ALTERNATE EROTICA

The Absurd Pick-up

##### WARNING #####
The following contains material of a sexually explicit nature. Do not read any further if you are under the legal age in the state/country in which you reside. This story is meant for ADULTS ONLY and is a work of fiction. If you’re not of legal age EXIT NOW.

COPYRIGHT 2001. As the author of the following story, I claim all rights in accordance with international copyright laws. These rights are claimed legally by me under the pseudonym of Mark. All rights are reserved, including the reproduction of it in any form on the net or elsewhere (except ASSTR) without the written permission of the copyright owner, who may be contacted by e-mailing nexuswilson@hotmail.com

This story is not particularly intended to be erotic, although it does have erotic content. It is intended to be humorous, and I hope I have succeeded. It is vaguely based on a reality that could exist, but is not one that I would wish to exist in this form. It is pure fun fantasy. It was done for Isis ostensibly, but more as a whimsey for myself really. I found it incredibly difficult to write and, despite Isis not being particularly impressed, I hope you enjoy it.

The absurd pick-up (humour, not much sex!)

We all crowd out of the mini-buses, up the steps, and into the Hotel ??????. The bar is on the right and as we go by I see you perched on a stool drinking a café laté. My heart takes a joyous skip of anticipation and relief that you made it. You are looking perfect for your part, wearing a classic little black dress that shows off your cleavage and superb long legs to perfection. Your short cropped, jet-black hair and minimal accessories give you the look of a confident woman of means much favoured by makers of commercials for expensive motor vehicles. You look straight at us as we pass but offer no sign of any recognition. I treat you to a large wink as I pass the bar doorway, then busy myself organising the hotel rooms for my team, getting room lists, and ensuring that they all know to be in the bar for 7.30. I make sure that I am the last to finish at reception and signal you my room number before getting in the lift.

Ten minutes later you have finished your coffee and are in my room. We kiss with the passion of lovers apart for too long, I compliment you on your outfit, then we catch up quickly on news. 7.30 is not too far away and we have to part again all too soon, me to get a quick shower, and you to get back to the bar before any of my team arrive. Due to my dalliance with you I end up arriving in the bar 10 minutes late.

As I enter I see you sat on the same stool, apparently eking out the same laté, and most of my team at one of the tables by the window. All of them have a Heineken and several more are lined up for the rest of us. You look up as I walk in, then ignore me completely, as I know you have with everyone else who has entered. I cross to the table, take a beer and apologise for being late. It is the teams first night in Italy and we do not have to work until late tomorrow so we soon settle into the usual raucous routine of bawdiness, barely couth enough to pass in one of the towns smarter hotels. Luckily this is not one of the towns smarter hotels but it soon becomes apparent that our good spirit is starting to grate on you and your angry frowns soon attract the attention of the group. They certainly aren't going to make any changes to their behaviour for your benefit, but they are quite happy to talk about you. You hear one of them announce to the whole bar that you have legs 'that go all the way up to your arse' and a chest 'to equal Wedgewoods finest'. They all seem oblivious to the possibility that you might understand English and start to discuss what you might be doing here. Someone states that you were here when we arrived, so I wasn't the only one to notice you. As always in these situations the prostitute theory wins out even though it is incredibly unlikely in a small town like this. A mistress would be much more likely here in Italy anyway, and that is, in fact, what you are, although it must be said you are probably the most unusual one this town has seen for some time. I wait until I sense that interest in you is waning before interjecting my six-penneth.
"She's been stood up, she's got nothing else to do and nowhere to go so lets ask her over. I reckon she'll be a laugh if we can get her talking."
"Oh, and you reckon an 'igh class bird like her's gonna be interested in bunch of arses like us! Probably can't speak a fuckin' word of English anyway."
"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," I say, and make the move. But as I do so I manage to trip over the tangle of chair legs around the table and stagger about trying to regain my lost balance, noisily knocking chairs around. Italians hate public drunkenness and you join those in the bar in giving my an icy stare, but I ignore it and make my way over to you.
"Scusata Amoré, parla Inglesi?" I may as well be speaking Russian for all the team know, typical Englishmen abroad that they are.
"Si."
"Well, how about joining us then while you wait for your date. I'll buy you the best drink money can buy here."

You seem to consider this for a second or so then say, "Alright, get me a bottle of the best champagne they have," get up and walk over to our table and sit at my seat, much to the amusement of the team. You dampen that by asking how they can be so rude as to discuss you so publicly, but alleviate their discomfort somewhat by adding that it is nice to be complimented once in a while, even if it is in an incredibly rude manner.

