Holidays in the Sun

By my admittedly hazy addition, as we approached Becher's brook for the twenty-fifth or -sixth, time I gave up supporting and flopped. It's fair to say every last vestige of strength abandoned me. I merely collapsed onto the bedcovers, hearing and feeling the dildo exit me with a loud plop.

Not that slipping out deterred Izzy. I honestly felt all of my energy dissipating as I sprawled helpless, a landed fish. Izzy might well have absorbed my lost enthusiasm . . . Osmosis, isn't that the word?

Or am I thinking of a hit single from the seventies?

Whatever, she immediately wanted to go for more.

Feeble confession time: When my very assertive lover ran her green dildo between the tight cheeks of my ass I thought that I'd had my chips. I wasn't totally unfamiliar with anal sex but previously it'd been a finger or a relatively tiny toy with lashings of lube.

That green thing was not tiny and, my juices aside, lube was conspicuous by its absence.

Luckily, I needn't have worried. Izzy had been only trying to worry me. Readjusting positions she soon achieved vaginal re-entry and, with me defenceless face-down (yes, defenceless and forever grateful) she effed me all the way to that fabled seventh heaven.

It was a first for me and I'll never forget it. Checking up on the internet I struggle to find an equivalent. There's cloud nine and nirvana, of course, but they tend to indicate a different sort of happiness. And in all fairness, perhaps I'm misusing "seventh heaven". Perhaps we sexual earthlings should not play about with esoteric expressions.

*****

Tuesday flew by in the blink of an eye, with lots of strap-on sex playing its part. I even got one or two goes of my own.

Wednesday flashed by as well.

Yes it did.

Before I knew what was really going on it was late afternoon and Izzy was talking departure times.

Just then I was on my back with my legs anchored around her. She'd stopped thrusting . . . at last . . . but was still deep inside me, unmoving but very pleasantly present.

And this was it. This was farewell.

Unsure of my true emotions, I asked her for one last quickie.

'It'll have to be in the shower,' she replied.

'We don't fit in the shower,' I protested, the voice of reason.

'We'll fit in the beach shower okay; the one on the end of the veranda. Fancy it?'

*****

Showering together . . . at last . . . was very rewarding. Afterwards I stayed out on the veranda where I'd left my clothes over two days ago. Izzy went indoors, hunting down garments of her own.

And wasn't it weird to be dressed again! After fifty-odd hours naked being clad felt unnatural. To put it in perspective, I redressed in a very skimpy two-piece bikini, extremely abbreviated shorts and maybe the flimsiest top ever created.

And still I felt unreal. Still I wished for a simpler, purer life.

It was then when realization hit home. I had been living in Izzy's house well over two days and I hardly knew it like the back of my hand. Cards on the table, I knew the veranda, a corridor, a bedroom and a small bathroom.

The house was massive but I knew less than twenty per cent of it.

Come to that, I probably knew less than twenty per cent of Izzy.

As if on cue she reappeared, dressed smart-casual, ready for her flight.

'Nice pants,' I said, taking in her wide leg, knee-length white shorts and a matching blouse; one which struggled to keep all of her out of sight.

Or should that be one that did its best to get all of her out in the open!

'Might be cool back in Blighty, 'I observed.

Izzy produced a sleek black jacket . . . every bit as "designer" as the rest of her togs . . . out of thin air.

'You're right but I'm not without experience,' she assured me. 'Shall we exchange our phone numbers and make a move?'

In spite of a feeling of inevitability, exchanging numbers gave closure. I liked Izzy but had no intention of ever calling her. I strongly suspected the feeling was mutual. I'd answer if she ever called . . .

But her calling would be a big if.

Ditto the other was around, I suspected.

*****

I did offer to ring a reliable taxi . . . guaranteed by the driver's sister . . . but Izzy had a hire car parked "round the back" . . . yet another part of her home from home I'd never seen. Not that I was paranoid or anything. We'd spent out time screwing, eating and drinking and . . . once in a while . . . sleeping.

Touring her house, room by room, would have been such a terrible waste of time!

The "hire car" was in reality a super-duper beach buggy, suitable for on and off road travel. Izzy said it was one she always booked in advance, so it was always ready and waiting every time she landed. In addition she assured me she used it outside of "home-airport".

'I go up-country,' she said, 'and I do all my own shopping.'

'Naked I hope,' I grinned.

'As often as I can get away with it,' she grinned back.'

Chapter Ten

I offered to wave Izzy off from Arrecife. She said thanks but no thanks.

