- That Little Pleasure Make Me Happy
This is a new story called “The Little Pleasure Make Me Happy” Let’s begin……….
Mutual Masturbation with a Stranger.
A note from Rose
I’m still not quite sure when my lesbian journey really got going. I try to explain it in the earlier parts of this series, but something tells me it started before then and one particular event comes to mind. So, as a sort of addendum to the series, here’s an account of one particular episode that possibly sums up where it started in all seriousness.
Thanks for sticking with it and seeing this story through to this, its very last legs.
Love,
Rose
I’m attracted to a woman in a hotel by the clothes she wears.
She didn’t actually stare at me. She didn’t hold strong eye contact and our gazes didn’t really linger on each other. But she certainly looked at me rather more than most women do at other women. She certainly made strong eye contact, albeit fleetingly, and certainly her glances swept across my face looking into my eyes before moving on to catch those of one of the other glamorous people at her table.
I was in a hotel restaurant with my husband. We were in Tuscany, not far from Florence, but deep in the countryside. It was lovely. The restaurant catered for the hotel guests, the visitors staying in the country houses and estates dotted round the heavily wooded,
Tuscan hillsides and the locals. My husband had business meetings in the hotel and nearby and I was able to tag along and enjoy the beautiful countryside, great hotel and fabulous food? It was actually just out of season, being early May, and the hotel was sparsely occupied, which suited me down to the ground as I would be alone most of the time and I wouldn’t have the other guests staring at me wondering why I was by myself.
We were at a table for two in the dimly lit, noisy and very atmospheric hotel restaurant. It was a long, but rather narrow room with tables along each side with a couple of metres between the two rows. I was facing into the restaurant, my husband was looking at me and the brick wall behind me. I was the lucky one with the view.
Opposite us on the other side of the room there was a larger table. I never did work out just how many were at the table, somewhere between ten and fourteen I guessed, but as they changed places quite a lot and kept going off to the loo or out of the restaurant, it was hard to keep tabs on them. This was before smoking was banned in public places in Italy so they were not popping out for a smoke, but probably for some substance that was as illegal then as it is now, they all seemed very buzzy!
She was sitting at the end of the table, directly over Martin’s shoulder. Her carver chair was turned away from the table a little, facing out towards the room and pointed towards us. It was her boots which first caught my attention. They were knee length, black and made from that soft leather that you only see in Italy.
They were gorgeous and, I thought, outrageously sexy. They had a turnover of probably an inch or so at the top, and a lace running round the top of the boots beneath that. Each lace had a little, silver stud on it, which stood out in stark contrast to the blackness of the leather and was tied in a bow at the front.
She had shoulder length, hair that was as black as her boots and a dusky complexion. She looked mixed race and she was beautiful. She had big eyes, full lips and high, prominent cheekbones, which gave her an Eastern look.
It was our first night at the hotel having flown into Pisa the day before. We spent yesterday in Florence, shopping and wandering around the gorgeous old streets and buildings, simply loving the atmosphere. Martin had rented a Mercedes and we had driven out to Spirensi during the afternoon.
I’d spent some time in the spa, having a great massage and a couple of treatments, so I was feeling good and hoped I looked that way as well. I had been on a diet recently and had lost some weight, so I was down to a nearly respectable one forty pounds. I do have this problem with my weight in that I put it on easily,
but also do not have that much trouble losing it; the problem is it seems to mostly go on and then come off two places, mainly, my ‘tits and ass.’ So my most vital of statistics range from a comfortable ‘weight off’ 34 C, to an uncomfortable and plays havoc with my golf swing, 35 D and occasionally even DD. That makes for murder with my bras, as I am often either, bursting out of them for they are too tight or, they are slipping around my boobs for they are too loose. The solution is bloody expensive, two sets of bras.
We were waiting for our starters when I first noticed her. She was wearing, what looked like, white leggings tucked into the boots and a beige, sleeveless garment with large, silver buttons up the front, even though most of those were undone and I couldn’t make out, and didn’t dare look too closely, to see if it was a dress or a coat or what? Under that,
she was wearing what looked to be a long, sleeved, round necked, white tee shirt type of thing. She looked gorgeous. As I sipped my punt e mes aperitif and looked at the menu, I saw her turn her chair away from the table and stretch her legs out. That was what first caught my attention and caused me to look up. My eyes ran up the boots, the white leggings, the beige garment and upwards to her face.
That makes it sound as though it took a long time. It wasn’t, it was just a quick glance, but I felt embarrassed when she caught me looking so I quickly looked back at the menu. I couldn’t, for some reason, resist lifting my eyes again and once more she caught me looking at her. She looked away, but then she seemed to stretch her leg further and lift her one foot off the floor a short distance. As she did, her skirt rode up a little and I saw more of her white leggings. They had a slight, silky sheen to them.
The waiter asked for our orders. I chose a small seafood risotto and roast veal. Martin asked for pasta and rabbit and ordered a bottle of Gavi di Gavi and a half bottle of Chianti.
It really was an odd sensation being seated opposite my husband and looking past him at this amazingly attractive and hugely sexy woman who seemed to be putting on a bit of a show or, even, I thought to myself reluctantly, coming on to me; surely not, I thought when I looked away from her? I kept glancing up and down her table to see if there was someone she was ‘playing’ to, but couldn’t see anyone.
‘Surely she isn’t putting on the show just for me?’ I thought. As I looked up and down the people at that table, I saw they were a very glamorous bunch. Most of the men were good looking and all of the women were attractive. There was a lot of female flesh on show, I noticed.
I had, at first, assumed they were Italian and certainly some were, but most were probably either Dutch or Danish, maybe Swedish. They spoke in a variety of languages with a lot being said in what was likely to be the most common language of English.
Waiting for my starter and sipping the delicious white wine, I saw that she was in deep conversation with a couple to her right. She was slightly turned away from me, giving me the opportunity to look more closely and take my time. Martin was talking about the deal he was negotiating and, as usual, that was going well over my head. Feigning to be listening attentively to him, I was able to take more time looking at the unusual situation in general and this extraordinary woman in particular.
I guessed that she was in her late twenties, some seven or so years younger than me, although checking for any face wrinkles was difficult in the dim light. She was slim and probably quite tall, willowy was the term that came to mind. She frequently brushed her black hair away from her face and as she did the dress gaped, suggesting that all of the buttons, certainly at the top, were undone; ‘Very strange’ I thought.
As she raised her arm the white material was stretched across her breasts. They were quite small, B cup at most, but I noticed, with a totally untypical quickening of my pulse, that she didn’t appear to be wearing a bra.
As the waiter was serving my risotto I was looking past him and Martin right at the girl. She had, once more, pushed the hair from her face and was holding a long lock in place on the top of her head with her hand. She was side on to me with her face turned away as she chatted with some colleagues along the table. I had a perfect view of the outline of her left breast and could see the slight bulge in the white material caused by her nipple. If she was wearing a bra, it must have been an incredibly thin one.