In a Class of His Own Ch. 02

"I can always come here again." she explained. "It is not so far, for me. And then I can stay in the same hotel, because it will bring me pleasant memories. So I will stay with you, and we will discover new things, together."

- "I would be honoured."

- "You will be."

***

Celine and I went to Madrid, which she knew. She took me to the Palacio Real (the Royal Palace), and the Prado, one of the best art galleries in the world. Hieronymus Bosch, Albrecht Durer, El Greco, Velasquez and Goya ... I learned a great deal.

Then she took me back to our hotel room, where I learned even more.

I was rapidly becoming addicted to her voluptuous body. Celine had a way of removing her shirt, and her bra .. she would tilt her shoulders, and arch her back, thrusting her impossibly round boobs forward. And her smile, as she did this, revealed that she knew exactly what she was going to me.

Most of the day, I was semi-erect. But when her fingers went to the top button of her shirt, I immediately sprang to full hardness.

She had a tremendous appetite for sex. Of course, I was randy as a goat. It was like I had discovered the joy of fucking, after years of living in a monastery. But Celine was so obviously enjoying herself, too - and that did wonders for my confidence.

I couldn't quite figure out why she was with me, but I wasn't about to jinx myself by questioning my good fortune.

We went to Cordoba, Seville, and Granada. I had never seen anything like the Alcazar and the Alhambra. It was new to Celine, too. We discovered it together. Every day was marvelous.

And every night, Celine did her best to fuck my brains out. She preferred positions where we faced each other. She also pinned me down, and gave me a tantalizing blowjob. The following day, she introduced me to 'Soixante-neuf'. But she also insisted on fucking me at least twice a day.

Finally, we reached Gibraltar. I had to go - my Dad was fanatic about Nelson and the British navy. He had read all the novels of C.S. Forester and Alexander Kent. He would never forgive me if I skipped the Rock of Gibraltar.

It was a little slice of England - the same pubs, the same accents. Celine was clearly bewildered; she had never been to Britain.

- "Never?"

- "Why would I? It's full of Anglais." she said.

Our last night together was special. Celine surprised me.

- "Tonight, Chris, we will be a little ... different. Please - let me lead. OK?"

- "As you wish." I had no idea what she meant, because more often than not, it was Celine who initiated sex, and chose a position. But I had yet to be disappointed.

She didn't strip for me. Instead, she kissed me, softly, and asked me to undress her. That was no hardship. But she guided me every step of the way.

- "Slowly." she said. "Gentle - like I am fragile."

I began to see - and feel - the difference. On our last night together, Celine didn't fuck me. She made love to me, instead.

Every lingering touch, every gentle caress, the soft, sweet kisses ... all were deliberate, unhurried, drawn out - and exhilarating. My heart was beating a mile a minute.

Celine stroked my erection, and then lay on her back. She spread her legs, in invitation, and opened her arms as well.

- "I want to feel your weight." she said.

I entered her slowly, carefully. The sensation, even through the condom, was exquisite.

- "Yess ... that's it." she said. "Make love to me."

After all of our passionate fucking over the past few days, this was a revelation. Instead of being fuelled by lust, I was motivated by respect and admiration for this wonderful woman. I wanted to be joined with her, to show her that I cared for her.

My orgasm was subdued - almost muted. I'm not even sure if Celine climaxed or not. But that wasn't the point.

I lay beside her, and kissed her softly.

- "Thank you." I whispered.

- "It was my gift, to you." she said. "And to myself, as well."

We dozed for a while. When I opened my eyes, I found her looking at me, from only a few inches away.

I finally found the courage to ask her the question that had been in the back of my mind since Barcelona.

- "Celine - why me?"

- "Why not you?" she answered.

- "You could have any man you wanted."

- "Not so." she said. "Not everyone wants a black girl from Senegal. But thank you, for the compliment."

She smiled. "To answer your question ... it felt, at first, like destiny. You saved me from that thief - perhaps that was not an accident. It might be that we were meant to meet."

- "But you didn't have to sleep with me. Not because of that."

- "No. But I liked the way you looked at me. You still look at me the same way, you know? Most men, they see me, and they stare. I can tell they are thinking: 'Oh, I would like to fuck that'. But not you, Chris. When you look at me, you are saying 'Oh, I would love to fuck her'."

I laughed, but Celine poked me in the chest.

