“Buona Serra, Signora. How can I serve you?
“Coffee, for the moment, thank you.” I said, smiling up at the dark-haired woman standing by my table, notebook in hand.
The waitress smiled in return and disappeared into the dark interior of the cafe, leaving me to unpack my book and settle in the chair, savoring the delicious just-fucked sensation that accompanied my subtle squirming. Opening my book, I smiled at the memory of my lunch time adventure, wondering as I did so, how my companion would fare with his evening rendezvous.
A rich scent of fresh brewed coffee dragged me from my reverie, adding another layer of contentment to my day. The pleasure must have been evident on my face as the waitress stopped to chat, inquiring about my reading, and once that query was satisfied, asking after my day. “It’s been a fabulous day.” I said unable to keep a grin off my face. “Sydney is so beautiful this time of year, I’m really enjoying myself. It was raining when I left Melbourne yesterday.” I added. Obviously a diplomat, the waitress shrugged and said, “but Melbourne has its charm too…” Our discussion of the relative merits of both East Coast cities could have gone on for some time, but the arrival of a couple seeking a table indoors created a break in the conversation, and with a murmured “‘scuse”, she was off to tend the newcomers.
For the next little while I alternated delving into the book, savoring the coffee, and speculating about the behavior of a male waiter, who seemed to be having some concerns about the welfare of a luxury car parked in front of the cafe. I had scarcely made the decision to stay in place for dinner, when the waitress reappeared, menu in hand to inquire about my intentions. Leaving me with the menu to make a choice, she whisked away the empty cup, bustling back inside with a flick of her long dark pony tail.
A light breeze came up, stirring my hair and bringing with it the familiar scent of jasmine. Once more I found myself squirming and smiling as I thought of the powerful smell of the store bought flowers I had placed first in the bedroom, then further away in the bathroom of the hotel where I was staying, just down the way. I considered the likelihood that ever after I would associate this intense perfume with the feel of John’s tongue on my clitoris, the sensation of my breasts arching toward the ceiling while I clutched the mattress above my head. The give of ass and thighs as he drove his penis insistently inside my cunt.
“Are you ready to order, Signora?” It was the waitress again, standing poised and quizzical at my side. “Oh yes, thank you.” I said and proceeded to give the order. “Wine?” she inquired. “Yes, that would be perfect.” I said, indicating my choice. She made a note on her pad, then added, “If you don’t mind me saying Signora, you look very happy. Are you visiting Sydney for a special reason?” I hesitated, then beckoned her closer.”It’s my 64th birthday.” I said quietly. “And,” I added, ‘I’ve just spent a fabulous afternoon in bed with a lover.” She straightened up, giving me a conspiratorial smile. “Oh… Happy Birthday then, Signora” she said before disappearing once again into depths of the cafe.
The dinner was delicious, the wine proved equally so, as the evening faded. More customers occupied nearby tables, likely drawn, as I had been by the smell of well-made Italian food. Placing my book back into my handbag, I gave myself over to eating and drinking while intermittently leaning back in the chair, returning to my remembrance of the afternoons’ events, which emerged in a series of flashbacks and echoed sensations.
I recalled my nervousness at passing the hotel reception hand in hand with John, our joint bemusement at the hideous striped carpets on the upstairs floors, then the strangeness of peeing, then quickly washing myself in the bathroom with a stranger just on the other side of the door. It had been a straightforward transaction to hand him the envelope with the cash in it, and then to slip off my shoes, so that I too stood barefoot at the foot of the bed. Then the oddness of entering a complete strangers’ arms for the first time. Of being slowly undressed without the preliminary of at least one long passionate kiss, while enjoying Johns’ murmured appreciation of the lingerie I had chosen. The startling sensation of the fleshiness of rose petals under my back as I laid down on the white covers and allowed myself to be massaged, licked, sucked and finger fucked for what seemed like a very long time. I recalled a momentary awkwardness as I needed to pee again, explaining that it wasn’t just the G-spot stimulation – I really needed to pee…
Then my pleasure on returning to the bedroom, asking and being granted permission to suck his cock, bringing him to readiness for the fucking I so earnestly desired and had requested, in my email…
Lying side by side, chatting and touching, before my bladder got the better of me again. Seeking and being given reassurance, that my body tasted and smelled fine – a ghost laid to rest at last. Then Johns’ generous offer to have a look at my blog, an offer I readily accepted given his expertise in IT.
And of course, the log-in not working…
Pushing aside the empty plate, I signalled to Anna, the waitress, seeking the menu again, intent on choosing something sweet and almondy, along with my second cup of coffee.
Dressing together, and then taking a quick picture of him – my gift of flowers in his arms; as a keepsake; before exiting the hotel to go our separate ways. He, back to Western Sydney to prepare for his evening, and me free to savor, in privacy, the culmination of my splendid fantasy to have sex with a stranger. To savor too my first fuck in over three years, while rambling the nearby streets playing tourist (did this mean I was now a “sex tourist?”) enjoying what was left of the day, taking photos and sending texts to reassure that all was well, and I’d provide details when I returned home
There was a faint disturbance at the cafe door, and I looked up to see Annas’ face illuminated in the glow of a candle, emerging from the top of my requested dessert. Another waiter emerged placing a glass of liqueur on my table, and wishing me a “Happy Birthday”. Anna gestured toward the glass, then toward the cafe door. “This,” she said, is from the gentleman inside, “for your birthday.” My smile crumpled, devastated by the kindness of strangers, and she handed me a napkin, as I stumbled through the hard part of my tale, mentioning my carers role, mum’s passing and my intention to celebrate this first birthday without her rather than wallowing in grief.
Later, composure regained, I gathered up my book and handbag, entered the cafe to pay my bill, thank the gentleman and his wife, and express my deep appreciation for Anna’s service and the generosity of the cafe proprietor. Then I retraced my earlier footsteps back through the night to the hotel, slightly tipsy, but decided happy.
Missed Part 1. of Hotel? Find it here.