea, but not a goer, I'm afraid.'

My hostess refreshed our wine glasses . . . already . . . and grinned at me yet again. 'This geek ex of yours,' she prompted. 'What's he called? Maybe I know him.'

'He's a she,' I said demurely. 'And I have no intention of naming the effing bitch.'

'It was a bitter breakup, then?'

'She swanned off to New York without a backward glance.' I paused, cursing myself for being honest. 'I was invited to tag along, to be a freaking housewife, but I wasn't having that.'

'I'm not freaking surprised,' said Izzy, her vehemence startling me. 'IT skills are randomly given. Being a caring person is different altogether. I'd give up everything to spend my days with a hand up a cow's arse; to be as happy as a pig in shit and all that.'

Normally I detested graphic "vet references". Right then I giggled. And my gaze slid down my hostess, in search of more tell-tale signs. Finding them effortlessly, reinforcing my own excitement.

She watched me slide and continued impersonating a Cheshire Cat.

'You have obviously sussed me,' she purred. 'And I'm positive I've sussed you. So what is it going to be? Is it another bottle of vino or straight to bed?'

It was barely noon and the vino was as excellent as the company. But opportunity rarely knocks twice, does it? And this opportunity was a lulu.

'Another bottle can wait,' I replied, draining my current glass. 'I can't.'

Izzy leapt out of her matching chair, leaving it swinging out of control.

'I rather hoped you'd say that,' she beamed, extending a hand, interlocking fingers when I took it with no hesitation at all.

Chapter Seven

I can't begin to explain my emotions as I was led into the house, along a corridor and to a bedroom. I can't begin to describe the décor, either. At least I couldn't have done so just then. The bedroom was darkish thanks to appropriate shades, I was aware of that. Otherwise I was all eager anticipation.

Was I! My heartbeat was through the roof and I could feel blood pounding in my ears. My nipples had miraculously acquired a life of their own and lady juice was trickling down my thighs.

Izzy wasn't quite as visually as up for it as I was but her nipples continued to show encouraging signs.

Dried out by then, her hair was indeed dark blonde.

Everything about her was entrancing. I sincerely could not wait.

Kicking the bedroom door shut behind us, she kissed me.

And what a kiss! Remember that very first kiss? I don't mean scattered pecks from elderly relatives or embraces won in playground games of Kiss-Catch (a game most probably banned by the do-gooders by now). No, I mean that very first real kiss. As an adolescent almost certainly, it could have been at a school Christmas party; the sort where would-be types do the rounds, brandishing sprigs of mistletoe.

Excuse my guess at the age. Thirteen . . . or fifteen . . . or twenty-one; it's all horses for courses, no?

You know what I'm getting at. That so-special evening when, after a series of half-hearted snogs from schoolmates, someone suddenly did it for real. Out of simply nowhere everything changed. Instead of spinning around the sun the world was spinning around you. You weren't sure exactly what was going on but you wanted more of it; and more and more.

Izzy's kiss was as disorientating as any I'd ever experienced. Dimly aware this was very fast, even by my own rather relaxed standards, I instantly wanted more . . . and more and more.

Quite frankly some of my past behaviour has been, to say the least, sluttish. I find that being sluttish is a turn-on which nearly always results in mind-blowing sex. It does for me, anyway, so there's not a big likelihood of any mending of my ways, not anytime soon, anyway.

Dim awareness aside, I wasn't about to deny my newest lover. Her arms were wrapped tightly around my back, her tits were pressing on mine, from slightly above, which was good, good, good.

And, as an added plus, our groins were snug as two bugs in a rug.

Good, good, good!

Rational thought isn't my strong suit when it comes to wild, consensual sex. I could sense the little I've got slipping away from me and didn't try to stop it. In fact I waved it off as it went.

Aeons later, still locked with me at the mouth, Izzy pushed. Realizing I was gripping her bum, vaguely suspecting that was all that was keeping me upright right then, I edged back, pulling her with me. Still hugging me tight, she came along willingly enough.

Then my calves hit the bed and I fell onto it gracelessly. More familiar with the room's geography, Izzy stayed on her feet, letting the kiss break of its own accord, grinning down at me.

'No, no,' she said when I moved to better position myself on the mattress, 'I want you to sit here, right on the edge, with your legs wide open.'

I didn't think that was an unreasonable request so I complied with alacrity. Forever grinning, Izzy sank to her knees and pushed my legs even wider apart.

'I like this,' she said, running thrilling fingers through my latest landing strip.

Perhaps "landing strip" is less than accurate. I vary every six months or so between clean-shaven and cultivated. Just now I have got an inverted equilateral triangle pointing the way to my clit. Kept short, it is dyed the same colour as the hair on my head and will change next time I have a makeover.

(Say the middle of next week, most likely.)

I should be saying it was dyed the same as the two-toned hair on my head. I like to see black hair on a girl but not everywhere. On a pussy black seems to be too predictable. Blues, greens, reds, yellows . . . the list of interesting possibilities is endless. Why bother with black or boring blonde?

