Marigolds, Ajax and Paris

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Part 3

Like London buses you wait forever for one, but then two turn up together. This is part three of the Marigold series (or Chapter two part 2 if you prefer) and I only ever intended to write one. But I've come to like Janice and there was only one way to find out what happened to her and that was to write it. So I did....

As usual, some explanation before we continue. British people - especially Cockneys - like to use rhyming slang. The fun is in working out the meaning; nobody ever says 'apples and pears' for stairs which is the lamest example ever, but they might say "You're having a Steffi" for 'You're having a laugh', meaning 'You must be joking'. This is based on Steffi Graf, the tennis player but we only ever say the first part of the rhyme. As I said, you have to work out the link yourself.

There's just time to put the kettle on and make a pot of tea before we continue. Is there any of that cake left? We could start on the Cherry Madeira if we've finished the Dundee. Mine doesn't have icing, I don't like smothering a perfectly nice cake with sugar; I'm sweet enough as it is, thank you.

+ + +

The plane lost power after droning on for so long and now Janice could feel that the nose had dropped slightly. She looked around nervously but no-one was showing concern; the cabin staff were clearing away the duty-free trolley, clearly nothing was wrong. It must be that they were about to land; it looked like she was about to survive her first trip in a plane after all.

Four hours, already? It had flown by. She peered out of the tiny window but there was no change yet, only the tops of grey cloud to be seen below her. This was disappointing, she had expecting glorious views and an intensely blue sea.

The loudspeakers interrupted her thoughts, a woman was speaking from the front of the cabin into a telephone handset that was also the public address system. The toilets were to be closed, baggage was to be stowed, seat belts to be fastened, window blinds to be opened. Why? Could those fragile plastic things damage the frame of the massive aircraft?

People stirred, shoving bags into the overhead lockers. Janice tightened her seatbelt and flipped up the flimsy table in front of her. It was a basic airline without frills; all the seats looked exactly the same, they didn't recline and there were no TV screens fixed into them. Tiny monitors were mounted on the ceiling and swivelled away out of sight when not being used.

However the staff were friendly and had put her at ease, against her expectations the food had been good as well. A crusty bread roll with bacon at least as tasty as she could have had at home and a lovely cup of tea (even if it was served in a plastic beaker) to wash it down. If this was international travel, she could do more of it.

She looked out of the window again but there was nothing to see, even the cloud-tops had gone. It was a world of grey. Then suddenly the world was transformed once more, the sea was now visible and was the vivid blue that she'd been promised. They had been descending through the cloud and were now below it, following the coast of an island. The sun shone as if by magic, all that cloud was behind them and it was now a glorious afternoon.

Scary rumblings and screeches were being emitted from various parts of the mechanics but still nobody cared. Perhaps it was normal, she braced herself against the seat and tried to relax.

Soon she could see a road across a dusty barren landscape, miniature cars looked stationary. Then a golf course bright green in contrast. Houses, industrial units and then airport buildings flashed past, getting bigger, then with a thumping jolt and more screeches they landed.

It was over.

And it was about to start. Her adventure, her holiday on this island that was still reputedly inhabited by hippies left over from the sixties. It wasn't Mediterranean, but it was Spanish and the late-availability deal from the travel agents had been too good to turn down. Sun, sand, sea, soon. That was all she had said, now here she was.

The plane braked hard, turned around and trundled back past the airport buildings before stopping, then there was a sudden frenzy of activity as passengers stood and started grabbing their bags from the lockers. She found that the aisle alongside her was blocked by a stocky man wearing a colourful shirt and she had to wait for a break before she could squeeze into the slow line of people eager to leave.

* * *

That Janice reached her hotel at all was a miracle of modern logistics. She had followed the crowd, tramping for miles along a glass-walled corridor until she reached a bored passport control officer who barely looked in the direction of her proffered documents, then found her luggage on a revolving conveyor belt. A man holding a clip-board with the name of her holiday company had told her the number of a coach, she had left the terminal building and recoiled from a ferocious heat, the coach driver had checked off her name, then during a long drive she had listened to an over-excited tour guide give a briefing. Various people had alighted at different places and now, at long last it was her stop.

