All of Abby Pt 1, a short story by KiwiDreamer. Date added: 2012-06-08. Times viewed: 2126.
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- Intro: An English guy having a low strike rate with babes goes to Spain on holiday where he expects the resort to be awash opportunities for sex.
Part 1
Some people take annual holidays away from home to wallow expensively eating and drinking and dozing and taking the occasional paddle or swim but curly brown-haired Nick Bell (29) was more sharply focused than that.
Nick was a bit ferret-faced, cheerful enough and sported an athlete’s body. One would have thought he could do well at balling women but that wasn’t the case.
Nick’s holiday destination was this gaudy and pricy resort in Spain where he aimed to land women to screw himself half-blind because his strike-rate balling women at home had been dismally low, equal to about the frequency of full moon.
Although masturbation was a useful back-stop, Nick regarded each stroke as a defeat and he yearned for the less hygienic, more expensive (dating etc), riskier and more physically tiring orifice that guys like himself curiously exalted with worshipful desire in their lust to achieve sexual gratification.
Nick had been raised by his mum to believe paying for sex was a no-no. She’d gone from high school to working in a brothel for two years until the job market improved and she found work in a bustling factory where the owner took a fancy to her and banged her twice a day. His wife divorced him and he married her and to become Nick’s dad and still remains loyal to her, or so his mum says.
In Coventry among people Nick knew, even remotely, he was regarded as being less than mid-stream because he worked at a vehicle service centre and he didn’t help himself in social situations because he tended to exhibit a countenance of bored indifference. Therefore younger women who were carnally motivated tended to bypass Nick.
The fact he was highly-skilled at trouble-shooting intermittent electric and electronic faults in vehicle music systems, windscreen wipers, windscreen washers, lighting systems and tracking down causes of blown fuses, failed to register with female solicitors, accountants, hair stylists, journalists, office managers, bank executives, medical workers or other trades and professions and whom Nick had known since school days and still associated with in rather a disconnected manner.
The outcome of this was that attractive women around his age, whether married or not, said hi and smiled at Nick but never offered him sex and probably never thought to ask. In much the same way he ignored short, straight-haired females with wide calves and tiny tits and rolling bums. Further, if an attractive woman decided for whatever reason it was too early to walk away after saying hi, Nick would soon make it clear he wasn’t interested in the work of a charge-nurse, or bank auditor or the financial controller of a company or a family law specialist or the rising costs of bread, butter and milk or film stars or gossip about the royalty.
He was to put it crudely, a fucking no-hoper.
Even if a babe with great tits stopped to talk to Nick because she thought she recognized him, and she’d ask, “Remind me of what you do Nick?” he would reply he was an auto electrical and electronic technician.
Miss or Mrs Great Tits would say “Oh” and drift off, leaving Nick thinking why the fuck did he socialize. The answer to that should have been obvious to him.
Well he didn’t like watching TV much and if he stayed at home after dinner his parents would want him to play fucking cards. In short he lived in the social vacuum he deserved.
But Nick decided to break out and head for a holiday abroad where resort babes were in the mood to fuck any guy who looked at their tits.
He planned to dress and acted as if he were just another well-heeled tourist, probably English (because of ill-fitting clothes and air of superiority… or what that the Germans?). But he decided not to be socially disadvantaged by people who looked down on auto technicians and would identify himself a landscape artist.
* * *
Nick arrived late morning at the resort feeling randy because of high expectations.
During that afternoon he made three unsuccessful hits on women. One babe probably was lying when she said she was gay, another said bluntly ‘Fuck off’ and the third said ‘Here comes my husband.’
Nick was disappointed. The motherly woman in the travel agency he’d booked with in Coventry had warned him to not to be careless with his wallet and passport and to make sure he had condoms because the resort would be teeming with young women who were there for only one thing… sex.
Oh boy.
He’d rather liked the used of the word teeming. But obviously he was at the wrong resort.
Late afternoon he returned to his room and slept for four hours and then went to the restaurant of his choice. The female maître d’ told him they had no tables available, that they were booked out. Nick knew the bitch was lying and challenged her.
“May I have your name please? I wish to report to the tourist authority that this restaurant refuses to accept unaccompanied diners.”