Consequently I was a fetching electric blue down there.

And it looked good on me, if I say so myself.

Where was I?

Oh yes; I was perched on the edge of a bed with a stunning lady between my splayed legs, admiring my tiny, inviting triangle.

How could I possibly have forgotten that!

Without wasting any more time on small-talk Izzy set to with a will. Initially she slowly ran her so-sexy nose up and down, round and about through my "strip". That was incredibly exciting and felt great. But it was not a patch on her switching to purely up and down my slit.

Five minutes of that and I orgasmed. Izzy carried on regardless.

If I'd hoped she would immediately bring her tongue into play I would have been disappointed. Well, I would and maybe I wouldn't. Truth is she did make use of her organ of taste, but not precisely where I wanted it. Instead she used it exclusively on my inner thighs.

Oh my word, I thought, fighting off a second, way- too-quick orgasm, she's on mopping up duty.

Then, with a strained attempt at a grin of my own: This might take some time!

Guess what? It took ages and my fighting off became increasing ineffective. Finally I came not once or twice but thrice in rapid succession. Only then did Izzy redirect her tongue closer to where I would have preferred it all along.

Make no mistake: Izzy is a highly skilled lover. If her IT skills are anything like as marvellous then no wonder her mysterious employers keep throwing money at her.

Determinedly avoiding my clit she circled you-know-what for ages. Relishing every second I somehow held off. But out of nowhere she switched again. Without any warning her lips and tongue were on my clitoral hood, two fingers plunging inside me.

Did I say she was highly skilled? If I did I'm badly underselling her; she was stupendous. Never mind presuming to use two fingers (I might have been a tight virgin for all she knew . . . unlikely, naturally, but I just might) she rapidly took me up all of the layers of heaven, swiftly leaving "first" and lingering a while in the rarefied heights of "third".

How splendid was she! Using her teeth now on my hood . . . but gently, teasingly . . . her fingers gave up plunging and stayed in me, somehow knowing exactly where to find my G-spot, stimulating it better than anyone ever had, ever, ever, ever.

Next, when life couldn't possibly get more satisfactory, it did.

She launched an all-out attack on my previously overlooked clitoris.

My body jerked up off the mattress. Izzy held me in situ and continued her raid. Her fingers continued on my G-spot as well. I instinctively moved from "third heaven" to "fifth" and screeched like a banshee.

Not that screeching brought me any respite.

And not that I wanted any respite. I quite contentedly stayed where I was, heroically enduring climax after climax.

It wouldn't have been polite not to, wouldn't it?

Chapter Eight

Normally I like to share the workload. I made noises to that effect after three, perhaps four hours and Izzy laughed.

'It's time to barbeque,' she said, 'before it gets too dark. You'll have to hold your passion.'

I was astounded to see it was past seven in the evening. How had that happened? Had everyone else on the island put their clocks forward while we were so slowly, steadily getting to know each other?

There again, as an American lady had once told me, clocks sprang forward in spring and fell back in the fall. And it was September, not October or March. We must have been acquainting ourselves for hours on end.

By that I mean hours and hours, not just a mere three or four.

Or rather, Izzy must have been acquainting herself with every last inch of me for hours on end. I knew little about her body beyond the feel of her fingers, tongue-tip, lips and teeth.

'You're planning a barbeque,' I said carefully.

'That's how I eat every night when I'm over here,' she replied. 'And don't worry; it's not a social event. There will only be the two of us in attendance. I've already transferred enough for two from the freezer to my fridge. The barbeque is gas-powered so there's no big delay in lighting up. A couple of burgers and steaks, a little more vino and we'll be back in bed in no time.'

'I'm not getting booted out, then? You want me to stay?'

'Yes I do. You can stay until I fly back to Blighty, if you want.'

This time I did hesitate before blurting: 'Will I ever get my fair turn?'

'You'll get a turn. Who knows how fair it will be? Are you up for it?'

I definitely was but didn't want to sound too keen. 'When do you fly back?'

'Wednesday evening. And it's no-miss. I have a presentation to give on Thursday morning.'

At that moment she was on top, not so long having finished tribbing me to the sixth heaven. We were drenched in good honest sweat, our bodies clammily, deliciously sticking together. When she eased off me I almost wept.

But I'm resolute, me. I climbed off the bed and wondered where I'd left my clothes.

'Not in here,' Izzy said sternly. 'This is a clothes-free zone.'

Recalling the racket I'd been making for . . . well, ages and ages . . . I asked if there was anyone else in the building, maybe expecting maids and a cook, paid for by her City riches.

'No,' she told me. 'I have cleaners and a caretaker, but they keep away when I'm in residence. A lot of my guests scream and shout. I wouldn't want to offend the staff.' She chuckled. 'I can't remember any other guest screaming and shouting as loudly as you, though. I must be doing something right.'

*****

Here's an admission: barbequing naked alarmed me. The gas-powered heater was less risky than an old-style coal-powered affair, true. There were no dangerous sparks but all those burgers, sausages and steaks still spat red hot fat in a million unpredictable directions.

