More Holidays in the Sun

She was up for it too; that much was obvious, her nips were a dead giveaway.

And I'd thought I was hot for adventure!

Big understatement; suddenly I felt like Julie Andrews in her role as a would-be-nun. You know what I mean: the one where she didn't remotely suspect what a "lonely goatherd" might have had in mind for her, up in the mountains, after dark . . .

Chapter Six

'We've missed you these last few days,' the delightful apparition went on, 'it's seemed empty without you being here. I was starting think you must have gone home early.'

I opened my mouth and . . . for the first time ever . . . nothing came out.

(Perhaps that was just as well!)

'I'm Carla,' the goddess continued, 'and I can't express how pleased I am to meet you at last.'

'I'm Lottie,' another West Midlands accent chipped in.

Tearing my eyes away from Carla's impressive chest I saw yet another vision. This one was a blonde built very much like a young Barbara Windsor (look her up on the net; you won't be disappointed).

Okay, okay, I'm exaggerating yet again. She was bubbly and blonde and didn't actually look like Babs at all, except from her traffic-stopping body and that something about her; something pert, cheeky and indicating she was game for anything.

I sincerely hoped!

Shorter than her wondrous, leggy and dusky friend, Lottie could have had any man with a single click of her fingers. But it was evident that "any man" wasn't what she wanted. Leastways it was to me.

Avoiding the only-too-apparent name connection, I introduced myself as "Charley", leaving it for Lottie to deduce and maybe connect.

Her stunning good-looks aside, I was still captivated by dusky Carla.

Oh yes; yes please.

But I was already committed and Maria awaited me, not ten yards away.

'I need to go grovel,' I said to my two delightful new friends, pointing towards the bar. 'Maybe we can catch up later.'

'Make sure we do,' said Carla, her smile as enticing as I don't know what.

'Count me in on that,' Lottie added, subtly wiggling her ass, blatantly bouncing her ample chest.

*****

Maria greeted me with a large cerveza. I have had worse welcomes but, even so, she seemed to be a little on edge.

'Hi, beautiful,' I began optimistically.

She ignored my proffered twenty euro note and scowled in the direction of the sun-loungers.

'What did those English girls want?' she snapped.

'To be friends, I think,' I replied, my golden tongue back in full linguistic working order. 'I told them I'm otherwise occupied today. Assuming what Sabria told me is true, that is.'

Irritatingly, Maria went to serve another customer; one guy who seemed to want at least ten different drinks and fifty side orders of tapas.

And that was just for him and his missus. Mind to you, they were both inordinately obese.

Their local health farm had clearly shut down.

Speaking as a vet, (and conveniently forgetting that first highly inaccurate description of Sabria) I find obesity to be an insult. It's so easily avoidable. I don't intend to preach but I wish pet/livestock owners always took as much care of themselves as they did of their dependants.

Sadly, "taking care" isn't always an issue. I've seen many helpless creatures neglected or starved by "responsible owners" who should in reality be locked in stocks in the town hall square.

I'd be first to throw rotten fruit at them too. In fact I'd throw coins, stones and whatever else I could get away with.

I might even treat them more harshly than I would Herod.

Bastards!

Humble creatures need and deserve truly responsible owners. Anybody not up for that shouldn't get a pet in the first place.

Apologies: rant over. Let's get back to the poolside bar.

The shipping order accepted and mostly passed on to catering, drinks handed over Maria finally came back to my stretch of bar top.

'So you've been with Sabria,' she said, without any finesse whatsoever.

'She paid me a visit last night,' I confessed, 'exactly as you predicted. And she told me you had struck a deal; one that involves me and you tonight.'

At first Maria seemed slightly flustered but she soon recovered.

With her being a (supposed) girl-on-girl virgin how cool was she!

'I expect you know more about me than I know about you,' she practically whispered.

'All I know is you're ready to come out and eat steak with me,' I replied. 'I want to go beyond that, but only if you're up for it. No pressure. Let's eat out and play it from there.'

'Do you know I've given Sabria . . . Well, certain assurances about tomorrow night?'

'She mentioned something along those lines without going into detail. And that is all between you and her. I want a date, nothing more. Anything that happens later is between you and me. It happens or it doesn't.'

Maria thought a moment then nodded.

'That sounds fair enough to me. Let's go for it.'

