I requested a take off to Melbourne on Runway 12 and they gave me taxi directions. It was the closest runway and I was on it before I could even warm up the engine oil. So I had to sit off to the side as the engine oil warmed. I ran through the preflight checklist. Once the oil was in the green I asked for departure and got a clearance. I taxied out, ran up that V12 engine and off I went. I was sure that Shelly was at a window watching so I waved though I am sure she couldn’t see. I climbed out to the east and followed the GPS line. It took me across the southern tip of Western Australia then out to sea and back over land in Victoria.
This was another long flight, over four hours, from one side of Australia to the opposite. As I approached Melbourne, the controllers took me to the north around the main part of the city, then east and back south to Essendon. I was pissed since that added time. I almost declared a fuel emergency the way they were jacking around with me. I wasn’t a commercial jet that takes off with twice the fuel they need. But since I had another hour of fuel aboard, I thought maybe the officials would get pissed and I didn’t need to spend time in an Aussie jail or paying an Aussie fine for false statements. Bureaucrats the world over are so touchy about crap like that.
I landed at Melbourne and rented a car. I was frankly a little worried since the Australians, like the Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. Not only that, but I had read that the authorities use cameras to enforce the speed limit. A speed limit? What the hell. I’m from California and we all know speed limits are for information purposes only. They actually expect people to stay under the speed limit and use hidden cameras to enforce it, barbarous.
I also read about Melbourne having turns that no one else in the world uses, hook turns. All of this weirdness was downtown due to the congestion caused by too many cars and trams all stuffed in too small a place. I had landed in the northern section of Melbourne for a reason. Actually two reasons: both female.
Six months before, I had gotten an email from a young lady who was a dancer and liked my Pas de Deux story. I had answered and we struck up a flirting correspondence. I’m sure that the fact I was 7,000 miles away made her feel safe to flirt. Of course, with me she would have been safe next door, but women seem to worry that all men are perverts. It may be true that all men are perverts but most of us aren’t dangerous perverts. We are tame perverts.
Anyway, this girl was a student at a girl’s school in the north of Melbourne and I had decided to ‘drop in’ on her. She had also given me some provocation and encouragement to drop in on her, her address and phone number for instance. She had also introduced me to another girl, Karen, at the school and we had flirted as well. Not as seriously as I had flirted with Natasha since Karen was twelve and a bit skittish about men. Karen had confessed in one email that she was horny but didn’t trust boys. Like I couldn’t figure out what that meant. Natasha had made a similar confession, telling me she was a virgin but was going crazy from horniness.
I did the obvious thing and told them to do what they wanted to do: seduce each other. They would never admit in writing they had but both let me know they had, subtly. Natasha let me know she was sixteen and still virgin, not a happy state. Being a dancer she would tease me telling me how at home she liked to dance naked out on their veranda and saying if I came to visit she would dance for me. Both girls sent pictures, dressed.
The Australians have built a good, moving towards great, wine industry in southern Australia. Melbourne is right in the heart of several great regions, like the Yarra Valley. I had several day trips in mind for while I was there.
So Melbourne was on the list since it also was a good point to leave across the Pacific. I landed at Essendon and taxied to the transient area. In the terminal, I found a flight school and asked to see the owner. I asked him for a recommendation for a good mechanic to work on the Mustang. Of course he wanted to see it first. He crawled around on the plane whistling. He told me they had a mechanic half-retired these days who had worked on just about every plane built in the last 50 years, George Willoughby. He pointed out his hanger.
I went over and told George I need to have him look at the plane since I didn’t want anything going wrong on these long hops over the ocean. I could see his interest go up and he agreed.
I rented a car and drove to a hotel that was just down the road from the school. That afternoon, when she was done with class, I was on the computer and IM’ed Natasha. We bantered a little. Teasing, I said if I came over that night would she go out to dinner with me. She was now old enough to sign herself out of school. She said as long as I took her out for Chinese. I said okay, as long as she really promised and wouldn’t break her promise. She agreed I’m sure figuring I was still 7,000 miles across the Pacific.