Izzy seemed to be immune but I kept a wary distance, tending to the wine glasses, this time topping up from two bottles in a much bigger ice bucket.

How the other half lived!

I'd regularly barbequed in Keighley but never in the presence of ice buckets. In Keighley wine tended to be found in two or three-litre boxes from Morrisons, ideally cooled in a refrigerator, very rarely in an ice bucket.

Izzy was correct, too. The weather here was much superior. There wasn't a cloud in the star-filled sky and, if I was to believe Maria, there had not been one single drop of rain since April. Defensive of my home town as I was, I could never make that sort of a claim.

"Not one single drop of rain since half ten this morning," was more like it. "And what colour is the sky supposed to be anyway: gunmetal grey?"

And oh crap! I'd forgotten about Maria altogether.

Pretending I needed a pee I went back indoors and rang the pool bar. No reply and no surprise. It'd be shuttered up by now. Not having any other number I called the hotel direct, swiftly and efficiently being answered by Sabria on reception.

Sabria, coincidentally, intrigued me. She was large and apparently overweight but her face could have launched a thousand ships. And when it came to her spectacular chest . . .

Put it this way: she eclipsed anyone I'd ever seen on TV or in movies; she made Kim K seem flat as a board.

'Hi,' I gushed into the receiver, re-introducing myself and saying I'd met up with "old friends".

'I won't be back until late Wednesday,' I added. 'Please don't report me missing in the meantime.'

'Thanks for letting us know,' Sabria said unflappably. 'I'll tell Maria. She's been worrying.'

'Best tell Estela too,' I ventured. 'I wouldn't have her thinking I'm dodging paying my tab.'

Sabria permitted herself a polite chuckle. 'No danger there,' she told me. 'She's got your card details. If you don't ever show again she'll just charge you double and press the magic button.'

Chastened a little . . . wondering about the extent of Maria's "worrying" . . . I went back to the veranda in search of another burger and lots more dry white.

*****

I did get my promised turn to be assertive back in the bedroom, and I enjoyed it very much. Snag is I didn't put the timer on so, although I'm sure I only got half as long as Izzy did, I can't prove anything.

Anyway, after supposedly hours that flew by like minutes, my hostess left me to "pay a call". She left a light on too, which was just as well because, short-changed or not, it was the depths of night outside.

My first new lover in over two years, I mused, and didn't I do well picking her!

Or did she pick me?

When Izzy returned she had harnessed up and had a decent-sized green dildo pointing straight in my direction. (Should I be using the word "straight" about a moment like that?)

Unable to help myself, I laughed. She scowled at me.

'What's so bloody funny?' she snapped.

'It's the first time I've seen you wearing anything,' I replied. 'It's a nice little number that suits you right down to the ground; obviously the work of a top designer. And I just love the attachment, darling. The colour matches your eyes.'

So much for my luvvie impression; Izzy didn't even crack a smile.

'It's no laughing matter,' she said stridently. 'Not when I'm about to give you the best fucking you have ever had.'

'You've done that already,' I ventured, truthfully.

Now Izzy did laugh. 'You ain't seen nothing yet,' she assured me. 'Lie back and think of England. '

Chapter Nine

I might have sold Izzy short a while ago but she didn't short-sell herself. What ensued was indeed the best servicing I'm ever likely to get. Very much in charge once more, she ran that dildo up and down my slit awhile, using her lower body as a guiding influence. Believe me: that felt better than having her nose running busily along me . . . and please remember that her nose had felt incredibly good.

Yes, Izzy's latest attentions were unique.

Then she penetrated my vagina. What bliss! At first she settled for long, strong and reasonably slow, pushing in as deep as possible and almost completely withdrawing again . . . managing to be tender as well as powerful and doing it again and again. By some miracle I didn't instantly cum.

But that didn't last. Partially withdrawing, she effortlessly relocated my G-spot and focused on it, using an accelerating grinding motion that was simply divine. Two minutes of that and I was orgasming in a multiple fashion. That lasted maybe twenty minutes . . . her continuously grinding and grinding in me, me having a single climax that just wouldn't stop until she did.

Not that she seemed to need to stop. She was never wavering, not ever . . . on, on and on she went.

Fortunately . . . or maybe unfortunately . . . nothing is infinite. Eventually she desisted and so did my rogue force of nature.

But I didn't get respite for long. Izzy must have known every face-to-face position in the Kama Sutra, if not many more. For the next couple of hours she tried out most of them before ordering me onto all-fours on the bed. I obediently obliged and, don't ask me exactly how, she mounted me.

I kid you not. Somehow she entered my vagina from behind, hooked her strong legs around my weak ones and there she was, me bearing our combined weights, her riding me like a jockey, urging me on as if we had a genuine chance of winning the Grand National.

As another aside, I almost wished we were racing around Aintree. As I understand it the National is a race over maybe four and a half miles: Izzy must have driven me on for fifty at least.