The woman, who spoke excellent English, looked at the list in front of her and said, “Oh look what I’ve found, a table for one just by the bar and the kitchen.”
Her professional sneer indicated Nick was unlikely to get a better offer and so he looked at her tits indicating he thought they were crap and sneered, “Take me to that table.”
The woman took him to the table, grabbing a bottle of water off the bar, slapped the menu in front of him upside down and would have crushed his fingers when slamming the bottle on the table had not Nick anticipated her intentions and pulled his hand clear.
Bitch.
Her fake accent suggested she might be from Liverpool and that figured.
A waitress, who looked truly Spanish, came to the table and asked in English with an unfamiliar accent, “Good evening sir my name is Bonita Daly. Did we have a lovely day watching flesh around the pool?”
Huh?
He smiled and said smoothly, “Yeah and I guess that really great looking chick must have been you.”
“Oooh, you seem really nice. The maître d’ said you were an asshole and to serve your food late and just warm enough to avoid a complaint.”
Nick laughed and looked at her tits and they seemed to push out a little. Where they interacting with him?
“You speak excellent English for a native.”
The dark-haired beauty appeared puzzled and asked, “A native of where?”
“Spain of course.”
“I am Australian born and bred. My Australian father met my mother in London. They enjoyed a dirty weekend and bingo, they married in Melbourne a few months later. Are you married?”
“No woman would have me.”
She laughed and said he was pulling her tit.
Nick took that to be an Aussie slang and shrugged.
“Oh you poor guy, could I fix you up?”
“You mean date me?”
“No I’m engaged to be married in a few months. Come here tomorrow for lunch at 1:30, our peak time and I’ll sit you with a lovely English lady who is disgusted by all the blatant sexual going-ons around here.”
“What, where are they occurring?”
Bonita laughed and then said, “Oh have you just arrived?”
“Yes this morning.”
“Ah this place comes alive at dusk. Tourists come to our resort to have unrestrained sex, multiple sex if they can get into group action.”
“Oh I wasn’t aware of that,” he said and Bonita looked at Nick speculatively, or so he thought, and he asked what?
“You place yourself as being above casual sex it would seem? This resort is not suited to anyone who is aloof.”
“Like me and the lovely English lady.”
“Yes.”
“Right make it happen for me Bonita.”
Nick arrived at the restaurant and asked for Bonita. She hurried up to him and looked at his crotch and smiled.
“What?”
“It’s good that you’re not arriving with an erection. That would not be appreciated by Miss Price.”
“And you?”
“I judge a man by the size of his erection,” she giggled and Nick followed her swaying ass to the table in the packed and noisy restaurant.
Bonita said, “Miss Price, our restaurant is full to capacity. Would you kindly consider consenting to allow me to seat Nick Bell at your table?”
Miss Price flicked a look at Nick’s groin and then studied his face and said, “I guess so Bonita. I trust you not to land me with a sex maniac.”
“Nick, please meet your table companion Miss Nicola Price from Stratford-Upon-Avon.”
Nick eyed her breasts until Nicola folded her arms to partly conceal them and Bonita kicked his left shin.
God why were women so defensive; it’s not as if he displayed a carnivore's teeth or he had an erection that had popped above his belt buckle?
He gave up and said dejectedly, “I’ll go.”
“No,” said Miss Price and Bonita stridently.
“Please be seated, Mr Bell,” Nicola said quite sweetly.
He hesitated.
She unfolded her arms.
He sat, aware she had made a conciliatory move.
“God, that crisis is over,” Bonita muttered and gave Nick his menu.
“A drink Miss Price?” he asked.
“Yes more iced water please, leaving Nick thinking she probably needed alcohol to be induced to open her legs.
As Nicola walked off Miss Price said, “What do you do Nick?”
“I’m a landscape gardener, er painter.”
“You confused me Nick. Which one is it or are you into both?”
“Neither, I was lying to you to increase my chances of getting you to pull your panties down for me.”
“There’s a fat chance of that happening Nick, but thanks for being honest with me, eventually.”
“I’m a specialist in auto electrical and electronic problems in ancillary non-mechanical services such as battery, lights, music centre and ignition.”