"I am completely serious. When I took you to the Sagrada Familia, I was merely curious. Well, maybe interested, a little. I had already seen the basilica - twice. And so had you."

- "You knew that?"

- "Of course. Your eyes were on me the whole time. If you were seeing Gaudi for the first time, you would have been much more distracted."

- "You put on quite a show." I said.

- "Why not? But then I discovered that I liked you. And I told you: I had never been with a Canadian. I enjoyed my day with you, and I suspected all along that I would enjoy the night, too."

- "But - why change your plans? Why travel with me?"

She looked at me like I was a moron.

"I'm sorry - I'm not just fishing for compliments."

- "Are you serious? The sex, that first night - it was formidable. Why would I not want more? You are kind, intelligent, a good travelling companion ... and I am impulsive. It seemed like a good thing to do."

- "It certainly was." I agreed.

She smiled. "Let me tell you a little secret ... some men I have known, when they have sex with me, they take. But that first night, you gave. You shared the pleasure with me. That is very special. That is why I remained with you."

Celine kissed me softly.

- "You're incredible." I said.

- "Ah - that is why you stayed with me!"

Celine reached down, beneath the covers, and found my semi-hard cock. "I knew he would be there." she whispered.

Then she flipped me on my back, and climbed aboard. She fucked my brains out one last time.

***

Celine caught a flight home, while I took a ridiculously long train ride. Of course, I thought about her. Was I in love with her? Sure. But even then, inexperienced as I was, I knew that our long-term prospects were negligible.

She was a French flower that couldn't be transplanted. There was nowhere else where she could exist. She could have handled the language in French Canada, but not the culture.

And much as I loved travelling in France, living there wasn't an option.

We shared a wonderful week, and I had the best sex of my life, to that point. I wrote Celine a letter, telling her how much I had enjoyed all of our time together. The sex wasn't everything. It was definitely the highlight, though, and I didn't pretend otherwise.

I dashed off some more postcards, and then picked up my letter to Nina. I filled her in on what I had seen in Spain, and explained that I had dawdled too long, and so hadn't made it to Portugal. I made no mention of Celine.

I found myself wondering what it would have been like, if I had been able to make love to Nina by Lake Windermere. The oral sex was great - but it would have been so fulfilling, so wonderful, to ...

Interesting. I wasn't thinking of fucking Nina - but of making love. Those thoughts kept me occupied for quite a while.

I probably didn't do Italy justice. I was behind schedule, and still wanted to get to Greece and Turkey. Florence and Siena were great, and - in October - relatively uncrowded. I wished that I could have had Celine with me, in the Uffizi Gallery, to explain the art. And it would have been nice to have had her that night, too.

Rome was a treat, and Vatican City was a pleasant surprise. But the real highlight of Italy, for me, was Pompeii, where the eruption of Vesuvius in A.D. 79 buried the entire town under a layer of ash.

I caught the ferry to Patras, in Greece. I saw Olympia, and the incredible theater at Epidaurus. Athens was amazing, as I had expected. Then I had to get choosy, as I was running out of days before my return flight.

I chose the island of Santorini, or Thera, where a volcano had erupted over 3,500 years ago. It blew the side of the mountain into the sea, creating a beautiful lagoon, with steep cliffs on three sides.

Someone had told me about Akrotiri, so that was where I headed. I took my book - The Return of the King, at this point, and went down to the Red Beach, named for its red volcanic sand, and the cliffs behind it.

It was quite warm, and I found a lounge chair, with an umbrella for shade. But I had a hard time concentrating on my book.

About thirty feet away, a young woman in a black bikini was trying to get a tan. But men kept coming by to hit on her. I didn't hear the first one, but the second was really loud.

- "Hey, Baby ..."

She brushed him off, as she had the first. But in less than two minutes, number three arrived to take a shot.

- "Hello, pretty lady ..."

It was painful to listen to. Honestly - had this guy not seen his predecessor get shot down? What made him think that he had a chance? And why did they keep coming up out of her blind spot? Moe could have given a class here.

I could understand the attraction. She had long, dark hair, and was wearing a black bikini that looked more like lingerie than swimwear. She was high breasted, with a flat stomach, and very nice legs. Maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised that men were approaching her.

After the fourth pickup attempt, though, my heart went out to the poor girl. She just wanted to suntan in peace. So I picked up my book, and my towel, and I approached her.