'Nobody's ever stayed with me more than one night,' she said as she drove. 'Apart from a girl I once brought with me for five days, and that was agreed in advance, so she doesn't count.'

'Poor her,' I said reflexively.

'She was a one-off fling,' Izzy countered. 'We had five days here, then three days up in the Lakes. Her apart I've never . . .'

'Watch the road,' I said as she tailed off dreamily.

Izzy laughed and retook control of the hire car.

'I really could come and wave you off,' I volunteered.

'No way after three days.' Cue another laugh. 'Let's see how our phone exchanges go. Take it from there. Maybe in time we can visit the Lakes together. Some of those quaint pubs need to be seen to be believed. The Queen's Head in Troutbeck is superb; it's the best pace I've ever stayed.'

I knew exactly where she was coming from. But, Troutbeck put to one side, we had sexually run our course. Never say "never", but the chances of us getting together again were slim.

She wanted to be assertive and I wanted to at least share.

And we lived two hundred miles apart, me semi-rural, Izzy semi-superstar.

Enough was enough. Our bodies had worked very well in a one-sided partnership, now it was time to let go and thrive on the memories.

So I accepted her negative and let her drop me outside my hotel, leaving her with a cool kiss and an insincere promise to keep in touch.

She smiled at me, waved airily and was gone, out of my life.

Not precisely devastated, I checked the time on my mobile, establishing the pool bar would still just be open.

Perhaps disgustingly, I had an urgent need to see Maria.

It was disgusting because Izzy no longer mattered. I liked her, I liked her a lot, but as of now she was out of the picture.

Stupendous between the sheets, otherwise far too pushy, that was Izzy.

She was best for a brief fling and then bye-bye, bye-bye . . .

Unlike Maria; Maria was still very much in the frame.

Or so I hoped.

Skirting the hotel I made my way to the pool area. It was early evening, late summer and it was only sparsely populated. There were two loving couples sat poolside and another up on the raised patio. Otherwise the cupboard was bare.

Well, maybe not for me. Maria was there behind the bar, staring down at something just out of sight.

'Hi babe,' I cried in greeting, 'do you remember me?'

'Oh,' she snapped in her perfect English, 'it's you. The wild rover returns.'

'Am I in time for a cerveza?' I ventured, wrong-footed by her less-than cheerful reception.

'I closed five minutes ago and I've already cashed up the till.' Maria hesitated then sighed. 'But go on, you can pay me tomorrow. Assuming you aren't going to vanish again.'

Secretively, not letting on to her other customers, she poured me the Spanish equivalent of a "pint". I sipped it gratefully. Alcohol availability hadn't been a problem at Izzy's but it had been all wine. And a girl needs her beer, doesn't she?

'Cheers,' said I, subtly raising my glass.

'You don't bloody deserve it,' Maria countered, 'disappearing like that, up to goodness knows what.'

'I'm on holiday,' I protested. 'I'm supposed to get up to goodness knows what.'

'Huh,' went the barmaid. Then, leaning in close and keeping her voice down, 'Who exactly are these "old friends" of yours?'

I tried to shrug the question off to no avail. 'It's a friend rather than friends,' I conceded, 'and we met on the beach.'

'I hope he was worthwhile.'

'He was a she. But yes, she was very worthwhile.'

Maria held her tongue while two customers obligingly returned their glasses to the bar and wished her good evening; an attractive French pair speaking slightly accented English.

'It's true then,' she said when the couple had gone, heading off towards their evening meal. 'You have been chatting up every free female in the hotel. Well,' she added dramatically, 'almost every female.'

'I used to do guys,' I admitted, not quite up to speed, wondering exactly what this gorgeous barmaid was trying to say. 'But I have been off them a while now. And I'm fresh from a breakup. These last few days have been a big turnaround: my first new lady in over two years.'

'Is that why you've been after every girl you meet?' Maria's wonderful eyes flashed, 'sex-hungry babe wanting a playmate?'

'I'm not sure what you're getting at.'

'I'm getting at the way you've overlooked the one girl here who absolutely idolizes you.'

I frowned. My attentions at the hotel had been divided between Maria and Estela, with Maria probably getting the lion's share. I'd eyed up others, of course, staff and guests alike, without doing very much about it. But nobody stood out as special. Who in heck "idolized" me?

And why hadn't she made herself known?

'At the risk of sounding stupid,' I said carefully, 'who are you talking about?'

Maria laughed scornfully. 'She doesn't know!'

Biting my tongue, I held my peace.

