Where the Climate's Sultry Pt. 06

13

Hunter, Chloe and Tina were sitting in the alfresco section of the restaurant, having ordered but not yet received their food, when Julia and Briony pitched up. Tina was nursing a hangover behind her sunglasses - she'd actually wanted to sleep longer but her headache needed medication and then, as usual, her hunger pangs kicked in. She took her sunglasses off for long enough to give her two friends meaningful looks, but they took no notice and sat down on extra chairs that a waiter brought to the table.

With Tiffany not due back from her sailing trip for a couple of days, Hunter and Chloe had arranged the hire of a motorbike and were going to explore the island in the afternoon and eat out wherever the fancy took them. Tina really wanted to do something but didn't know what, while Julie and Briony seemed so wrapped up in each other that even if Tina tagged along with them, they probably wouldn't notice she was there.

Tina had become the de facto occupant of the room originally occupied by Hunter and Julia, so the first thing she'd do after lunch was to move her stuff into that room and get herself sorted out and comfortable. In the end, she stuck around the hotel, booked herself a massage for later in the afternoon and thought she'd see how she felt before choosing where to eat. If the worst came to the worst, she'd just order room service. Julia and Briony decided since it was another sunny day with a cooling breeze, they'd lounge by the pool and see how the spirit moved them as regards the rest of the day. Before they each went their separate ways, they arranged to meet for breakfast the following morning at ten o'clock. What they didn't realise was that a lot can happen in 24 hours.

At first, all was good between Julia and Briony. Briony helped apply lotion to Julia's back, copping a sneaky feel of her breasts as she did so, as they chatted happily together about friends back home, the latest celebrity gossip and of course Hunter and Chloe. They were both a little worried about what might happen when the other woman got back from her sailing trip, but were at a bit of a loss how to keep him out of trouble. The situation was of course complicated by the fact that the two girls were now an item, not the mention what both girls knew to be the case, that Briony still hankered for a piece of the action Hunter-wise.

After she had finished attending to Julia's back, Briony went to wash her hands in the washroom near the pool. Seeing that it was temporarily closed for cleaning, she headed to the one in the foyer, letting Julia know about the change of plan as she walked past her. She was at the hand dryer when a pair of hands cupped her breasts. Knowing that no one else was in the washroom but that someone could come in at any moment, the magical feeling of Julia's hands and the thrill she felt at the danger of being caught sent her arousal through the roof.

'I didn't think you were so dirty,' she said, breathing with a little difficulty.

'There's a lot you don't know about me,' said an unfamiliar voice, deeper and raspier than Julia's - the voice of a smoker, perhaps.

Briony spun round to confront this woman who had plainly been stalking her, but before she could give her a piece of her mind and get out of the place, the woman, nearly as tall as her and perhaps ten years older, had her pinned against the dryer, her strong arms disabling the younger woman's. Briony couldn't place her face, but was sure she'd seen her somewhere before.

Briony hardly had time to take in her Hollywood-style hairdo (what Cosmopolitan calls a platinum blonde short undercut fade), which complemented her sharp cheekbones, before her assailant had brought her lips to Briony's mouth. Despite an initial sense of outrage at being thus assaulted, the younger woman let the predator's tongue enter her mouth, after which all hell broke loose, the woman letting go of Briony's wrists (which remained motionless) and moving her hands in one easy motion under her flimsy bikini top and onto her breasts. These she squeezed, none too gently, before, her gaze fixed on the black woman, she let one hand enter her pussy.

'You're already wet,' she whispered in Briony's ear with the trace of a foreign accent - not French, Briony thought, but somewhere in Europe. 'I'm in Room 437. I'll be waiting for you.'

The woman, who was wearing a green rollback sleeveless top (whose fabric was not sufficiently thick to prevent a trace of her nipples from showing through) and tailored, ankle-length cream coloured trousers, turned on her matching heeled sandals and left the washroom. Briony was still adjusting her cover-up when another hotel resident entered and threw a cheery 'Hi!' in her direction. It was all the normally composed Briony could do to return her greeting.