That’s when I dropped the bomb. I told her where I was and said I’d be in front of the school in exactly half hour and I was holding her to her promise and to select the Chinese place she wanted to go. I didn’t give her a chance to try to get out of it by signing off. I cleaned up and got in the car and went to the school. I found driving on the wrong side wasn’t as hard as turning. Turning was all screwy since I would always look the wrong way first. I drove slowly and cautiously.
I pulled up in front of the school. Several girls looked my way but Natasha wasn’t there. I killed the engine and waited. A minute later she came out of the front door. She saw the car and hesitated. I got out and she came over, “Mike?” she asked in the cutest Aussie accent. Somehow I had always heard her voice with an American accent. I know, stupid.
“Yes.” I answered. I held open the door. “Where are we going for dinner?”
She climbed in. As I got in the other side she said, “I can’t believe you are really here. It’s like a dream.”
“Not a nightmare?” I asked smiling.
She blushed and shook her head.
“Where to?” I asked.
She gave me directions to a local Chinese place, a favorite among the students for take out when they got tired of the school’s food. Dinner was about what I’d expect for a take out place, but Natasha seemed to like it. After dinner, I drove to a place she said was nice, a park looking out over Melbourne and parked. We talked a bit, then she broke the ice. “My parents are going away this weekend.” I nodded. “And I could go home and you could come stay if you would like?”
“I would like,” I said.
“Can you pick me up Friday night?” she asked.
“Sure. Before then?” I asked.
“I’m pretty busy,” she said. That was fine since I was going to do those day trips anyway. I dropped her back at the school. She leaned over as we stopped and I kissed her. I started to get out but she grabbed my arm, “Stay here,” she said. I gathered she was worried one of the staff would see her with an ‘older’ man.
I wanted to get away from the touristy wine areas. In California I avoid Napa since it is overrun with idiots with more money than taste or manners. I always look for the off the beaten path places. I had done my homework and made an itinerary with the help of a wine promoter in the area, I had hit it off with a woman in their marketing department and she laid out all the places tourists missed.
The next afternoon with GPS in hand, or more accurately stuck to the windshield, I headed off. The first place was a small growing area not 50 klicks from where I was staying. These were all boutique wineries, which means small. I had called ahead to several and was having a blast trying wines maybe no other American had tried. As I left one place headed to the next, I saw a small sign of a winery that wasn’t even on my list. I turned in the drive and found the winery. There was a black car pulled up front.
I found the door and went in. The winemaker looked surprised, then shouted, “This is a private tasting.”
“Sorry, I’m visiting from the US and had no idea.”
I looked at his private tasting client and my eyes bugged out although I tried to cover my reaction. She was alone and I saw her say something quietly to the man who said, “Come on then, mate.”
I introduced myself and quickly said I was flying around the world. The fellow introduced himself as the winemaker and owner and started to introduce her.
“I know who she is. Nice to meet you,” I said and extended my hand. She took it as gracefully as she would have in a film. I was entranced. I avoided the obvious star struck remarks and asked, “Which wines do you like?”
I think she was a little surprised that I didn’t do the star struck routine, though in truth I was. “The shiraz.”
“Could I have a taste?” I asked the winemaker. He poured a taste. I did the whole routine and it was good, layered with lots of ripe blackberry and licorice with tannins holding it all together. I said as much and could see the winemaker beam happily.
“Exactly,” he said proudly. “Great balance of fruit and tannins in this one.”
“You know wines?” she asked.
“I try. I’m from Northern California so I try to know good wines.”
“I don’t know much. People always order for me so I thought I would come and see if I could learn.”
“If there is anything I can do…”
She smiled, “We’ll see.”
We tried a few other wines and she said she was going on. I walked her out to her car. The driver jumped out and opened the door. As I helped her into the car, she leaned back out and said, “Would you like to come along and help me?” I glanced at my rental. She noticed and said, “We’ll come back this way.”
