“How about we, um, book ourselves into a hotel for tonight?” I suggested. “Sounds perfect,” Fi smiled, running her hand lightly across my butt. I looked around. Where the hell was the nearest hotel? It had better be bloody close! Then I saw a green Campanile sign shining through the night, just the other side of an industrial estate. That chain of hotels was OK. Not the place kind of place you’d chose for your honeymoon, but spot on for a dirty weekend. Or night.
I hurried into the terminal building and joined the small crowd milling around outside the arrivals lounge. There was a grumpy, resigned atmosphere. I glanced up at the board. My heart sank. The plane was going to be three hours late. How the hell had they managed that? The weather was good, no Icelandic volcanoes were erupting, and to all intents and purposes everything was perfectly normal. Had they mislaid a plane or a pilot or something? What else could make a plane that late? Damn. It would be after midnight when Fi got in, and after two when we got back to Julian’s. I was dog tired after a bad night last night and a physically exhausting day. But worst of all, what the hell was I supposed to do for three hours? That was, well, three hours. Ages.
The shop was open so I moseyed over. I needed cigarettes. There wasn’t a vast choice, so I went for some Gaulois. There were a few English language papers and magazines, including a couple of fishing ones I hadn’t read. So I forked out well over the odds for those and went back out to smoke and read in the 4x4. An hour later I was bored. The contents of the mags had been predictable and uninspiring and the fags were foul. I passed the next forty-five minutes wandering around the car park and down the nearest road, then decided to go in for a coffee. But of course the café was shut now, so I got a coke from a machine. One more hour to go. I lent my head back against the wall behind me and sighed. And dozed. That took care of another half hour so things weren’t too bleak now. I paced around agitatedly for fifteen minutes, went outside for a smoke but then remembered that a) the fags were awful and b) Fi didn’t like me smoking, so she wouldn’t be that impressed if I greeted her reeking of tobacco smoke. I wanted nicotine but I wanted to make a good impression on Fi a lot more. So I carried on pacing.
And then at last, at long last, the Murphy Air plane touched down. Thank God. All of us who’d been gloomily waiting around perked up at the prospect of imminently welcoming our loved ones. But it was another ten long minutes before the first passengers appeared. They looked tired and jaded but raised weary smiles as they were greeted. Hugs, kisses, and then they left. Where was Fi? I fidgeted impatiently. Every time the doors swished open, I hoped it would be her walking through. But there was an endless procession of other people.
Then suddenly, there she was. I could have sworn the place seemed brighter. She appeared at the doors, looking fresh and glowing. She was surrounded by smartly dressed French women, yet, in jeans and my baggy jumper, she made them look dowdy. She saw me and her face lit up with one of her amazing smiles. She was simply, stunningly, beautiful. And as I knew by now, hers wasn’t skin-deep. It went to her soul.
That was my road to Damascus moment. Standing there in the unromantic, harshly lit, functional surroundings of the airport, I realised just how much I loved this incredible human being. There was no future for me without her. I wanted her in my life for ever. I couldn’t be without her. She was walking quickly towards me, still smiling. But I don’t think I was as I strode towards her. I was too overwhelmed by my feelings. Her smile faltered slightly but only for a second, because after that second I had my arms round her and I was holding her as tightly as I could. And I was kissing her like I’d wanted to kiss her for a long, long time. She was momentarily surprised and tense, but then I felt her relax and she leant into me. Her mouth softened and our tongues touched.
Then she drew slightly back from me, and looked at me. I couldn’t read her expression. Oh shit. I’d blown it. I’d come on way too strong. But she raised her left hand and stroked my cheek. We gazed at each other. Slowly she slid her hand round the back of my head and gently pulled my face towards hers. Our foreheads touched.
“Have you any idea how long I have waited for you to kiss me like that?” she asked softly.
So, while she’d wanted me, I’d wanted her, but neither of us had done a damn thing about it. What a pair of idiots!
“No more waiting now,” I smiled, and we carried on where we’d left off.
Eventually I noticed that it had got quiet. The magazine shop had turned its lights off, as had the café. The airport was closing up for the night.
“Time we left, I think,” observed Fi.
I took her bag and we walked, hand in hand, to the 4x4.
“Oooh, swish machine,” admired Fi. “Nice colour.”
“Yeah, it’s OK,” I nodded. “Gets through a lot of fuel though.”
I walked round to open the boot to put her bag in.
“Wow, and it’s roomy. Plenty of space to make out in there!”
Phew. My temperature went up a couple of degrees. My mouth went dry.
“I think we can find somewhere a bit classier than the car.” I tried to sound calm. “How about we, um, book ourselves into a hotel for tonight?”
“Sounds perfect,” Fi smiled, running her hand lightly across my butt.
I looked around. Where the hell was the nearest hotel? It had better be bloody close! Then I saw a green Campanile sign shining through the night, just the other side of an industrial estate. That chain of hotels was OK. Not the place kind of place you’d chose for your honeymoon, but spot on for a dirty weekend. Or night.