When Briony got back to Julia, she asked her about the delay. Briony had already thought up a story and she told her that she'd met someone she knew from work in the bathroom, who'd used the facilities at the hotel as it was the last stop before they visited some of the local historical sites. Julia didn't give a second thought to her story, besides thinking (not for the first time) that it takes all sorts to make a world. Fancy coming all the way to Greece and spending your time looking at old ruins!

Briony was, it can fairly be said, on heat after what had happened in the washroom. The number 437 kept reverberating in her mind, the feel of those lean fingers on her nipples, the fingers invading her embarrassingly wet pussy. She tried to think of a way to get away for even just half an hour - long enough for the sexy siren to give her the release her body craved. What sort of excuse could she find? Could she persuade Julia to return to their room for a nap, while she - while she did what? she asked herself. Maybe went for a facial, she thought. Well, if everything went well, that's exactly what she might getting.

The longer they lay on their loungers, the stronger her desire became. She was like a crack addict who needed their next fix. Pictures of the woman's angular face and singular hairdo played and replayed in her head. She fantasised about capturing those prominent nipples between her lips, raking them with her teeth until she started to beg for mercy. She pulled the woman's trousers and panties down to reveal a pussy closely shaved like the hair above her ears. Did she use dye down there as well, she wondered.

Briony could feel the juices beginning to ooze from her pussy and decided to find relief in the pool. She had the presence of mind to ask Julia if she wanted to join her but the Greek girl was content to lie in the sun a little longer.

When Briony came back from her swim, she found Julia asleep. Her first thought was of Room 437 and the woman with the look and demeanour of cut glass crystal. She imagined going down on her to find that her pussy was made of ice and needed to be blown on vigorously before it was safe to use her tongue on it. An invisible force was drawing Briony to that room, but she knew she must wait until the night, until Julia was sound asleep and she could slip out.

She looked at her friend and realised it was not in her interests that she slept so much now. She'd have to wake her on some pretext. 'What about a milkshake?' she thought. She knew how much Julia loved these, and they did a wicked banana milkshake at the coffee shop, made with loads of bananas, vanilla ice cream and no ice. She would bring one back for Julia as a surprise. If she was lucky, the warm feeling of knowing her friend/lover was thinking about her needs would outweigh the irritation she might feel at being waken up. Briony's plan worked as well as she could have hoped and after finishing their drinks they returned to their room to get ready for dinner.

14

Meanwhile, Tina got more than her massage. She was on the way to the spa, taking a shortcut across the lawn where they would sometimes serve special buffets or hold wedding receptions, when she literally bumped into a man who had come striding out of a little garden that was hidden behind a hedge.

'Scusi!' he said automatically.

Then, looking up and seeing Tina, he added with an operatic cadence, 'Mi scusi tanto!'

Tina was smitten at once. It was love at first sight, just when she was beginning to despair of this holiday. His name was Francesco and he was working at the hotel as part of his management training programme with the group that owned it. Even Tina, who had never been the brightest light bulb in the candelabra, realised that, such being the case, she'd have to be discreet if she wanted to have a relationship with this handsome Italian.

'No!' she thought, '"Handsome" doesn't even begin to describe how good looking this man is!'

Anyway, they exchanged numbers and the 28-year-old from Siena walked away from their first meeting equally enchanted with the 23-year-old from Ilford as she was with him. Twenty minutes later, he messaged her to say that he had been able to swap shifts with a colleague and he would be able to take her out for dinner, if she didn't mind eating late. The way she felt, she wouldn't have minded eating at three in the morning. He'd pick her up on a motorcycle (how romantic, she thought!) outside the hotel at 8.30pm.

Knowing she'd be unable to concentrate on anything before their rendezvous, Tina managed to change her regular massage booking to the comprehensive one, involving just about every part of your body. By the time she was through, there would only be around two hours to wait until she had her arms wrapped around the dreamboat's waist.