*****

I'd like to claim Thursday passed smoothly. But it did and it didn't. My normal poolside custom was to leisurely swim twenty lengths every half hour or so. I had been a decent swimmer at one stage but by then wasn't interested in world records. Well, not after a full-British and a couple of pints of cerveza, anyway. By then I was more interested in working up a thirst for another beer.

Sad of me, I know. But I'm telling the truth here. And who doesn't like beer?

Maybe eleven in in the morning I made my first venture into the pool. And I was immediately joined by Carla, holding pace with me on my right. And get this; Lottie had simultaneously started from the other end. She was coming toward me, her large, very noticeable and bare tits much in evidence.

As yet another aside, poolside was okay for topless but the bar was more modest. Being an obedient sort of a girl, I kept my top on and only discarded it when I quite regularly visited the water. By then I'd stopped trying to get shot of my annoying white bits, you see.

By then I'd decided a few sunbed sessions back home would solve that particular problem.

That's vain of me, obviously.

Anyway, back to the pool. I had twenty closely accompanied lengths and twenty full-on frontal views of the lovely Lottie.

The competitive part of me wanted to speed up and lose my companion, but I resisted. Or, rather, I let the girl-hungry part of me enjoy the proximity of Carla and the eyefuls of Lottie's proud assets.

Speed up and shorten the experience? How silly that would have been!

Effortlessly finishing my last length, I climbed out of the pool and nodded at Carla, who'd climbed out in perfect co-ordination with me; she nodded back, smiled and rounded her hips all of the way back to her sun-lounger, no doubt feeling my eyes fixed on her every step of the way.

At the other end of the pool Lottie waved to me. Leastways I took it to be a wave. It might have been a come-on gesture. Whatever it was, it was friendly.

Guess what, every half hour or so the same thing happened. Sometimes I had Lottie at my side and sometimes it was Carla. Words were not exchanged.

At least they weren't until maybe two thirty in the afternoon, after maybe our fifth set of twenty.

'We're off for a siesta,' Carla announced, all enthusiasm and enticement. 'Want to join us?'

I wanted to join them to an incredible degree. But I'd committed to Maria, so I stalled.

'I can't today,' I said, 'perhaps tomorrow.'

'I'll take that as a promise,' countered Carla. 'I guarantee you the best massage you've ever had. And that's before Lottie gets her wicked hands on you.'

'Sounds good,' I blurted.

'Come try it, she replied, grinning, 'nobody has ever complained, not even once . . . and never twice.'

Chapter Seven

Believe it or not I did have a siesta that afternoon. I just had it alone, outside on a sun-lounger, topless and in a state of uncertainty.

What did Lottie and Carla have in mind for me . . . today or, more likely now, tomorrow?

I had noticed them before, by the way. Yes, I'd noticed them as being extremely attractive but without seeing them as "an item". Indeed I'd never suspected they were in any way possibilities. Guys were at them all the time, swarming around their loungers like locusts.

But who could blame them? If I'd caught just one encouraging vibe I'd have been swarming too.

Given a reality check, I'd just as good as turned them down, though. Okay, so I did have other irons in the fire, but even so . . .

Was I a fool for putting them off?

Would tomorrow ever come?

However good the possibilities the idea reared up at me out of nowhere; could it possibly be for real?

Two girls at once would be a first, if not for those two, certainly for me.

Would they just want to watch or work as a team?

Would my body respond accordingly, whatever they wanted to do, whoever was doing the doing?

Working as a team . . . Beyond videos I'd no idea what that meant. But it sounded good.

And forget the possibilities in that direction, what lay ahead tonight with Maria? Was it something or was it nothing?

It hurt my head to think about the Midlands gals so I skipped over them. Instead, I focused on Maria and had to struggle to keep my fingers away from my eager sex.

Yes, I've always been good at compartmentalizing, me. And I was, after all, outside and in full view.

Forget tomorrow. Tomorrow was another day. Today I was scheduled to be with Maria, and hopefully all night.

So I eradicated all thoughts of what might have been and may still be, concentrating on the so-sexy barmaid, leaving all others to their own ends.

And I did so with certainty. Never more than dozing, keeping my fingers well away from kitty-kitty . . . to avoid only-too visible impropriety and all that . . . I let Maria into my most secret dreams.

And not for the first time!

Later, around five o'clock, I roused myself and yawned. I was due another twenty lengths but couldn't be assed. Putting my bikini top back on I re-approached the bar. Obliging as ever, Maria passed me a large cerveza.