In the meantime I buy another round of beers. As I deliver them around the table I leave ours till last, finally squeezing another seat in next to yours and dumping a beer in front of you.
"What kind of champagne is this?" you say, holding it up incredulously.
"They've run out," I lie effortlessly. I hadn't even asked. "Anyway we're not made of money you know!" The team all know that's a lie as well. We're on the first night of a weeks trip and loaded with our allowances.
"Well, I'd like a bacardi and coke then."
"Them Chinese birds at the bar couldn't mix a decent drink even if they could understand what I wanted. I said I'd buy you the best drink money could buy in here and that's it. When we get to the restaurant they do some fizzy Italian wine so you can have some of that."
"Oh, and what makes you think I'll be going to a restaurant with a bunch of cheapskate oiks like you lot?"
"Well, it's that or sit in here getting bored with your mates. I think it's safe to say your date's wife has told him to stay at home, isn't it."
You laugh a little, "Yes, I suppose so. Shame, he was quite good looking really. Said he wanted to finalise details of the deal we agreed today, but I don't think that was really what he had in mind. And he didn't just want to have a free meal on my expense account either!"
"Hey, that's brilliant. If you've got an expense account you can buy us all dinner. Don't look so worried, it's really cheap compared to the UK. You can just say you had to take their team out to swing whatever deal it is you've done! Was it a good deal?"
The team are almost audibly groaning, but you seem to be perking up with mention of the deal, and agree. "Actually, yes. I sold almost 20 million euros worth of sanitary porcelain and accessories to a hotel group based here so I guess I could probably get away with that."
The table bursts into awestruck silence until someone at the other end of the table says "Fuck me, 20 million, that's shit-loads!"
"You're damn right it is," you say, chugging back a healthy swig of beer. "In fact it's by far the biggest deal I've ever done and I think I'm getting in the mood to celebrate a bit! However, I'm not going to do it by fucking you, because you're not my type!" The guy who spoke looks mortified. The other single guys appear to be weighing up their chances against each other as the way you said it makes it really clear that someone could get lucky tonight. The married guys are having an instant conscience struggle. The table goes quiet for a second as the implication of your statement sinks in. I decide to change the subject to lighten the air a little.
"So, do you come here often?" Everyone except us winces.
"It's the first time ever, but I might come again if you're going to be here." You pause for effect and then add, "Assuming you turn out to be generous enough, anyway!"
I can hear someone whispering that he wouldn't mind offering you a generous portion of salami. His mate asks if that would be during or after the meal?
"You're a bit of a chancer, aren't you" I say. "You havn't even finished that beer and you're already angling for another one!"
"Well, you can give me one later on then, can't you," you say, with a completely straight face.
This apparently goes straight over my head as I reply "OK, but don't think you're getting out of buying your round, even if you are buying us all dinner."
You rest your chin on your hand and think for a second. "You know, my idea of a celebration is to have a good meal, get pissed on top quality booze, and then get shagged senseless. I only need one man for that so I've changed my mind. I'll just take one of you out for the meal, I'll choose the drinks, seeing as you obviously wouldn't spot a quality Chianti if it was chucked through your living room window, and the rest of you can sod off and get pissed somewhere, wondering what you'll be missing tonight." You pause and look slowly around the group. ."...and.....I think I will take....Yes, that's it, decision made." You stare enigmatically up at the ceiling, and take another swig of your beer.
"Just suppose, hypothetically speaking," says one of the older guys, "that the 'Chosen One' doesn't want to partake of your most gracious offer?" His words are generously laced with sarcasm.
"Yeah, you've probably got all sorts of horrible diseases if you go round shagging strange men every time you've got something to celebrate," I say with some enthusiasm. "And don't say you definitely haven't 'cos everyone knows women can have chlamydia for years without realising it."
"Well, as it happens I caught syphilis from a Bee Keeper in Katowicz last month...," you say, rummaging around in your purse, ."..and here's my Doctors certificate. As you can see I was passed clear of everything under the sun, including chlamydia, just 3 days ago." You show the card round, grinning broadly, like a kid who just won her first argument. "That's another reason I fancy it so badly tonight, because I haven't had a man since the Bee Keeper!"
"Oh, well, that's all right then," says someone sarcastically.
"Let's hope the man I chose thinks so as well," you say with a bright smile. Despite his sarcasm he looks a bit crushed not to be the chosen one.
