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It had been another warm Tuesday and I’d played a reasonable round of golf, followed by a steak meal in the clubhouse. The company was good and the conversation, as usual, light. Occasionally, politics and finances reared their ugly cantankerous heads but, generally, we steered away from contentious topics. Our ingredients were mainly golf, other sports, sex and jokes. Never anything really personal. My old friend Mick was a member of the group which regularly played on Tuesdays. We’d kept in spasmodic touch over the years and, in fact, when I retired and decided to move back close to my old stamping ground, it was Mick who introduced me to the club and proposed my membership. On this day, our group gradually dwindled away after the meal until Mick and I were alone, relaxing in leather armchairs with a couple of beers on the table in front of us. “And how’s the good lady keeping these days?” he asked. “She’s well,” I said. “Today she was going to the gym but I’ll bet she didn’t exercise much. A few minutes on the bike or on the cross-country walker is her limit. As soon as a bead of perspiration appears on her brow, that’s it, workout over. And she heads off to the beauty room for a massage and manicure or some such pampering nonsense.” Mick smiled at my withering summation. “Well, she keeps herself looking good for you, Richard. Don’t knock it.” “Hmmm,” I said, thinking that it had been years since Veronica and I had indulged in sexual congress. “That may be so, if you subscribe to the view that women still dress for their man and all that. I reckon it’s a bit of old hat in these days of the emancipated woman and sex equality. I think they do all these things more for themselves rather than a spouse or partner.” Mick raised his eyebrows at me but I was on a roll now. Don’t know why, but I felt grumpy, curmudgeonly even, when I thought about Veronica’s social life. I carried on, “Keep fit classes, Pilates, yoga, whatever. Most of the time it’s just an excuse for women to gather and natter.” My phone vibrated in my trouser pocket. I fished it out, looked at the screen and said, “There you go, she must have heard me. It’s a text from Veronica.” Mick took a swig of his beer as I read the message: Guess you’re eating at the club. I’m out with Helen. Be home about 9 xx I tapped a reply: OK, enjoy, c u later xx and put the phone on the table, next to my beer. “Everything, okay?” “Yes, Mick. Veronica’s out with Helen for the evening.” “Right,” he said and then shook his head. “My Karen never goes out. Well, not without me. She’s very much a home bird. Leave her with the TV or a romantic novel and she’s happy as a pig in muck. But you know that, anyway.” I nodded and reached for my glass. “Not a lot of high maintenance with her,” I said crisply. “That’s true and a good job at that. You know, Richard, car sales are in a slump at the moment. I have to watch the pennies.” He exhaled loudly and looked at my glass. “Want another drink?” “You salesman are always pleading poverty. You make me laugh.” I managed a smile. “Yes, okay, if you can afford it, I’ll have one for the road. Then I must be getting home.” ~~~~~~~ It was 7:30 when I got home and, after pouring myself a generous bursa escort slug of brandy, I went upstairs to my office and switched on the computer. It had been four days since I’d sent a message to Gaynor and I opened up my e-mail account, hoping that she’d replied. I had thirty-seven messages, most of them from on-line shopping (cut-price flight offers, golf equipment, menswear, books, DVDs etc) and a few from friends with the latest internet jokes. And one which said: Facebook, Gaynor Reid sent you a message. Ignoring the others, I quickly clicked to open it and leaned forward to read: Subject: Retirement Hi Richard, I didn’t think you would retire early. You were such a career-driven man. Anyway, hope you’re enjoying it. Still married, I guess? Me, I never married and gave up full-time nursing some years ago. Work a few days in a hospice when needed but, like you, I’ve virtually retired. Little surprised you’ve forgotten about retiring to the coast. You talked about it when we had our first week’s holiday by the sea. Still, it was a long time ago, love’s young dream. So, where did you retire to? Still up north? Right, at the end of this note, I’ll leave my e-mail address and, if you want, no pressure, we can have longer cyber chats instead of these little bites. Okay? Meanwhile, take care. Byee, Gaynor (aka Petal). I copied the e-mail address into my contacts and then sat back. I removed my spectacles, sipped some brandy and wondered why such a beautiful girl had never married. I read the message again, slowly, letting each word sink into my brain. And then I stared at the last word: Petal. Oh my, that hit me like a bolt from the blue. My Petal… THEN THE Water’s Edge Hotel was, in fact, separated from the beach by the busy coastal road. It was set-back, quite high behind a well-manicured lawn. I drove up the incline of the driveway and parked in a vacant space close to reception. I got out of the car, stretched my back to relieve the tiredness in my bones and muscles from the three hour drive, and walked around the car to open the passenger door. Gaynor beat me to it. A long left leg appeared and then she was out, standing and arching her back, hands on her waist. I blinked as her pelvis thrust forward and her huge breasts stretched the sleeveless blouse to button-popping point. “What?” she said, noticing my staring eyes and gaping mouth. Six months into our relationship, I was still enthralled by Gaynor’s curvy, sexy body and melted at the sound of her husky voice. “Just waiting for your shirt to burst open,” I said and licked my lips. “Pervert. And it’s a blouse.” She stopped stretching and turned to look towards the beach. I looked, too. Gulls swooped and “caw-cawed” and I could smell the brine, wafting on a light breeze. The sky was blue, dotted with puffy white clouds, and the sun was hot. A perfect summer’s day to start our first holiday together. “Lovely,” she said and then switched her attention to the small hotel. It had once been a family mansion and was now a private business with fifteen bedrooms. “Shall we book in, see what sort of room we’ve got?” “Okay,” I said and removed two small cases from the car. We walked up the flight bursa escort bayan of steps and into the cool of a small lobby. The reception desk wasn’t manned but Gaynor spotted a bell-push