'Happy thoughts?' she enquired.

'Yes,' I responded. 'I was thinking about you and tonight. They were very, very happy.'

At that point I had been pretending Maria was unlikely to come across. I'd been down-playing our date and keeping my expectations modest.

But whatever I'd claimed, I secretly knew in some depth what she'd promised Sabria for tomorrow.

Given the circumstances, I'd determined to enjoy the same degree of abandon with her.

First, first, first!

Best to be there at the front of her personal queue, no?

In a subtle, unthreatening way, of course.

Unanimously agreed in advance, and all that . . .

Maria gave me a curious glance. I took her hand across the bar-top.

'No pressure,' I said softly, 'but I really do hope you spend tonight in my bedroom.'

'I couldn't possibly,' she replied, instantly devastating me.

Then she squeezed my fingers and changed absolutely everything.

'Your bedroom is completely out of bounds,' she went on, 'we'll have to sleep together in mine.'

*****

What can I say? Knowing that Maria intended to sleep with me put a whole new slant on life itself.

Double yahoo, cross my heart and believe in miracles!

I'd had the foresight to bring a change of clothes poolside with me. Except it wasn't much of a change. I'd brought a pair of shorts . . . cut-off faded denims, very similar to the ones that Maria wore while on duty . . . and a top that revealed a lot more than it concealed.

Lack of self-beautifying or nay, I had good bits to display.

Not that I intended to put myself on show to the world. Not tonight. Tonight I was spoken for.

I ditched my bikini top when changing, too. My nipples had a life of their own; it wouldn't be fair to gag them when they wanted to address everyone in the whole universe.

As I implied, Maria's work clobber was very casual. There seemed to be a different dress code for folk who worked "indoors" in that hotel. Not that I was about to complain. Maria was sumptuous and I quite simply couldn't see enough of her.

Leaving the bar securely boarded up, Maria very much impressing me with the way she swiftly closed shop, we circled the building (instead of marching through Reception and past Sabria) before heading off downhill.

I took hold of her hand perhaps ten metres out of sight of the hotel. She didn't protest in the slightest.

I suppose it was about then when I wondered if I'd ever been with a virgin before. By that I mean with a girl-on-girl virgin, naturally. Before the bitch I refuse to name I'd been somewhat promiscuous, with guys as well as gals. That was mostly as a student, naturally, and students tend to exaggerate.

Imagine a nineteen-year-old fresher admitting you'd just been his first girl . . . however obvious all the evidence. No, you couldn't possibly be his first; maybe his tenth of twentieth, but never his first.

And, with equality very much in mind, imagine a girl admitting likewise.

In my experience girls are even bigger braggarts than guys. Coy as they may be beforehand, despite the finest, biggest of finishes, they'd all been there, got the T-shirt, a baker's dozen times at least . . .

Yes, I was like that myself. My very first girl-on-girl worked out exceptionally well, but I never gave my so-lovely new lover a clue that she'd been a trendsetter. Maybe she guessed but, as far as I'm aware, to this day she probably has me down as just another notch on her rather lengthy belt.

One amongst many . . .

As we reached the bottom of the slope I banished such thoughts. Every new encounter was "new" by definition, be it a he or a she. And every new encounter brought a new degree of excitement with it. I was by then exceptionally excited. I didn't even object when Maria stopped me from taking the usual right turn.

'No way am I going in Camila's joint,' she said forcefully. 'We'll go this way.'

Showing a surprising level of respect for her, I let her lead me off left along the main drag. Maybe two hundred metres later we arrived at an attractive-looking bar with outdoor, street-side tables.

'They do the second-best steaks in town,' Maria told me. 'And Camila doesn't work here.'

'Sounds good to me,' I conceded. 'What can I get you to drink?'

'We're splitting the bill down the middle,' she countered, rather adamantly.

'I wanted to treat you. I've been offering for ages.'

'And I want to share. Where's your problem?'

I submitted like a good little girl. Leastways I did after telling her I would take her out another night for a full wining and dining.

'You won't have time,' she objected. 'You're going home in a week. And you've already committed as far as Sabria is concerned.'

'Sabria is a force of nature,' I replied, amazingly calmly. 'But seven nights after this are quite a lot. I'd be gutted if I couldn't squeeze you in again.

'And trust me; I really want to have a second night with you.'

