Where the Climate’s Sultry Pt. 11 by Surfbum77
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24
On her last full day in Santorini, Tina was desperate to meet up with Francesco again. It need hardly be said that Briony was also very keen to finally hook up with Hunter, especially now that he had been snared by Lisa. There were in other words a number of loose ends to tie up.
Such was her sense of urgency that Tina did the unimaginable for her, that is, she actually set her alarm for what she considered an ungodly hour (actually, only eight thirty) so that she could get herself ready for her big day. She’d arranged to meet the Italian at eleven in the same place they’d met before. She was wearing a nice summery dress and had actually gone to the trouble of buying a broad-brimmed hat. It was only now, half an hour before their rendezvous, that she realised she’d have to wear a helmet. She was going to leave the hat in her room but decided to take it anyway since – who knows? – Francesco, who seemed very resourceful, might find a place for it on his bike.
At first, Tina thought she might have been stood up, but then she checked her phone and saw that she was five minutes early – also a first! As the seconds ticked by she did begin to get a bit agitated, especially when she looked around and saw that, unlike last time, there was no bike anywhere to be seen. She was about to call him when she saw that it was still only 10:58. Then she heard the familiar high-pitched whine of a motorbike travelling at speed and her heart missed a beat. But why would he be coming from somewhere else when he worked here at the hotel, Tina thought. It was all getting very confusing and very distressing.
But it was Francesco! He’d put his bike in for a service that previous day and the man hadn’t been able to get the part he wanted till this morning, so Francesco had to get a lift to his workshop from a friend. But what did any of that matter now? Here he was, looking lovely as ever, apologising if he had made Tina anxious (‘No, no! Not at all – I was answering some messages. Didn’t even notice the time’) and kissing her not on the cheeks in that foreign way but flush on the lips, as Tina liked it.
Before handing Tina her helmet Francesco told her that today he would take her to a very beautiful place (‘a dream house’) and give her a wonderful time. It was on the other side of the island but not far since the island was so small. When Francesco pulled into the parking area behind a row of three or four houses, Tina didn’t think it looked very special, let alone a dream house. It was only when they walked round the side of the far unit that things began to change.
Built on a gentle slope in the foothills of a broad amphitheatre of mountains, the villa had sweeping views of the bay below, where a number of swanky looking yachts were moored. Entrance to the villa was via a glass-panelled door that gave on to a beautifully appointed terrace which commanded that stunning view. There was a table and two chairs where you could eat, two loungers with their own side tables and the pièce de résistance as far as Tina was concerned – a really nice looking hammock.
Inside, the villa had a couple of bedrooms in what was a semi basement (better for sleeping, Francesco explained, as it was cooler there) with the ground floor given over to a large living space with a nice cooking area, as well as a second bathroom. Francesco made a wine spritzer for both of them and took the drinks out with a few snacks onto the terrace. After sitting at the table for a while, the child in Tina could resist the lure of the hammock no longer. It had been rigged quite high, which meant that she required a helping hand. Not that she minded, as she felt the Italian’s strong hands on her waist as he hoisted her up in one easy movement.
‘This is the life,’ she purred, as she sipped on her drink, which the ever attentive Italian relieved her of after she had had her fill, as there was nowhere to put it once you were stretched out up there.
The next thing Tina knew was that she was being rubbed on her shoulder by a gentle hand.
‘I have some lunch for you,’ said Francesco, who certainly looked the part of a chef, decked out in a blue and white striped apron.
‘I must have nodded off,’ said Tina, fumbling about for her phone so she could check the time but then remembering she had left it on the table.
This time, Tina knelt on the hammock in preparation for her dismount and held out her arms as if in supplication. Francesco took her like a fireman over his shoulder. At least, that was the idea, as she ended up smothering his face with her chest. He set her down safely and she took her seat at the table where a steaming plate of spaghetti with pine nuts, basil pesto and lemon juice awaited her. Francesco disappeared back to the kitchen for a moment before reappearing with a block of Parmigiano Reggiano, which he grated onto her plate before doing the same to his own.
‘Just one more thing and then we can eat,’ he said, bustling off again.
This time he had a bottle of Frascati and two wine glasses in his hands. They clinked glasses and began to eat, Tina tucking in with particular gusto, since she had been up so early this morning and had managed only a light breakfast because of her nerves.