I nodded, “Certainly” and jumped in the back seat of the limo with her. She asked about the flying around the world, I think assuming I was flying commercial. When she found out it was an older plane she got interested, asking me if I could take her up. I explained how small the cockpit was, but the next time she came to the states I knew a fellow who had a two seat P-51 and I was sure I could get her a ride in it. She took my e-mail address and I wondered just how serious she was. I was certainly going to contact my friend with the two seat P-51 and get him to check me out on his Mustang even if I had to give him lifetime access to any plane of mine. They put that extra seat in by pulling out a gas tank. Obviously, I didn't want that for my trip.
There is a fraternity among those of us who own warbirds, since so many are in museums, as I suspect mine will when I get too old to fly anymore. I would gladly trade flights with those guys any time to get a chance to fly any of the other warbirds. And most of the guys feel the same way.
We wandered through the wineries, always finding the smaller ones. The owners were expecting her. I asked and of course her assistant had set up the whole trip. I was actually having fun since I had nothing to lose and treated her like I would anyone else. At one point I asked about the kids. “You don’t bring children wine tasting,” she answered avoiding the obvious unasked question about her hubby.
The afternoon was wearing on when she told the driver to head back to the hotel. The driver looked at me and said, “I’m sure Mr. O’Hara would love to take me to dinner.”
“Of course,” I said without a pause. Now I was puzzled. The driver took us to an Inn, I guess would describe it. She had a private suite in a separate building. The driver dropped us off and left. There I was in Australia, miles away from my rental, and in fact I had no idea where I was. I already had learned about Aussie women, and liked them. I was with one of the most desirable women in the world. How bad could it be? It couldn’t be any weirder than Shelly and Libby, could it?
She left me in the main room of the cottage as she went off to get refreshed. I read a few hotel magazines while waiting. When she reappeared she was in a gown that looked like it was right out of some 30’s movie with Astaire and Rogers. “Would you like to get refreshed?”
“Absolutely.”
“This way,” she said heading off. I followed her into a bath all marble and bright brass. “The shower is there.”
I waited for her to leave before stripping and hopping in the shower. I will admit to wondering about all this. I figured that’s what you get with movie stars. They live in a different world. What the heck, I could live with some eccentricities. When I finished the shower I toweled off and looked for my clothes. They were gone and a robe was in their place. It was a big fluffy robe and I did feel like a bit of a knob putting it on.
I went out and she giggled a little as I came out. “I wondered if you’d have the nerve to wear that.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” I accused.
“Well, you could have come out without it,” she answered.
“I didn’t know you were a voyeur.”
“I’m not, I wanted to see if you would relax and go with it,” she said. “I like a man who is comfortable enough with his masculinity to not worry about things like this.”
I passed the test, but just barely. There was a knock on the door and she asked me to step into the bath again. I did and heard voices in the suite. A few minutes later I heard her say, “Come out.”
There was a complete candlelight dinner set up on the veranda looking out the back of the inn and over the surrounding vineyards. I held her chair and took mine.
“You don’t look surprised,” she said.
“The truth is I’ve been surprised since I saw you this afternoon. You just haven’t seen me not surprised yet to know the difference,” I said.
Over dinner I finally found out the answers to my questions, like what was she doing here by herself. Seems her current hubby was once again in drug rehab and she was pissed. He was a nice enough guy when he wasn’t using. But like most people, drugs completely changed him into an arse, her word, and she didn’t want him around her kids when he was. She was frustrated since they had a pre-nup that if he started using again he would get the boot. She was about to give him the boot and had come out to be alone and think. I just happened to be the right person at the right place when she was a little vulnerable and felt like she needed company. Who was I to argue?
After the afternoon of sampling wines and a bottle with dinner, she was a bit tipsy, laughing and having fun. When were done eating, I held her chair and she stumbled as she got up. I grabbed her and she fell into my arms. She was giggling like crazy, so I lifted her up and carried her into the suite. Her arms went round my neck and a serious look came to her face and something else as well. I carried her into her bedroom. She kissed me as I did.
I laid her on the bed. She looked up at me in my silly robe and smiled, then turned serious again. “Am I beautiful?”
She looked so vulnerable, questioning and uncertain. I suppose she had to wonder why the man, who said he loved her, loved her less than his drugs. “Yes, my dear. You are beautiful.”