'Maria's eyes flashed. 'Sabria says she has two more lined up.'

'That still leaves five. And you have one more guaranteed.'

'What about Estela?'

Shit, I'd somehow forgotten all about Estela. How in hell was I going to fit her in!

'And those two English bitches,' Maria went on, 'the two who were all over you all day.'

'I am fresh from a broken relationship,' I reminded her. 'I like girls and I like sex. I've had a lot of flings and I'm here to have more. If I get drunk enough I might even have a guy. That's unlikely, though; I do prefer girls. And I fancy you like heck. But I don't want to mislead you in any way. I want to share your bed tonight, but it's on a one-off basis . . .'

'You said I'd get a second go.'

'Correction: I promise you it's on a two- or three-off basis, with two guaranteed beyond doubt.'

Maria smiled thinly and indicated the menu I'd thus far ignored. 'Chose something,' she said. 'I'll have the same, whatever you go for.'

I grinned at her. 'Hopefully that's ongoing approval.'

She grinned back at me. 'Hopefully you'll go for something meaty and dripping with juice.'

Chapter Eight

After dinner my cunning plan had been to take Maria through a succession of bars. As it happened we had two large whiskies in a nearby watering hole (Glenlivets at that; one of the very finest and without a doubt my favourite), then she invited me back to her bed.

Just like that, with hardly any foreplay and more or less out of the blue.

How did I react? Well, it was a bit early in the evening but not at all unwelcome. And who was likely to refuse a babe like her? Nobody in her right mind, that was for sure.

And most certainly not me!

By then it was already dark and her invitation was in no way ambiguous.

'My place and my bed . . . me and you . . . right now.'

Yes, she put it as simply as that.

I agreed in the flash of an eye. Everything seemed superfast, speeded-up beyond belief but, me being in my right mind, (I sincerely trust!), I was not about to decline.

Maria was as hot as anyone I'd set eyes on, here, there or anywhere. She also seemed to be inspired by the sex talk we'd had over our steaks and single malts. I had not revealed much, I hasten to add; I never, ever, ever gossip after the fact. Not to anyone of any gender or inclination.

No, instead I publish everything on-line for the whole world to read! How two-faced am I!!

Okay, okay. I do use made-up names and descriptions . . . honest I do.

Honest, honest, honest . . .

*****

Please don't think I'm holding back on that "sex talk". It was general rather than specific. I said that I'd been with numerous different types of girls and enjoyed giving as much as taking. I also said ideally I shared the giving and taking, but sometimes had been obliged to play "butch" or "femme".

Somehow I omitted to mention that, while admitting the distinction, ninety-five per cent of lesbians did not give a toss about it, rating the difference as "unimportant in their lives".

'It depends on circumstances,' I declared much more honestly. 'If a girl wants to do all the doing, then fair enough, I can take it. And likewise if she wants me to be the one who does everything.'

In response Maria told me she'd had "several" boyfriends and liked to share too.

'I know it's not the same,' she said, 'but I've rarely just taken it. I usually get actively involved, one way or another. Sometimes I've even been out of control.'

Yum, yum, what a mental image!

Of an out-of-control Maria I mean, forget the physical boyfriends.

Now, out on the main drag, bedtime proposals made and accepted, she impulsively grabbed me and mashed our mouths together with an audible smack. Right there, outside a brightly and colourfully lit supermercado, she did her best to snog my face off.

As excited as ever, I resisted not at all. Bugger the shoppers coming and going all around us.

Bugger the rest of the universe, come to that.

My senses were spinning and rational thought had fled the scene. I suppose I found it hard to believe this was her very first girl-on-girl embrace but, frankly, I was enjoying it too much to care.

Suddenly her tongue was rather rudely in my mouth. I met it with my own, fencing with it before a just-as-sudden change of tactics had me avidly sucking it. She responded with a veritable flurry of darting, in-and-out probes, and don't ask me what we were trying to say to each other.

What a kiss! What an opening contact! God only knows how long later we finally broke off and looked each other in the eye, hearts pounding out of control. Well, mine was. I can only guess at hers but she seemed to be breathing just as raggedly as me.

'My place,' she repeated, 'my place and my bed . . . me and you . . . right now.'

I nodded and took her hand. 'Lead on,' said I, 'I'm with you all the way.'

*****

Maria's place wasn't a million miles from the hotel, although we avoided the hotel as if it was a no-go, radioactive zone.