The driver dragged her suitcase into the lobby, having retrieved it from a cavern underneath the seating area. Janice hadn't even realised that such a space existed in coaches. But there was no time to ponder that; the hotel clerk was busy fastening a white plastic band around her wrist. It looked like one of those things sold by charities, but she was being told that it entitled her to all the benefits of the hotel and she mustn't lose it. Then a credit card was handed to her, supposedly a key.

Contrary to expectations, the card opened the door to her room. A teenager in an ill-fitting uniform showed her how to operate the door lock, then abandoned her bags and withdrew as soon as she had offered a note of the local currency. She had done it. All alone. She threw herself flat on the bed, limbs outstretched and looked at the ceiling.

In her late fifties, she had obtained a passport, entered a travel agency, chosen a destination and booked a holiday. Now, she was here in a room with a balcony, a sea view and two double beds. It had a shower-bathroom and an over-sized television. The system worked.

Some ingrained professional instinct activated and she found herself walking around the room wiping a finger over the surfaces, looking for dust. Over the top of the door frame, down to the skirting boards. She had a word with herself, she was on holiday not supervising the maids.

She went out onto the balcony; she couldn't see the beach itself but beyond a scattering of low buildings there were bits of sea and plenty of bright blue sky visible. She returned to the room, turned the TV on and flicked through the channels. There were hundreds of foreign language offerings of doubtful quality and perhaps two or three English language, all news channels. Oh well, she wasn't there to keep up with the soaps. The torrid tales of squabbling neighbours would have to await her return.

She unpacked her cases and checked the time. It was almost time for tea and there was a 'welcome meeting' in the hotel lobby afterwards. She undressed and took a quick shower, then found something light and airy to wear. Already the clothes that she had worn for the journey had proven to be too heavy, unsuitable for this climate.

Making sure she had her wristband and key-card, she made her way downstairs to the dining room where there was an immense buffet to choose from, so she indulged. After all it had been a long day, she was starving hungry and on holiday to enjoy herself. Okay, so she was carrying a bit too much weight already - who cared anyway.

So feeling comfortably bloated she found a seat in the lobby and with a couple of others, waited for the meeting. When the representative arrived she found that it was just a blatant sales exercise. She was given a stiff drink to break her reserves and was then expected to buy a coach tour, a boat tour, a bar tour (unlimited drinks included) and even tickets to an end-of-week party during which the company reps would sing and dance.

Janice considered the boat tour around the island and paid a reservation. The others sounded dreadful so having shown willing, she passed on the rest.

The 'rep' was young, smart but somewhat unprepossessing. He looked as if he was missing his mum and Janice stopped listening and started wondering what he looked like out of his gaudy jacket and corporate neck-tie. He probably dressed in shorts and sandals with long white socks, like the guy in the blue shorts in 'Grease'. The guy who did the little penguin dance at the end of the film as if it were Rock and Roll.

He announced his name as 'Steve' and kept on using her name in the manner of sales people everywhere. Yes Janice, you'll like this, Janice. Even more than the other tour, Janice. He asked her if she would be going to the pool disco later and she burst back to the present. Apparently there was a disco aimed at the youngsters to start (although there she hadn't noticed any children staying there), then afterwards the main event. He might see her there.

Janice returned to her room and lay down on her bed to relax, tired after the long day. Soon she was sleeping. In her dreams there was music; a party with a DJ. Then the noise penetrated further and she woke. The music was real, the 'Birdy Dance' wafting on the night breeze. She'd have that played at her funeral just to troll her relatives. Make everyone dance down the aisle to that blasted song, silly actions included - and if there were such thing as ghosts she'd be watching, crying with laughter.

She was hot and sweaty again, still fully dressed. So she stripped off and had another shower, the second that evening. Sod it, she wasn't paying for the hot water. While she was towelling herself the music stopped and the silence was eerie.