and pressed it with a thumb and we heard it ring in what I presumed to be the back office. “Good afternoon, how may I help?” The woman who appeared through the archway was medium build with striking red hair that flowed down to her shoulders. She wore a purple blouse, buttoned to the throat, and dark-rimmed glasses. Her lips were vermillion. “We have a reservation for a week,” I said. “The name is Johnson.” “Ah yes, Mr and Mrs Johnson,” she said, opening a register and glancing at Gaynor standing by my side. Gaynor smiled, revealing glossy white teeth, and nodded at the woman. I completed our registration and was handed a key. The red-head wore a simple gold band on her wedding finger. Perhaps the wife of the owner. She hadn’t introduced herself or offered a name. “Room ten,” she said. “It’s on the front with a lovely sea view. Straight up the stairs,” she pointed to the right and I noticed a diamond-studded gold bracelet drooping off her wrist. “It’s the second door on the left. Breakfast is from seven till nine-thirty and dinner’s at eight. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” We said our thanks, I handed the key to Gaynor and picked up the cases. I sensed the receptionist watching us on our walk towards the stairs. I paused to let Gaynor go first and glanced back at the woman and smiled. She briefly nodded, nervously brushed her hands down her skirt, spun on her heels and returned to the back office. Room ten was clean and adequately furnished, dominated by a double bed with a wood headboard. The cramped bathroom had a shower, toilet and a hand basin. I put the cases on the bed as Gaynor walked to the window. “Good view,” she said and turned back to face me. “Fancy a stroll along the beach before we unpack?” “Yes, good idea. Let’s get out in the sunshine.” We didn’t actually venture on to the sand. Hand in hand, we walked along the promenade, people watching, admiring the architecture of some large buildings and hotels and breathing in the fresh sea air, scented by seaweed. After about twenty minutes, we came across a cafe which had two tables and chairs set up outside. A pleasant, grey-haired grandmotherly-type lady, who beamed a radiant smile at us, served up two mugs of coffee and a plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches with salad garnish. I was the happiest man in the world. I studied Gaynor as she relaxed back in her chair: hands clasped behind her neck, elbows jutting out, face upturned to the sun and eyelids shuttered. Apart from pink lipstick and customary pale blue eyeshadow, she wore no makeup on her caramel skin. The breeze gently rustled her black curls, her chest undulated sensuously with each regular breath and, with legs extended and crossed at her ankles, her mini-skirt left her naked thighs exposed. “I know what you’re looking at and I know what you’re thinking,” she said without opening her eyes. I smiled and drank some coffee, looking at her serene face. “I’m not the only one looking.” Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned escort bursa her head slightly to look at me. “Is that right?” “Hmmm, it is,” I said. “All the men and a lot of women as well. They can’t help ogling you as they walk past.” She resumed her posture, eyes closed, head back and smiled. “Bet the women are looking at you, really. You’re a hunky man, Richard. I mean, why else would I be here?” “You flatter me,” I said, laughing. “Uh, uh,” she said, barely shaking her head. “My panties are getting damp just thinking about you.” For a few seconds I was speechless. I still couldn’t believe that this beautiful young girl found me so attractive and desirable. It was all a dream and one day I would wake up. I regained the power of speech. “I noticed a few guys glancing at me. I could tell what they were thinking.” “Mmm, and what would that be, honey?” “Lucky bastard,” I said. “How does he get to be with a gorgeous girl like that?” It was Gaynor’s turn to chuckle, deep and throaty. “But they don’t know what I know, do they?” she said and suddenly sat upright and reached across to smooth a palm against my cheek. “As the song says, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Give me a kiss.” We leaned towards each other and our lips merged, briefly but sweetly. I tasted her lipstick and, cheekily, she stabbed her tongue in-and-out of my mouth to conclude the kiss. My cock twitched as I gazed into her chocolate eyes. “See, I told you … I am one hell of a lucky bastard.” Gaynor’s eyes roamed over my face for a few seconds, searching deep into me, her lips pursed. Then a smile creased the corners of her mouth. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s have a little look around this place before we go back to the hotel.” I paid for our food and we wandered inland, away from the beach, and explored the narrow streets and window shopped. It was then that I bought Gaynor a gift, my very first present for her. “Oh, look at those, Richard.” She pointed at a display in a jeweller’s window. “They’re fabulous. See them, there, look…” I looked as she pressed a pink-painted fingernail against the glass. “Those gold hoops.” Now I saw them. “Ah, yes,” I said and felt her hand squeeze mine. She was clearly enthralled and my heart was captured. I wanted to please her, show that I cared and she mattered very much to me. “Would you like them?” “I’d love them,” she gushed. “But they’re gold, real gold. Can you see the price?” “No, but we can find out. C’mon,” I said and tugged her hand and led her into the shop. The soberly uniformed assistant retrieved the hoops from the window. “These are the only pair,” she said, handing them to Gaynor. “Would you like to try them on?” Would she? Gaynor replaced her gold studs with the hoops and looked into the mirror. She turned her head this way and that, setting the hoops oscillating and caressing her jaw bones. “Oh my,” she muttered, breathlessly. “They’re fabulous.” Then came the serious moment. “But how much are they?” she asked, looking apprehensively at the sales assistant. “Never mind that,” I said, withdrawing my wallet from my pocket and producing a credit card. “When you’re old and wrinkled, these will be a reminder of our first holiday together.” Gaynor’s throaty chortle and “cheeky sod” as she punched my shoulder even had the assistant grinning Five minutes later, after some serious persuasion on my part, Gaynor exited the shop with the golden hoops dangling and swaying from her earlobes.
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