“Oh is that so? My Ford Fiesta gave me problems recently. The battery light came on when I stopped at traffic lights but wouldn’t go off and when I stopped at the next set of traffic lights the ABS light came on, the engine revs dropped slightly and the radio broke up and turned off while the rear window heater button started to flash and a clicking sound started to come from the relay area. And then the engine started to whistle. What do you think was the problem? I returned to the garage three times before they got everything sorted out and I’ve had no problems since.”
“A battery charging fault seems likely. I’d check the alternator, its belt, and the battery and various connections. Such a fault or combination of faults would explain the dimming lights, slow wipers, no charge warning lamp, clicking relay, dropping idle speed and whistling noise that might be a slipping belt.”
“Bravo oh, that was what I was billed for at the end of my ordeal. And it tells me you say what you are.”
“And what are you Miss Price apart from being rather tight in your distribution of your sexual services?”
“God you are as blunt as my mother’s kitchen knives and since you are speaking to me so intimately, call me Nicola. I am a qualified guide who leads small walking parties around parts of my home town.”
“What disabled people who are infirm on their feet?”
Nicola studied her table companion suspiciously and apparently deciding that wasn’t a display of weird humour or teasing.
People come to our town from all over the world because it displays evidence of some 800 years of English history and was the birthplace of William Shakespeare and in culturally enriched, being home of the Royal Shakespearean Company for example. The also come to view Shakespeare’s birthplace and Anne Hathaway’s cottage.”
“Oh.”
“You do know who William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway were?”
“Yeah the Bard and his missus. They were married in 1582.”
Nick had the impression Nicola almost blurted Omigod.
There was a pause and she asked where did he live?
“Not too far from you, only about 20 miles in fact. I’m from Coventry.
She had a wide face, strong chin and super wide mouth and was very pretty and had fluffed-up dark hair and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen apart from black female cats that he believed tended to be favoured by witches.
“You’re staring,” Nicola said, sounding a little nervous.
“You’re very beautiful.”
That apparently threw and confused her. She hurriedly reached for her glass of water and knocked it over and said swore, using the s-word.
Bonita galloped to the rescue with a cloth and warm smile.
“Is Nick too much for you Miss Price?”
“He just said I was beautiful.”
“Oh good boy Nick. Miss Price he can recognise quality when he sees it I believe.”
“C-could I have a red wine please of your recommendation.”
“Yes certainly Miss Price.”
Draining his glass Nick said, “A bottle of it please Bonita.”
“Um Bonita please call me Nicola.”
“Oooh, I think Nick is actually like a breath of fresh air on you Nicola.”
“Yes well,” Nicola said, confused and she brushed her hair away from her face. “Actually I did come here to relax.”
“So the truth now, why did you come here?”
“Nick,” cautioned Bonita.
“No it’s all right. I-I tend to be rather too reserved for men to be interested in me. One date and they disappear. I came here in the hope of tasting romance.”
“I’ll get the wine,” Bonita said walking off smiling as if she’d just witnessed an important breakthrough.
“What don’t you believe in sex on the first date?”
“God Nick, could you back off a little,” Nicola said squirming.
And so, true to himself, Nick backed right off and they became strangers again.
After finishing the paella, Nick when to the men’s room down the passage and Bonita hurried in behind him and grabbed and spun him around.
“What did you do to break the magic between you two?”
Ignoring that guiltily, Nick snapped, “You are not allowed in here.”
She flared and adopting an Aussie twang said, “Says who asshole?”
Nick grabbed her and smacked his lips against her lush lips and she pressed against him, flattening her breasts over his chest and breaking away from him slightly she breathed warm air over his face when she said, “God if you only had a clue, you could be a really lady killed despite your narrow face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” he said almost belligerently.
“Quite a bit actually but forget that. I finish my shift at 6:00; be waiting outside for me.”
She kissed him hard and left.
Nick returned to the table and Nicola was gone, her coffee cup empty and his cooling.
He thought crap and sat down and then saw the business card.
The card read, ‘Nicola Price, Stratford-Upon-Avon and Area Tourist Consultant’ and gave contact details. The note below the business details in ballpoint pen read, ‘Nice meeting you; you appear to be a lost soul like myself. I’d welcome renewed contact. I’ve paid for our lunch and adieu, I return this evening for England.”
(more coming)
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