This is something I’ve seen over and over among women. No woman seems confident that she is beautiful. I suppose it is our current fascination with size zero models with fifteen inch waists. No real woman is ever going to fit that ideal. Maybe it was my art training, but I disagree. Looking at the history of what was considered beautiful never would these emaciated models of today ever have been considered beautiful. From the Minoan period to classical Greek to the Renaissance up till the modern period, women needed some substance to be beautiful. It is only this very recent decades that starvation was considered sexy.
Look at the Venus of Milo. There is a woman of substance; she had muscles and bones, as well as rounded hips and a waist, a real waist. She was a woman with small well formed breasts, not giant plastic udders. She isn’t a cartoon woman with no waist.
I have heard the same thing from so many women who are beautiful, but not with the current Barbie doll impossible physic, ask the same question, Am I beautiful? My answer is always yes but so often they don’t believe it. I saw one account of an actress who went to Africa to help starving people. Her comment was how they looked so good, except for the flies and death. That's Hollywood's current ideal of beauty, starving to death.
So I could say with all honesty, “Yes, you are beautiful.”
She tossed off the gown she was wearing and lay back on the bed. “Still beautiful?
Seeing her naked like that, well, I had been having these recurrent fantasies all day. Come on, you would too. She was a stunningly beautiful woman. When I saw her laying on the bed all those fantasies came bursting back and my cock went from stand by to full strength in three heart beats. It poked out of the gown and her eyes dropped to see it grow.
“Oh my,” she said.
I looked down to see him peeking out. “There’s your answer. That’s as honest as you can get.”
She smiled and crooked her finger at me. I dropped the robe and climbed into the bed with her. She took me into her arms and we kissed. From that moment on, she wasn’t a celebrity anymore; just a horny woman and I treated her that way. When your face is buried between her thighs, who cares about that other stuff anymore.
As we kissed I let my hand wander down to her breast and fondle her, teasing the breast and nipple which grew hard between my fingers. She pressed against my hand as I moved it back and forth teasing, and getting her ready. Then I kissed down to her chest sucking and licking before going down on her. Her body was in great shape for forty plus. She was lightly furred and shaved, her red lips standing out already engorged and wet. She smelled like a woman as I licked and sucked up and down her pussy. She was moaning in anticipation as I moved up and attacked her clitoris, licking sucking and fucking it with my lips. Her hips bounced around on the bed as her hand grabbed my head and pushed my face against her loins.
She was bouncing around as I quickly moved up over her, lined up, and slid home deeply into her spasming pussy. She gasped as I filled her, then her hips crashed into mine. I could tell what she needed and I gave it to her, a hard passionate fuck. I pulled back and slammed into her and she met me just as hard. This was sex pure and simple as our bodies worked to bring each other off. My cock slashed into her pussy time after time shoving deeply as my hips crashed into hers and she met every stroke, bringing her pleasure to the top. Like I said, these Aussie women know sex.
It couldn’t last long and didn’t. Suddenly, she screamed and her body went stiff as I continued fucking her. I felt her pussy go into contractions around my pistoning cock and that was enough for me as well as I exploded into her, gouts of cum splashing into her spasming pussy. She fell back onto the bed and I collapsed onto her both of us struggling to get our breath back.
I fell to the side pulling her with me so my cock stayed in her. Soon, we had quieted and she caressed me as we kissed softly. “Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure," which it was in more ways than I could have expressed.
She turned out the lights and we drifted off to sleep.
In the morning I woke first, to see her face like an angel's, in the soft morning light. I could tell she was a natural beauty since with no prep she was still beautiful. I kissed her shoulder, then down her back. She woke and stretched, then turned to me. I had reached her butt by then and when she turned I was face to face with her pussy. “Again?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said as I moved up over her. I was hard by the time I reached her face to kiss her. She grabbed my cock and led me to her pussy. This time it was a slow languorous fuck, enjoying the feeling of body part moving over body part, taking the time to enjoy every little sensation. She hit her climax and I followed.
We jumped out of bed and took a shower together. I will remember soaping that body for the rest of my days. She made me put that ridiculous robe on again as she ordered breakfast delivered. Once again, I hid as the food was delivered. We talked over breakfast looking out at the vine covered hills. God, she was a gorgeous woman. I sat there and kept checking to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, Is this real? Pinch. Yes, it sure is.