- "Pardon me." I said. "Would you mind if I sat here?" I pointed at the nearest beach chair.

She glared at me. I'm sure that she had me marked down as number five. I hurried to correct her.

"I've been watching these guys hitting on you, and I get the impression that you would prefer some peace and quiet. If it's okay with you, I'll just sit here and read my book. But it will look like we're a couple, and maybe the pickup artists will stop coming by."

"I won't bother you." I added.

She scowled at me. I'm sure that she didn't want me so close, but there was really no way to prevent it, if I wanted to impose. I suppose she could've got up herself, and moved to another spot. She would still be getting hit on, though.

Up close, she was even more attractive: dark hair and grey-blue eyes make a killer combination. But I put my sunglasses back on, and kept my head down.

She threw a few suspicious glances my way, but when I didn't move, or speak to her again, she settled back and resumed her interrupted sun tanning session.

She was quite right to be suspicious: it was very hard to concentrate on my reading, with her splendid body stretched out only four or five feet away. Thank goodness for the sunglasses. I could look her way, without turning my head, and she wouldn't know it.

I started to daydream, remembering Celine, and Nina. It was understandable, that thoughts of sex immediately brought Celine to mind, but I always seemed to come back to Nina. I had finished a third letter to her, and mailed it from Italy.

Bikini girl lay still for fifteen, or maybe twenty minutes. Then she glanced my way again. I hadn't spoken to her again, or even turned my head towards her. Maybe she was still suspicious, though.

She adjusted her top, and then turned over, on her stomach, facing away from me. I tried, briefly, to get back into my book, but Frodo and Sam couldn't compete with Bikini girl's jutting ass and very fine legs.

My thoughts drifted to Carol, and to Moe. I wondered what Moe would have said, as Bikini girl reached back to adjust the bottom of her swimsuit. Then she put her head back down, but this time facing me.

As I said - thank goodness for the sunglasses! Otherwise, she would have caught me staring at her ass. As it is, I'm sure that I blushed. She had her eyes closed - but not completely. She was watching me. Were all of those adjustments just a test, to see if I was ogling her?

Or ... was she trying to make sure that I was watching? I remembered Celine's not-so-subtle displays, in Barcelona, as she put on a show for me. And this was exactly the kind of display that Moe had told me about.

Less than ten minutes later, Bikini girl sat up, and re-adjusted her top. Then she reached into her bag, with a quick peek my way, to see if I was paying attention. She produced a bottle of suntan lotion, and proceeded to rub some onto her arms.

Of course I watched. And she knew very well that she had an audience. Bikini girl slathered lotion over her belly, and rubbed it in. Then her shoulders, and across her upper chest. I was holding my breath. How far would -

She rubbed the lotion across the swells of her breasts, and even slipped two fingers under the material, making sure not to miss a spot. She shifted in her chair, and quickly glanced in my direction, to make sure that she had my undivided attention.

I wasn't even pretending to read, at this point. In fact, I was using my book to conceal the growing bulge in my swim trunks.

Bikini girl went on to put suntan lotion on her legs. She did an exceptionally thorough job - it was more like a sensual massage. Finally, she lay back on her chair and closed her eyes. I could have sworn that I saw the ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. Satisfaction?

She sunned herself for another twenty minutes. I had plenty of time to laugh at myself, for how easily she had caught me looking.

Finally, Bikini girl sat up, and swung her legs over the side of her chair. She sank her toes into the sand, facing me.

- "I'm sorry if I was ... rude, when you first came over." she said.

- "Not at all." I said.

- "It's just that ... I thought you were ..."

- "Hitting on you?"

- "Yeah - only more subtle than those other guys. Jesus - those Speedos! But then I thought, who brings a book to pick up girls?"

"And you did exactly what you said: you kept the others away. So - thank you."

- "My pleasure." I said.

- "Did you get much reading done?" she asked, with one eyebrow raised.

I laughed - she knew darn well I hadn't.

- "Three pages in the last hour. I think I read this last page four times. But I was a bit distracted."

- "A bit?"

I laughed again. "OK - a lot."

- "I'm sorry." she said.

No, you aren't, I thought. Instead, I said: "No harm done. I can finish it on the way home."

That got us talking - the usual traveller stuff: where are you from, what do you do, what have you seen?