From her recently stocked wardrobe she found some suitable evening clothes. She had invested in some new lacy lingerie for the trip; her old grey undies were not quite up to the mark, not even the 'front-loader'. Bare legs in that climate, a pair of heels. Then a loose white dress with a blue pattern -- appropriate for smart or casual. A bit of jewellery to set it off, not expensive but cheap supermarket junk. She was only a care home cleaner with an income to match after all. The dress was made of thin material but the lingerie was the same colour so didn't show through too much. She needed it, there was no prospect of going braless with bouncers like hers.

In private, no problem. But in public? Forget it. They had to be contained and supported within contraptions of wire and lace designed by men who never had to wear the things. At the end of the working day she couldn't wait to take it off, wouldn't it be nice to be able to afford one specially made for her - or to have a job where people didn't get scandalised if they saw the outline of her nipples.

She picked up her handbag and put it down again. She didn't need to carry any money and it was something she didn't need to haul around. Her hair had been trimmed so that a quick going over with a brush and her blower was all that was needed, so with a quick application of some blusher and lipstick she was ready for the world. She went downstairs.

All the sun loungers in the pool area had been stacked up out of the way and a loudspeaker system was installed on a low stage. Tables and chairs surrounded a small vacant area, presumably a dance floor.

People were starting to gather and were selecting places to sit. She found an empty table, so that strangers could come to her rather than she impose herself on others. Soon a couple sat down with her, introducing themselves as Ray and Bethany. Bethany was chatty, asking lots of questions about how long Janice had been there, had she been there before, what did she know of the island.

Eventually the compère started speaking and after a few amusing anecdotes he introduced the act. A group of dancers came onto the stage area and to the accompaniment of a singer began to perform. A lady wearing a white man's shirt whirled around in unison with a couple of backing dancers.

The woman had long slender legs and a talent for high kicking, and when she lifted her arms the shirt rose to reveal panties as far as her waistband. Janice thought the dancers were really quite good, much better than she had expected for a hotel entertainment.

Bethany was telling her that the highlight of the week was a costume party but Janice wasn't really listening, she had noticed that a button on the dancer's shirt had come undone.

The woman didn't seem to be aware but continued with the dance while Bethany prattled on about sexy costumes, Bat-Woman, Cat-Woman, Super-Woman. The theme was supposed to be literature but that obviously included comics.

There was a sheen of perspiration on the dancer's face and now the shirt was becoming damp. Janice could now make out her nipples, dark against the white cotton. There was no bra visible, which was confirmed when another button worked loose to show her cleavage down to her flat stomach.

By the time she finished, the garment was held together by only the lowest button and a good deal of side-boob could be seen. Even a portion of areola had sneaked intriguingly into view a couple of times but she had seemed oblivious.

Just then they were joined at the table by a man who looked familiar and when he started speaking Janice recognised him as Steve, the holiday company representative now out of his uniform. He was now in a red T shirt and jeans, looking much more natural out of his dorky uniform. Away from his sales pitch he was relaxed and she found herself laughing at his jokes.

On the stage, the dancer had a distracting move; her shoulders swivelled one way, her hips in the opposite direction which caused a breast to briefly appear, then the other as the move went the other way. Surely there was no way that the woman was unaware, certainly no-one in the audience was.

When the lights brightened and it was time for everyone to go back to their rooms, Bethany and Ray stood and bade farewell. Janice was slightly surprised to realise that Bethany's dress was of a mesh material and that she could make out her breasts. There was no underwear to be made out at all. Such thoughts were banished though as Steve was looking rather stud-like.

Janice faced the prospect of being alone on her first night. She decided that she needed a guide to show her back to her room and then demonstrate the use of that pesky card-key. It would have been churlish if Steve had declined to accompany her...

* * *

She was awakened by the sun blasting through the curtains. Her hand was holding something warm; a male member nestled comfortably in her grasp - Steve was awake and stiff already.