After breakfast, she pulled my hidden clothes from a drawer and I dressed as she was getting ready. Her driver showed up and I said my goodbyes and hoped it would work out for her. But if it didn’t, I gave her my home address; like I really had a chance, but what the hell. Maybe I could give her a ride in the plane.
The driver took me back to my car and I headed back to Melbourne, bemused and still wondering if this whole thing had been a wickedly delicious dream.
For the next couple days I did more wine country trips never seeing anyone I knew and talked through IM to Natasha in the evenings. We were both looking forward to the weekend. Friday night I checked out of the room and headed to the school. Natasha came out with just a small bag and books. We drove all the way around Melbourne to avoid the congested central city and down to a beach town. We had dinner at a local restaurant, again one of her favorites. Her parent’s house was a nice place.
She set me up in a guest room, to my disappointment. I wondered if it was some sort of test or maybe a statement. I will admit that I lay in bed and kept having this vision of walking to her room and crawling in bed with her. But I didn’t.
In the morning we went out and she took me to a Starbucks; my first latte in months. It tasted wonderful. We talked for hours, then went off to lunch getting back around two. Natasha showed me a Jacuzzi they had and asked if I wanted to go in. I said, “Yes, but I don’t have a suit.”
She smiled and said, “Of course not.” She handed me a large towel and said with a mischievous smile, “That’s all you need.”
I looked at the towel and up at her with her mysterious smile. I went to my room and shed my clothes, wrapped the towel round and went back. Natasha came in a minute later with the towel wrapped around her just covering her breasts and barely covered her butt. “You first,” she said. I dropped the towel and stepped down into the tub. The water was foaming and felt relaxing. I could see her arguing with herself and she almost lost her courage. Then she dropped the towel and I got an eyeful.
I gave her a wolf whistle. “You are beautiful,” I said. “You don’t have any need to hide.”
The whistle made her giggle and she hesitated giving me a better view and giggling before she jumped in the water. She had long dancer’s legs, small breasts, and a trimmed pubic triangle. I found out later that all dancers trimmed heavily because ‘there is nothing worse than getting a pubic hair caught in a spandex dancing outfit.’ I could imagine.
Natasha splashed into the water and moved over next to me and I could see it in her eyes, she had decided to get rid of her unwanted state, virgin. I leaned down and kissed her. The kiss quickly became more and more passionate, our tongues twisting and dancing together. My hand found her small breast, the nipple already hard and pointed. Tasha, a nickname she had told me, moaned into my mouth, her head fell back against the side of the hot tub. I kissed her neck and down to her breasts, kissing and sucking. My hand cupped her hot pussy.
I helped her up the side of the hot tub so that she was sitting with legs on both sides of me. I bent forward and ran my tongue up her virgin slit. “Yesss….” she moaned.
She tasted wonderful as I dug my tongue deep into her pussy and played tag with her clitoris. She had told me that she and Karen had played around, so I knew I wasn’t the first to do this, but I was going to be first at something else. I lifted her from the hot tub and wrapped her in her towel. We quickly dried each other and she led me to her bedroom. We fell on her bed and picked up right where we left off, her legs spread and me glued to her pussy. She was gasping as I moved up over her prone form, legs askew, and lined up my staff with her opening. I rubbed it around getting it wet, then slowly opened her with my cock.
There was no pain or ripping as she had once told me that she had lost her hymen at ten to a male dance instructor who liked to finger her. But it was the first time the muscles had been parted by something bigger than a finger. She stretched as my cock ploughed further and deeper into her. “Oh, Mike,” she moaned. I started fucking her slowly and deeply, moving my hips around as I bottomed out to give her maximum sensation. I wanted her first time to be something she would remember with pleasure.