“I see one,” I told Fi, pulling her close for a long, smoochy kiss.
“OK, let’s go,” she said, when we surfaced.
Oh boy. My heart was thudding as I climbed into the driving seat. I was in a euphoric state of a mixture of nervousness and excitement and straightforward lust. Fi looked very calm next to me, smiling quietly.
I shot out of the airport carpark and took a wild guess at how to get to the hotel. I messed it up and we ended up flying past it, along a ringroad with no exit.
“Shit,” I muttered crossly.
“It’s OK, Marcus,” laughed Fi. “We’ll get there soon enough. Look, there’s a roundabout coming up. Hang a right and I think I can see how to reach the hotel.”
Sure enough, there was a Campanile sign at the roundabout. We hurtled down the small road leading to it, well above the speed limit.
“I hope you’re not always in such a rush,” teased Fi, as I pulled into a parking place in front of the hotel. “Some things are better done slowly.”
Oh God. My erection was straining uncomfortably against the zip of my jeans as I climbed out of the 4x4 and got Fi’s bag out for her. I walked as normally as I could to the door. Since it was after 11, the reception was closed and we had to make the room booking through the machine there. Once it had cleared my credit card, the front door clicked open, and armed with the printout of the code for our room, we hurried up the stairs to it.
I punched the code in, but the door didn’t open. I tried again. Still no luck. The red light shone firmly at me from the locking mechanism.
“Fuck,” I swore.
“I’ll try,” soothed Fi. She took her arm from round my waist, and pressed the keys smartly. There was a small click, and the green light came home. I bashed the door open in triumph.
Fi flipped the lightswitch.
“Nice room,” she said appreciatively.
Was it? I hardly cared, but I glanced round. Double bed, couple of chairs, dressing table sort of thing with a mirror, and a bathroom off to one side.
I pushed Fi’s bag into the alcove just inside the doorway, then took my jacket off. I had a slight moment of panic. How should I handle this? I wanted to throw her onto the bed and ravage her right here and now, but that was a bit unsubtle. I was out of practice at seducing. I’d had too many Chantelle experiences lately. They weren’t subtle at all.
I turned to smile at Fi. She smiled back, but a bit less confidently than earlier. She slipped her coat off and I kissed her. I began to run my hands down her back, but she stepped away.
“I just need to nip to the loo,” she explained.
She darted into the bathroom. I took the opportunity to retrieve the pack of condoms from my jacket pocket and give my armpits a quick sniff. I smelt OK. I pulled off my jumper and undid a few buttons on my shirt to make undressing easier when the time came. For the same reason I took my belt off, then my socks and shoes. I turned back the quilt on the bed and perched on the edge, waiting for Fi, planning what to do and when.
Five minutes crept by, and another five. I was pacing up and down by now. No-one took that long on the loo. Something was up.
I lurked outside the bathroom door a few more minutes, but I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Fi, can I come in? Please?” I called quietly.
There was no reply. I took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open. Fi was standing, butt naked, facing the mirror over the sink, which was opposite the door. She seemed to be trembling and I was sure I saw tears in her eyes in the reflection. Oh hell, what had gone wrong? Had she suddenly realised she’d made a hideous mistake. Please no, no, no. Anything but that.
She looked up and saw me watching her in the mirror.
“Fi, baby, what’s up?”
She turned slowly round. Oh God. What a sight. I’d had that glimpse of her in the shower at Julian’s, and her clothes generally left little to the imagination, but this was all of her now. She was completely and utterly beautiful. Perfect. Please let her still want me, I prayed. Not to have her now would kill me.
I tried to lighten things up.
“Wow!” I smiled.
“Is that ‘wow’ in a good way or ‘wow’ in a bad way?” Fi gushed tearfully. She was in a complete tiz. “Because, you know, people say ‘wow, that was a ghastly accident’ or ‘wow, that’s the nastiest meal I’ve ever had’ or … or…” She stopped to wipe her eyes.
So she was even more nervous than I was! My little feisty Fi wasn’t so fearless after all.
“It’s ‘wow’ in the most incredibly, amazing, stunning way,” I reassured her.
I walked over to her and tilted her face up and kissed her gently. Then I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the mirror. I moved behind her. I watched her anxious eyes in the mirror. I suddenly felt more confident, more powerful, in control. That was what she seemed to need from me at the moment.
“Look at yourself,” I told her.
We looked in the mirror together.
“Marcus, I’m all out of proportion,” she burst out, distraught. “My boobs are too big and my legs are too thin and I’ve got too many freckles and I … I… want to be beautiful for you!”
I was shocked. Her self-esteem must have been trampled on in the past. She was genuinely unsure of herself.
“You are beautiful,” I said, kissing her neck. She sighed and leaned back against me. “Beyond beautiful. Christ, you’re just unbelievable! Oh Fi!”
My hands left her shoulders and found her amazing breasts. They were warm and soft and heavy. I nearly had a meltdown. Fi gasped as I touched them. I groaned quietly with desire. I kissed her hair and neck again, but I kept watching her in the mirror as I continued to fondle her. Then she reached up and pulled my right hand down her body, to exactly where I was wanting it to go. She was warm, silky, moist and welcoming. It was the moment.