They talked of this and that for a while before Francesco, remembering the conversation from their first date, asked Tina who inspired her.
‘Oh gosh!’ said Tina, recalling how she had struggled to think of anyone the other day when Francesco had talked about one of his old teachers.
‘I dunno, really I don’t,’ she continued, reverting to her Estuary Essex accent, which she often slipped into in moments of panic.
‘Well now, let me see, I guess Britney and Meghan Markle,’ she said with audible relief, pleased to have got through this ordeal.
‘Yeah, and maybe David Beckham and Posh Spice.’
‘So interesting,’ replied Francesco, who had been expecting her to name someone who had had a more personal impact on her life.
‘And is there anyone from your days growing up – a teacher at school perhaps?’ he added.
‘Oh, gawd, no!’ Tina roared in reply. ‘They was all really old and boring. And the female ones, lord help us!’
‘Were they bad teachers?’ Francesco asked with genuine interest.
‘Nah, they was just dog ugly.’
In spite of her previous misgivings, Tina was now warming to the topic. She even had one or two questions she wanted to ask the handsome foreigner.
‘Do you have anybody like David Beckham in Italy?’
‘Oh, yes, so many. In fact, my name Francesco. My mother gave me this name after a famous footballer who played many years for the football team she supported, Roma.’
‘Wow!’ said Tina, impressed beyond measure. ‘Did you ever get to meet him?’
‘Sadly not,’ said Francesco.
‘You mustn’t give up hope,’ said Tina. ‘Maybe you can tweet him and arrange a meeting when you go home.’
‘I might try that,’ said Francesco, sensing that the time was ripe for taking her downstairs and taking things to the next level before she started to give him the lowdown on all the KOLs and influencers she followed.
‘Perhaps you would like a little nap after lunch?’ he said in his most suggestive manner.
‘I think I slept enough this morning,’ Tina replied.
‘Of course,’ he continued. ‘But maybe you would like to have a look downstairs?’
‘Sure,’ she replied, enjoying teasing Francesco.
He might know all about dead Italian poets and artists named after Ninja turtles, but she knew a thing or two about winding blokes up and making sure they were all revved up before she had her way with them.
25
He led the way downstairs and went ahead to the bedroom while Tina used the bathroom. He turned on the old-fashioned radio/CD player beside the bed and adjusted the volume as the disc of Italian love songs started to play. He then drew the curtains, turned on the bedside lamp and switched off the ceiling light. Finally, he took out his phone and leant casually against the wall checking his messages.
‘Would you like to try the mattress?’ said Francesco, walking towards her.
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ the blonde responded, throwing herself onto the bed in her keenness to get things started.
Francesco joined Tina on the bed and they shared an embrace. When Francesco finally pulled out of the clinch Tina pulled him back and kissed him on the mouth. The Italian returned the kiss but not with the passion that the blonde was hoping for.
‘The bloody Wop can do a lot better,’ she thought. ‘What’s the use of knowing all that stuff about paintings and whatnot if you can’t kiss a girl as if you meant it?’
Utterly oblivious to Tina’s displeasure Francesco continued to kiss her in that languid way he had, keeping his hands to himself, which also irked Tina. She began to wonder if he was actually gay. She’d seen him round the hotel carrying a man bag, and had just put it down to his being Italian. Now she began to search her memory to see if there were any other signs she had missed.
‘You kiss very passionately,’ said Francesco, looking at her with a smile.
‘More than can be bloody said for you!’ Tina wanted to say but managed to keep her cool.
‘Would you like it if I helped you off with your dress?’ he said, when Tina would much rather he just ripped it off her.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, getting into the spirit of the thing.
‘God,’ she thought. ‘I never thought I’d hear myself thank a bloke for doing something he should be able to do without making a song and dance about it.’
Once the dress was off, he seemed quite content to admire Tina in her bra and panties.
‘I should have gone commando,’ she thought. ‘How long does this bloke take to warm up?’
It was time for Tina to show the way. She didn’t bother with the top half, she went straight to the trousers, undoing the buttons he had in place of a zipper at a speed that clearly surprised Francesco. After yanking the trousers off, she went straight for the jugular – his very brief briefs. Once again, the thought that this man might be gay (or at least bi) flashed through her mind. She’d never met a guy (however fit) who wore what were basically glorified thongs.
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