Having a dancer’s body, she was responsive to every move of my body. We settled into a routine with her hips moving with mine like a dance of perfect partners. Slowly at first, then faster we built up speed as I saw the flush spread up her chest to her neck. When it hit her neck she went over the top, crying out in orgasm. I fucked her hard through her cum then slowed as she came down. I held her as she relaxed. Once she opened her eyes, I rolled her over until she was on top and started again, fucking up into her. It only took moments until her body responded and she was fucking back. I let her sit up and she took over. God, I love the cowgirl position since it frees both hands and I get to watch, especially a young beauty like Natasha moving on my cock. Soon she was throwing herself up and down on my pole until again she cried out and fell forward. I rolled her over and began slamming her as I was ready to cum myself. In just a few seconds I let the cum build up and then explosively, my balls contracted and spewed my seed into her, great gouts of cum filling her formerly unsullied gulch with cum until it poured out of her as I stopped and pulled out.
We jumped back in the Jacuzzi as relaxed for a while. When we were both toasty from the heat, we jumped out and dried off. “You know,” I said. “You promised me a nude dance on the porch.”
She blushed, “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. And you promised if I came you would.”
I took her hand and pulled her through the house out back. The porch was screened in and had a beautiful wood floor. I led her to the middle and let go taking a seat on the side. Natasha looked wonderful but embarrassed. I shrugged and smiled. She tossed the towel aside, then looked off as if I wasn’t there. Soon, her body started to move with some unheard music, slowly, sensuously. I watched captivated. I heard the music in my head, at least the rhythm of it as she moved. Then she started moving with the sounds, dancing alone, except I was there, making no sound, no move. I watched as Tasha danced, legs whipping around, hands tracing figures in the air. A jump with a fairy landing, then on the floor rolling and up to run away and return. Then the music died away and she returned.
“Beautiful,” I said. “I wish I had a film of that.”
She blushed. I could see she was pleased though.
“Where am I taking you for dinner?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered.
“Someplace fancy I suppose,” I said.
“I’ve heard The Mill is good,” she said.
“Call and get us a reservation. Then you’ll have to show me how to drive there in your screwy Australian driving on the wrong side,” I teased.
She laughed but went and got the phone. She got us a reservation for seven. I suggested she show me Melbourne and we dressed and off we went to see the city. The driving wasn’t as awful as I feared, no worse than San Francisco. We did the tourist thing as I held her hand. We got a few looks since she did look a little young to be on my arm I suppose. But fuck all. At seven we got to the Mill. It looked exactly like a nice romantic little place and I could tell Tasha loved it.
The menu was what I call new wave and would have been at home in a California high class place except the references to Australian ranches. I could tell Tasha was impressed. I picked out a couple things. One thing I have learned to do is to pick out a couple dinners that appeal. One that would go with white wine and one that would go with red. That way, whatever the lady orders, I can order the appropriate wine and have a dinner that goes with it. There was a lamb dish and a scallop dish that both intrigued. When Natasha ordered chicken I got the scallops and a Chardonnay.
Dinner was smashing. We had dessert and fat and happy drove back to her place. We kissed and she asked, “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”
“If you are there,” I said.
She smiled and took my hand leading me to her room. We tossed off our clothes and fell into her bed. Since we were both pretty well fed, the sex was languid but she reached her climax as did I. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
We woke the next day and had nice morning sex. After a shared shower, she made us breakfast, all very domestic.
“I need to get back to school,” she said.
So much for the honeymoon, and this had been like a honeymoon with all the sex. “And I need to get flying,” I said.
“Karen is going to be mad she missed you,” Natasha said.
I could see she was watching me so my natural response which was, ‘Heck I’d like to ‘see’ her and maybe fuck her,’ died before it made it to my lips. “Say hello for me,” I said. I could see she was pleased. Maybe next trip, I thought.
I drove her back to her school and dropped her off. She kissed me before getting out of the car and thanked me before running off to the school. We had many talks after that as we explored the possibilities, including her coming to the U.S. She had run off because she didn’t know what to say as her first lover was leaving her so soon. I told her it was like the war when women sent their boyfriends off to war with that parting gift to remind them what to come back for. She hoped I would come back.
I flashed on Lilja and knew how love is for the young and far away. I was right. Not two months later, Tasha found a local boyfriend and I was relegated to the dustbin of former boyfriends. If I go back, it will be to see Karen. Maybe she’ll be ready by then.
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Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009