“Let’s do this, Fi,” I whispered. “It’s going to be so bloody good.”
She beamed up at me, a sex goddess again. We bundled clumsily out into the bedroom, unable to stop touching each other now. We fell onto the bed, Fi pulling off my shirt and shoving my jeans and boxers down, and me kissing her, well, everywhere. And then I rolled onto her, my hands and tongue exploring, searching.
It was all a bit chaotic to start with, we weren’t in synch, and I was really pent up, but we soon tuned in and things just got better and better. We had silly, giggly, soapy sex in the shower, and slow, serious, smoochy sex in bed. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, except, maybe, that sort of stuff isn’t allowed in heaven.
About three o’clock we snuggled up to sleep and Fi was soon gone. But I couldn’t sleep. I was ecstatic. Fi was more adventurous and imaginative than I’d dreamed any woman could be, even in some of my wilder fantasies, and she’d blown my mind tonight. Holy shit! I lay still for as long as I could but I was getting fidgety and I didn’t want to disturb Fi. I crept out of bed and headed for the mini bar. I needed a drink and I needed a smoke. It was that kind of night. I intended to indulge all my vices.
There was a small bottle of a Scottish malt whiskey, fiendishly expensive according to the price list, but what the hell. I had a couple of cigarettes left so I opened the window a crack and leant out to light up, hoping, belatedly, that there wasn’t a smoke alarm in the room. I was in luck. I puffed away peacefully. Bliss.
About 4 o’clock Fi woke up, while I was having my second cigarette. I watched her moving sleepily. She stretched out an arm and felt that I was gone. For a moment she seemed confused, then she sat bolt upright in alarm.
“Marcus?” she called, clear panic in her voice.
“Here babe, just here,” I soothed.
Fiona clicked on the bedside light. We both blinked in the sudden brightness. She looked at me, fag in one hand and almost empty whiskey bottle in the other.
“Hey, Mr Artificial Stimulants,” she said lightly, getting up. “There you are!” There was real relief in her voice. She came over. I chugged down the last of the whiskey, and put my arms round her. I kissed her.
“Of course I’m here,” I smiled. “As if I’d walk out on you!”
“Yeah, well someone did once when we were in a hotel,” Fi sighed. It was obviously a painful memory. “He took my clothes, my shoes, my handbag - everything. It was a complete nightmare. The police got involved and …” She trailed off and shuddered at the memory.
Fi certainly hadn’t had much luck with her men in the past. I was intrigued but it wasn’t the time to probe. Well, not for information.
Then she looked at me searchingly.
“Everything is OK, isn’t it?” The nervous Fi was back. “I mean, me in bed over there, and you smoking and drinking over here. Um, maybe that isn’t a good thing?”
“No, no, no!” I cried in horror. I pulled her closer. “No, babe, it’s a totally, wonderful, good thing. I couldn’t sleep – I’m just blown away at the moment. And being feeble, I needed a drink and a smoke. I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?” she asked.
“Sex mainly,” I confessed.
“But a bit of work snuck in,” I added. I sighed. I hated thinking about work but I always did.
“I could take your mind off things,” Fi offered, tiptoeing her fingers down my groin.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, doing the same to her.
“Back to bed then?” she asked.
“And quickly!” I grinned, hurrying her over and pulling her onto the bed with me.
I got busy with her breasts.
“32 E,” I smiled, fondling them. “32 Enticing. 32 Exciting. 32 Enormous. 32 Erotic …”
“Hey!” she interrupted. “How do you know my bust size?”
“I guessed?” I hazarded.
“No way. Blokes are useless at guessing bust size. Now, I want the truth.” She gave me a hard look.
“Well, um, OK,” I admitted. “Some of the lads had a book going during the fishing trip on your upper vital statistics.”
“What!” Fi sat up and glared at me. “Bloody cheek! And when you say ‘some’ of the lads …”
“All right, all of us did,” I confessed, sitting up too.
“And what was your money on?”
Fi looked at me in horror. “38D? 38? Me?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m useless,” I sighed, palms up.
“How exactly did you lot find out what my bust size is, then?” she wanted to know.
“Derek snuck in your bivvie when you were off for one of your walks,” I told her. “We reckoned you’d have a spare bra in your bag. Which you did.”
“And I suppose the rest of you stood around giggling while he rummaged through my stuff. And then, of course, you passed my bra round, holding it up against your chests and sniggering. Am I right?” She had her arms folded now and looked annoyed. The prospects of more glorious sex seemed to be fading fast.
I sighed again. “You’re right.”
Fi frowned. Then she suddenly laughed. Thank God!
“You’re a sad human being!” she teased me, pulling me down with her as she lay back on the bed.
“Not any more!” I grinned, getting back to work, now that I was forgiven. “I’m happy, happy, happy. 32 Exhilerating. 32 …”
“Oh shut up and screw me,” she told me.
So I did.