- "My name is Karen." she said.

- "Chris. Pleased to meet you." I sat up, too, and turned to face her. I extended my hand, and she shook it.

- "Likewise." she said. At close quarters, like this, the combination of dark hair and light eyes was practically lethal.

Karen was from San Diego, and worked in commercial real estate. She was a self-described workaholic.

- "My boss finally noticed that I hadn't taken a holiday in three years. He said if I didn't take two weeks, right away, that he was going to suspend me."

- "What made you choose Greece?" I asked.

- "Well, I love the sun. But I knew that if went to lie on a beach in California, I'd be tempted to go back to work. So I had to pick someplace far away. And a friend who'd vacationed here suggested I try it."

- "I'm glad you took their advice." I said.

- "Yeah - me too." she said, with a little smile.

We talked a bit more, until Karen said she needed a shower.

- "What about later? Why don't you have dinner with me?" I suggested. Moe would have been proud.

- "So that you can pretend you're my boyfriend - and keep the other guys from hitting on me?" she said, with a grin.

- "Exactly."

It turned out that we were staying in the same hotel, which Karen thought was very significant. We walked back together, chatting freely.

She was only a year older than me, having taken a two-year college program before starting her career. I got the feeling she was relieved that the age difference between us was no greater. I don't think she would have been comfortable if I had been much younger.

Karen showed up for dinner in a brightly coloured, short sleeved shirt - and a mini skirt. A very short skirt. Eye makeup, lipstick ... and to top it all off, she had heels. This girl was clearly very concerned about her appearance. I couldn't argue with the results.

She turned heads, as we entered the restaurant. Karen enjoyed the attention. If she really didn't want men hitting on her, then perhaps our arrangement was ideal. But I was still pretty sure that she expected - or hoped for - more from me.

We had taramosalata and souvlaki, with a bottle of white wine. Karen was animated, and she was a talker; I only had to ask a question or two, and she was off and running. She was interesting, though, and could turn on the charm. She had our waiter, and the restaurant's owner eating out of her hand.

- "You are on honeymoon, then?" asked the owner.

Karen thought that was hilarious. "He's not my husband. He's my boyfriend." she said, with a big wink in my direction.

The owner still brought us complimentary shots of ouzo - maybe it was something he did for everybody. But Karen took it as a great compliment.

When we left the restaurant, she was in high spirits.

- "You know, I could go for another glass of wine." she said.

- "The hotel bar?" I suggested.

- "Sure - sounds good."

In vino veritas. The alcohol loosened Karen's tongue even more. She wasn't wasted - just happily drunk, and ready to whisper secrets.

"You know, when you first came over, on the beach - I thought you were rude. Like those other guys, minus the Speedo." Her eyes flickered towards my crotch. "Smoother, though."

- "I just wanted to help out." I said.

- "I know. I realized that when you just sat there, and you didn't say anything. Then I started wondering ... why not? Why isn't he hitting on me?"

- "Really?"

- "Weird, isn't it? I didn't want to be hit on, and then I'm wondering why you weren't."

- "Is that why you put on a little show for me? To get my attention?"

She picked up her wine glass, and looked at me over the rim.

- "It worked, didn't it?"

- "It certainly did." I said.

- "You know, I'm usually not this forward." she said. "I mean, I don't date guys that I just met."

- "But you're on holiday." I pointed out. "The rules are completely different."

- "Hmmm ..." She rubbed her finger along the rim of the glass. "You may be right. Let loose. Live a little, right?"

We talked some more, and then Karen asked: "Should we get another drink?"

I didn't want to take advantage of her when she was wasted.

- "I've had plenty." I said. "Maybe I should walk you to your room."

- "Okay." she said. She took my hand.

At the door to her room, she searched in her purse for the key. Then she looked up.

"Do you ... want to come in? For a bit?"

- "I'd like that."

She closed the door behind us, and was on me a split-second later. She pressed her lips to mine. Her purse fell to the floor as she grabbed twin fistfuls of my shirt. Karen was enthusiastic, but she was all over the place. She couldn't seem to decide where to put her hands, and her kissing was energetic, but sloppy.

She wasn't that drunk. And then it hit me: Karen was nervous. She was an accomplished flirt, but not very experienced when it came to sealing the deal. That's not to say that I was some kind of professional - but a week with Celine had taught me a great deal.