At around the time that Tina was returning to her room from the spa, Hunter and Chloe were settling down at a taverna in Oia (Santorini's picture postcard village immortalised on hundreds of biscuit tins and jigsaw puzzles), where they had managed to find a restaurant (and a table) from which they could watch the sunset. This evening, they had been told by the proprietor Kostas, the event should be spectacular as a result of the atmospheric conditions and the cloud formations.

A duo were playing live music (one on the guitar and the other on bouzouki) and Hunter invited Chloe to join him on the dancefloor, 'just like yesterday'.

'I don't think we can do that in front of all these people,' Chloe said, as she adopted a more classical ballroom dance position with her partner than the one they had favoured the evening before.

Hunter laughed, as they shuffled to and fro around the small space in front of the raised platform on which the musicians were performing. No one else was tempted to join them, but they stayed for two or three numbers, receiving appreciative applause from the few tables that were already occupied, before returning to their table.

'I hope you're not disappointed,' said Chloe, to an obviously perplexed Hunter.

'With your dancing? Why not at all.'

'Not with my dancing, silly. With the fact that I kept my hands to myself.'

Hunter roared with laughter and took Chloe's hand in his own. As he did so, he thought about slipping his other hand under the gingham tablecloth and seeking out Chloe's knee, but resisted such an ungentlemanly impulse. Chloe had no such scruples, though, moving her free hand onto a position somewhat north of his knee.

'I think we might order some starters,' Hunter said, turning the pages of the menu to find the relevant page.

'Sure,' replied Chloe. 'I'll leave it in your capable hands.'

Ordering out of the way, the menu didn't remain in his hands for much longer, as he placed his left hand on her right knee and then inched it up under the hem of her dress. Chloe took this as her cue to seek out Hunter's penis, which was straining against his chinos. She laid her hand on it, stretched out her fingers as if measuring it and then began to rub it slowly from one end to the other.

When the waiter came to apologise for the delay in the food, Hunter told him that they were enjoying the ambience of the place so much that they were happy to wait a little longer. As if in confirmation of this, Chloe gave his cock a squeeze, which brought a gasp to Hunter's lips. To cover his embarrassment, he ordered a bottle of the local Assyrtiko white wine and engaged Chloe in desultory conversation until the waiter was out of sight.

'Don't be so silly!' Chloe told Hunter, not for the first time that evening. 'This is a honeymooners' paradise. No one takes a blind bit of notice of a bit of spooning at the table.'

'"Spooning"?' repeated Hunter with exaggerated emphasis. 'Someone's showing their age!'

But we will leave this more mature couple - so comfortable in their own skins - to see how the lovestruck Tina was getting on with her Italian beau. The first thing that impressed Tina was that he was bang on time. Somehow, with her recent luck, she expected him either to be late or (heaven forbid!) to stand her up. He was dressed all in black, which Tina loved, especially since she had chosen white - a simple summer dress with just a hint (no more) of cleavage and of a length her mother would have approved of, coming just above the knee. It was layered like a wedding cake and had ruffled short sleeves. On her feet she wore silver sandals with a low heel.

Francesco kissed her on both cheeks, gave her a crash helmet and took her on a twilight tour of the island, through the back roads he seemed to know so well. As they motored along, Francesco shouted out over the noise of the engine, gesturing as he did so in the Italian manner. Tina thought he must be pointing out local places of interest, but with the exception of a windmill she couldn't see any and so just contented herself with some 'Yeses' and 'Lovelys!'

As they began to climb on an unpaved road to what Tina imagined must be the top of the island, Tina tightened her grip around Francesco's waist. She had a sudden urge to snake one hand onto his groin but resisted and enjoyed the ride as best she could, her body moulded against his, her head resting on his shoulder.

'This is the life!' she thought, even if part of her wished he would stop talking.

When they got to the top of the road, which thankfully wasn't too dusty after a recent shower, Francesco stopped the bike and helped Tina off, taking her helmet and putting it with his on a nearby rock. As with so many Greek landmarks, this one was crowned by a blue-domed church. Reaching into a narrow gap in the masonry, Francesco took out a key and unlocked the hefty wooden door. Inside it was quite dark but a number of paintings of scenes from the Bible could be seen behind the altar. Francesco explained that they had been painted on wood panels four hundred years ago.