After a moments silence you ask, "Do any of you have a really large cock, over seven inches? I bet you have," you state, pointing to the largest of us, a young lad of about twenty-three.
"Too right," he says, "plenty enough to put any Hungarian Bee Keeper to shame." Some of the lads snigger as if they know it is not true. He's hardly going to admit it though. Even when you say that in your experience men with big ones tend to have trouble keeping them up, so you'd never pick a man you thought might be that well endowed.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends then?" you suddenly say to me.
"Well I would if I knew who you were, Mrs Bog Sales Person!" I retort.
"Her name's Mandy Smith," says someone helpfully. "I saw it on the VD certificate. I'm Taff by the way, and I'm a sheep-shagger."
"Oh no," you say, disappointment written all over your face. "I had picked you, but I'm not doing it with someone who does animals. I could catch something much worse than chlamydia from you. I'll have to choose all over again now." Taff protests that he may be Welsh but he doesn't really shag sheep but you tell him that the thought of interracial sex is even worse than the prospect of catching foot-rot or scabies.
"So how come you fucked a Pole," I ask, and everyone looks at me as if I am mad.
"There's nothing better than a stiff Pole in the hole," you say mysteriously, and everyone looks baffled. I make the remaining introductions and you reject Bill on account of his supposedly pretentious name. That only leaves the two of us sitting either side of you. "Well, which is it to be," you ask, putting your arms around us. "Does either of you want to volunteer?"
We both shy away protesting our married state. "I do love a challenge," you say, and put your hands under the table. The two of us can clearly see you slide them up your thighs, rucking the dress up, and revealing your lack of underwear. You dip a finger into yourself, then lick it clean, looking us alternately in the eye. My friend looks very flustered as you straighten your dress, stand up and drag him out of the bar into the reception area. I take the opportunity to straighten things out in the trouser department while everyone is looking away. I know I'll be going where your finger just was in due course, and the thought has me hard and ready for you. We can all see you whispering into his ear. He looks quite disgusted, brushes you off and marches back to the table.
"Well," I say, standing up. "Looks like I get the free lunch! I'll see you lot at the ??????? Bar once I've stuffed myself on her expense account!"
"Oh, you won't be going on to any bar after we've eaten," you say in a confident and very sexual tone. "You're taking me back to your room for the best sex you've EVER had, 'cos I just know that you're not a stuck in the mud prude like your friend. When I tell you what you're getting tonight you'll find it impossible to resist. You'll be doing things you never dreamed of doing with your wife!"
"Oh, you might be surprised what I've DREAMED of doing with my wife," I say.
"Don't worry, you won't have dreamed of doing what that sick bitch wants" says my friend, who not sat back down and is obviously keeping himself on the opposite side of the table from you. I wonder what you said to him. Knowing you and your imagination I expect it must be pretty sick and perverted.
"Well, let's stop talking about it and get out," you say. "Time is wasting and I'm hungry for food and a man. I'll tell you all about what's in store while you walk me to this restaurant." And with that you take me by the arm and lead me out of the bar. Once out of earshot we laugh and joke about the encounter, slipping quickly into the easy familiarity of our relationship.

Needless to say I never make it to the ??????? Bar. We hear the others returning to their rooms at 2am and, inevitably, the phone rings soon after. "Your friend is the most amazing lover," you say. "I'd never have thought of some of the things he's done to me in the last three hours." Then we start to feign parts in a mini-scene we agreed earlier, in which I am apparently putting something extremely large into an unspecified bodily orifice causing you extreme pain. I am quite impressed with your acting ability, particularly in the light of the fact that what I am actually putting inside you must be causing you a fair amount of pleasure! The last thing they hear is you groaning in a mix of anguish and ecstasy that I am a complete sadist and I'm making you come so hard…and the phone is put down as you are seemingly on the brink of orgasm due to the cruel sexual violence I am inflicting on you. We burst into gales of laughter, then make love again.

For the rest of the week I find that my orders are carried out with considerably more alacrity, and substantially less questioning than previously. As I watch your jet lift off the runway at the airport, taking you away from me once more, I remember that I never did get around to asking you what it was that you told my friend in the bar of the ?????? that disgusted him so much! Do you think I would be up for it?

The End.

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Isis does not wish to communicate in any way with other parties, but I will pass on any messages.