Eventually Maria put me out of my misery. 'Sabria fell in lust the moment she set eyes on you. Stern warnings were sent out. We all have to wait because she has to be first.'

That blasted me out of the water, and big-time.

'I'm sorry,' I gasped, 'this is a bit . . .'

'Strange? I suppose it is. But Sabria is the alpha female in these parts. I'm surprised you didn't notice that.'

I mused for a moment or three. I'd ticked Sabria off as beddable without expecting to get chance to do anything about it. She'd seemed unapproachable, so unapproachable she hadn't even featured in any of those masturbatory fantasies I'd had, back in my early, exceptionally excessive days.

How selfish of me was that!

And apparently Sabria was the alpha female . . .

Interesting or what!

All those rings, everywhere but third finger left hand . . .

Think Martha Reeves & the Vandellas. No, think yummy, yummy Martha and the Vandellas.

How gorgeous were they!

And when was Jimmy Mack coming back?

As if anyone would ever have rated "Jimmy" ahead of Martha!

'Are there lots of . . . curious . . . women in this hotel?' I asked Maria as ingeniously as I could.

'No, there are three,' she relied brazenly.' I am no more than mildly curious; Estela's most likely gone one step beyond. And Sabria is the mother of all lesbians. I'm amazed you never cottoned on.'

'I'm beginning to appreciate what I've been missing.'

'So why do you ignore her?'

'I don't ignore her. I say hello every time I pass her desk, ten times a day.'

'That accounts for maybe five minutes a day. You spent five hours a day talking to me and nearly as long talking to Estela.'

'It's different between bar-folk and reception-folk,' I said limply, not prepared to query Maria's maths.

'Too true it is; particularly when you ring up reception and ask Sabria to pass your excuses on to a lot of others; others who have, co-incidentally, already been warned off.'

Oops.

I winced at that, outwardly and inwardly. 'I'll apologize in the morning,' I said out loud. 'Meanwhile can I take you out for that steak?'

'No frigging way,' Maria snarled. 'I'm under orders to keep away, remember? And I couldn't go to the steak house anyway. Camila came up here yesterday, demanding to know where you were.'

Oops again!

'Camila made it very plain you have been after her too,' Maria went on. 'She severely upset Sabria, by the way. And nobody upsets Sabria. She's like who-do-you-call-him . . . that actor who said "you won't like me when I'm angry".'

That rang an unfortunate bell.

'Arnie,' I said automatically . . . and totally inaccurately.

Maria just stared at me, unflinching and unspeaking. Probably she knew I was wrong.

'So,' I resumed, 'a steak is out of the question.'

'Unlike some I am reliable, and I am due to visit my mother tonight. So a steak is completely out of the question.'

'What do you say to tomorrow night instead?'

'I'd say sort out Sabria, then ask me again.'

'Is she really so scary?'

'No, she's really a good friend. And besides, I'm never going in that steak house again. Camila might use one of her cattle-gutting knives on me if I ever show up, especially with you on my arm.'

Oh, the snags of being popular!

'I'll make it up with Sabria,' I said optimistically, 'and then we . . . you and me . . . could go somewhere else for . . . I don't know; a curry or something. Paella or whatever . . . '

'I'd be careful with Sabria,' Maria said, surprisingly chuckling. 'She's not the alpha female for nothing. And she has a master-card that gives her access every room in the hotel. You may well come awake in the early hours tomorrow to find yourself over her knee, about to receive a sound spanking.'

I actually felt the broad grin spreading across my face.

'Stuff the master-card,' I said. 'Tell her I'll leave the door unlocked.'

Afterword

I'm not sure if I've titled this last bit accurately, but who cares?

(I screwed up the intro after all, so why ruin a winning formula!)

Anyhow I somehow missed my boarding call. Time may have stretched way out of control or perhaps I started gassing at full speed and the world passed me by. Whatever, suddenly I've just been paged as the last passenger due to board, with the clock ticking.

Panicking, as one does, I leapt to my feet and ran towards my gate, the stern electronic voice urging me on.

I'm typing this on my keyboard as I go, and I'm only seconds away from flight mode. Please excuse me for not concluding my tale.

Did the formidable Sabria pay me a late-night call?

Did I really leave my door unlocked?

What happened?

What did she taste like?

They are well-meaning questions, all of them. And I'll answer them in due course.

But not right now. Right now I've got angry airport officials gesticulating at me, swearing in Spanish.

Give me pause for breath.

Like Arnie, I'll be back.