Her mind quickly replayed the antics of the previous night. She had dragged him into her room, felt underneath the kilt and found him free, without underwear and rapidly reacting to her touch. And she was what, at least 30 years older than him? Disgraceful, was old enough be his mother, maybe grandmother. But he had been willing, big enough to make his own mind up. And he was indeed, big. He had undressed her, released her bra and stroked her big old tits. She had wished that she was younger and firmer, but he hadn't minded. Lifting them up, letting her nipples extend between his fingers and then squeezing them gently, exquisitely. Feeling life come back to her body as if she were a teenager once more.

He had found her secret bat and sucked on her, going from one side to the other while she felt herself become motherly, relaxing as he kissed. She even caught herself feeling broody, wondering what it would have been like to have had a child.

He was eager, breaking away from her breasts just too early, pushing her back onto the bed and showing her that he was a fully grown man. But she had slowed him, making the moment last. She pushed his head down firmly before opening her thighs, appreciating the attention that his tongue gave her pussy. She returned the compliment with her own mouth using skills that she had been taught so long ago, introducing his prick to her vagina and keeping him at the entrance to tease them both before allowing him to enter with a slow, steady movement. A single stroke all the way without a pause, slow and endless. God, it was wonderful to feel that deep penetration again. Fingers were OK, a tongue was great. A vibrator filled a need; but none of those were a substitute for a genuine erect penis.

Like the pro that she was - had been - she detected when his moment was approaching, had eased him out and encouraged him to shoot his load over her. Then looked him in his eyes as she spread his semen across her milky white tits, rubbing it into her skin as if it were an expensive moisturiser. Then she had taken his softening member back into her mouth and relished the taste of what remained, finally kissing him on his lips and sharing that final salty flavour with him.

Now she rose and walked to the window. Throwing the curtains open, she gazed at the view of a flat calm sea under a clear blue sky.

As she turned Steve was watching her, gazing at the view of her body. Instinctively she breathed in, trying to tighten the flesh but with the vigour of youth he was already rising to attention anyway. It was a handsome sight; as someone once remarked, 'A hard man is good to find'.

She was feeling sticky with the dried emissions still on her body so slapped her arse loudly to give him something to think about and went for a shower. Let him wait and anticipate her return. When she emerged with a towel piled around her head, he was still lying there, erect. What a performer. She climbed on top of him and pressed her freshly soaped vagina against his face; his chin was bristly but he was eager. His tongue found the spot and soon she was rocking in ecstasy, enjoying the sensation of her clitoris being attended to as her breasts had been earlier.

Janice looked down, but Steve was almost invisible, her gut blocked her view of everything but the hair of his head. She really must go on a diet, she thought. She could feel, but not see. Mind you, what she could feel was just fine.

Eventually she could tell that it was time for a change of position, she clambered off his face and knelt down with her ass in the air, knees wide apart. It was an invitation no man could mistake and she soon felt him easing deeply back into her. It was bliss.

* * *

He had gone, like Ron. The room was empty, no sign of Steve or his kilt remained. A one-night stand, was that it? Never mind, she'd done well to have one of those at her age. Maybe he'd turn up later, possibly on the boat trip in a few days time. She dressed and went down for breakfast, choosing fruit juice and cereal, determined to do something about her weight.

She didn't recognise anyone she knew, so ate by herself. Then she strolled down to the beach, wearing her bikini already under her clothes and carrying a towel and her undies in a drawstring bag.

The beach was of soft sand that sank under her tread, with a scattering of sunbathers already absorbing the ultra violet rays. The sea was quite calm, tiny ripples not doing much to disturb the tranquillity. This was just what she had seen in the brochures, even the colours were accurate.

The area close to the hotel was the busiest but the beach soon became almost empty of holidaymakers after a short walk. In the distance were scatterings of rocks; outcrops from the low cliff in the background. She continued to stroll along, passing occasional family groups sunbathing or splashing in the waves. As expected, nearly every woman was topless. Fat and thin, young and old, it made no difference. This was what Janice wanted; a place to be free. However, not being yet brave enough to discard her bikini top she continued to walk along a while further away from the crowds.