He lit two large candles and Tina thought he was going to pray. Instead, he raised them above his head and asked Tina to look at the ceiling. The little dome was covered by a fresco depicting the Transfiguration. Now, Tina had no idea what that was, but what she did know was that the painting had an extraordinarily light and colourful quality - quite unlike the usual dark paintings she'd always seen in churches before.

Francesco told her that the fresco had been painted by a pupil of Raphael in Rome, who had been shipwrecked in Santorini on his way to Cyprus, had been rescued and had done this painting as a way of expressing his gratitude to his human saviours and to God. Tina didn't dare ask who this Raphael was, as the only one she knew was a ninja turtle, but she was genuinely impressed and didn't have to feign her wonder and appreciation.

The restaurant Francesco had chosen to take Tina to was a mezedopoleio, an eatery that was frequented by locals. Francesco was a welcome guest, as he had recommended the place to many a tourist since he arrived on the island 18 months ago. This type of restaurant essentially takes the concept of mezes (the Greek equivalent of tapas) and paints it on a larger canvas. In other words, you get the same sorts of things you get for starters but in larger portions.

Francesco asked Tina if there was anything she didn't like (oysters and mussels were the only things she could think of when put on the spot like that), then again if there was anything she particularly liked. Well, there were so many things that she didn't know where to start but she mentioned a few of her favourites, among them lamb, cod, prawns, asparagus, green beans and tofu.

Francesco laughed when Tina said tofu, causing the usually thick-skinned girl to feel a bit stupid, as she knew she must have put her foot in it. The Italian apologised at once for his impoliteness, which made Tina feel much better. He then checked with her whether she liked anchovies, since this was the ingredient that seemed to divide tourists more than any other. Having received the okay from Tina, whose mum swore by anchovies and used them in anything from pasta dishes to salad dressings, Francesco put in his order with the waitress, whose face Tina noticed seemed to light up when she was serving the Italian.

Tina, who had been sceptical about whether there would be enough food to satisfy her appetite, decided that it would only be by passing on a few of the dishes that she would have room for one of the desserts that she had noticed on the menu earlier. The choice was simple (either tiramisu or panna cotta), but that didn't stop Tina from agonising over her choice. In the end, Francesco stepped in and suggested they order one of each and share.

The Italian surprised Tina by how serious he was, certainly compared with most of the men she knew in England. First, there was the visit to the church, now there was the way he talked to her, about the things she liked doing, and the people who inspired her. Tina knew he wasn't meaning to challenge her, or put her on the spot, but she suddenly felt a bit of an ignoramus.

'What did she like doing?' she thought.

Shopping! Going out with her friends, having manicures, gossiping with her auntie about everyone and everything.

She didn't think Francesco, with his education and sophistication, would be very impressed. Nonetheless, she didn't see any point in making stuff up so she told him she liked being with her friends, even though they sometimes annoyed her or let her down. Francesco told her that one of the saddest moments of his life was when he fell out with an old friend over something stupid he said. The thing was so minor to him, but his friend didn't see it that way and had never let him back into his life.

Tina thought she'd take the opportunity to ask him who most inspired him, as it would give her a bit of thinking time in which to come up with a name herself. He paused for a few seconds, as if he didn't want to offend the ones he left out, before talking about a teacher at his secondary school who had been a great influence on him and who he was still very close to.

When Tina prompted him to say what it was about the man that had left such a mark on him, Francesco replied that there were a number of things, but the one that stood out was how he let him make his own mistakes and encouraged him to find his own way in life and make up his own mind about things rather than following what others felt. He had told Francesco that all opinions about music, books, art etc. were just that - opinions, and that history had shown that what was popular in one era was certain to fall out of popularity in another, and vice-versa.

Tina asked him which subject this teacher had taken and Francesco told her he taught Italian Literature. On a whim, Tina asked Francesco if he could recommend a book for her to read, in translation, of course. Without hesitation, he said that if she read only one Italian author it must be Dante, and if she read only one thing he had written it must be 'Purgatory' from his poem The Divine Comedy.