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There they were again. A group of women the wrong side of middle age, traipsing around the town in this Mediterranean resort. I had seen them first in the museum, asking questions like good, polite visitors, speaking slowly and simply to help the staff, whose grasp of English was probably better on paper and in a classroom than in this live situation.

Then I had seen the ladies in a department store, browsing the racks of clothes that were really no different from what they might find back home in Scotland.

Now here they were in a park, following the guide as she pointed out statues and explained who they were. Finally they headed for the café in the middle of the park. It was lunchtime. I followed them in and found that it was full. I stood, looking around, slightly embarrassed, when a voice to my left said, “Are you wanting to sit down, love?” I looked at her and smiled.

“Are you sure?” I said, looking at the two empty seats.

“Och,” the woman said, “We could do with some male company. It drives you mad listening to a bunch of old biddies all day.” She was slim and pale with hair that, with the best will in the world, was not red but orange. It was shoulder length and fell across one eye in a way that made her look naughty. She was wearing a white sleeveless blouse and pale green shorts. I leaned across, shook her hand and said “Richie Benaud.” It wasn’t my name, but that of a cricket commentator. The surname is pronounced Benno.

“Really?” the woman said drily. “I’m Gloria Swanson.”

“Hetty!” said the woman next to her, an overweight, tired-looking brunette with make-up clinging to her face like the plaster on an old French wall.

“Gloria,” said the first one. “If the young man wants to be a sports personality, I can be an American actress.”

“An old American actress,” the second one said.

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Gloria Swanson.

“Okay,” said the friend. She offered me her hand and said, “Gigi Fernandez.”

“My God, we’re a famous lot,” said Gloria. “Cricket, acting and tennis.”

“Are you ladies on holiday?” I asked.

“Saga tour,” Gloria said.

“And we’re not all ladies,” Gigi added. “Some of them over there are, but at this table you’re with the trollops.” She and Gloria laughed.

“Oh good,” I said. “I like a bit of trollop now and then.” I quickly scanned their faces to see if I had read this correctly and was allowed to say that. Gloria placed her hand on mine and smiled into my eyes.

“Excellent,” she said.

We joked our way through lunch, with glasses of sparkling wine. Gloria and Gigi were both twenty years older than me, but we shared an irreverent sense of humour and got along very well.

Eventually the Saga rep stood up and said, “Okay girls. To the castle!”

Gloria leaned across to me and said, “Bloody hell, here we go again. I can’t invite you along, but would you like to join Gigi and me for dinner? We’re at the Hilton.”

I spent the afternoon in an art gallery and aimlessly wandering the streets. One of the things I like about going on holiday alone is that you don’t have to have a plan for the day. And you never know who you might meet.

I thought idly about the evening ahead. There were two of them, Gloria and Gigi. So was this a date or a friendly meal? I would have been happy to spend time with either of them. Gloria was very flirty and Gigi could be direct, provocative. I decided to play it by ear. They had issued the invitation, so it was their party and their rules.

I went back to my hotel, had a shower and thought about putting on fresh underpants, but opted instead for none. Under my black chinos I would be commando. I put on a white shirt with abstract embroidery which I didn’t often wear, because I had to be in a certain mood to pull it off.

I met them in the bar. Gloria was striking in a turquoise summer dress and strappy sandals. Gigi was all in black: a satin blouse and tight skirt with steep heels. We ate seafood and drank sangria. These two could certainly put it away. After liqueurs, Gigi said, “Right, my room? I’ve got the duty frees.” Gloria didn’t discuss it, and I gathered they had planned it in advance.

It was a suite: a living area and separate bedroom. I sat on the sofa and Gigi sat beside me. Gloria was in a chair just across the coffee table, leaning back with one leg hooked up on the other knee. She wasn’t showing me anything, but the trigger was cocked and the safety catch definitely off. When Gigi got up to look for her iPod, Gloria slowly put her raised foot on the floor and pointed the tunnel of her skirt at me, all the time watching her friend before giving me the merest glance to make sure I had noticed. The leg went back up when Gigi returned.

The 1950s and 60s pop and rock filled the room: Connie Francis, Brenda Lee, The Dixie Cups’ Chapel of Love, The Chordettes’ Mr Sandman.

“I’d like to play a game,” Gigi said, picking up a deck of cards. “We each take one card and the two highest go out on the balcony and kiss.” Gloria nodded and said, “Fine with me.”

They both looked at Richie Benaud. Gigi said, “Richie?”

“Yes, okay,” I said, thinking it was more than likely that I would be one of the two, and wondering what would happen if I wasn’t.

I picked first. The nine of diamonds. Gloria got the jack of hearts. Gigi found the ace of clubs. She and Gloria smouldered at each other and stood up. Gigi took my hand and said, “Come on. You’re the umpire. She led me out into the moonlight. The two of them stood close together and exchanged a brief peck on the lips.

“That’s what we call in cricket a ‘no ball’. Doesn’t count,” I said. “Do it again.”

“Perhaps you could demonstrate how to do it properly,” Gloria said timidly. She stood in front of me and put her arms around my neck. I put my arms around her waist and gave her a long, sensuous kiss. Gigi slapped my bottom to break it up, then pointed to her own pursed lips.

She replaced Gloria Swanson in my arms and her very different body pressed fleshily into mine. She kissed me ferociously and slid her breasts, stomach and thighs around my very receptive frame.

This time it was Gloria who broke it up, pulling us apart by the shoulders in a less playful way.

“Inside,” she said quietly. They motioned for me to sit down and Gloria took a folded piece of paper from her bag. She handed it to me and they both left the room, Gloria going back to the balcony and Gigi into the bedroom.

I unfolded the paper and read what was written in a neat, curvy woman’s hand. “Dear Mr Benaud. We two are firm friends who often like the same things. We both like you and we think you like each of us. We want you to choose.”

I pondered. Did I want the angular cuteness of Gloria or the decadent lushness of Gigi? Gloria’s potentially livewire ballerina or Gigi’s wholehearted wench? On that basis I could not choose. Could I have one and then the other? Or both together? If they had wanted that, surely there wouldn’t have been the note and the request.

It came down to character. From my knowledge of them so far, I thought Gigi would be less likely to be offended if I didn’t choose her. She had probably been playing second fiddle all her life. So shouldn’t I give her a break? No. Gloria would not be amused. As much as I would have liked to be charitable, pragmatism said it should be Gloria. And we all had another week in that town, so Gigi could have her fair share if she wanted to.

I was flattered, slightly embarrassed and fearful of ruining everything.

I walked to the bedroom door and knocked on it. “Come in,” said Gigi.

“You come out here, please,” I said as pleasantly as I could. As her footsteps approached, I walked to the balcony and beckoned Gloria. I made them sit together on the sofa while I stood next to the chair opposite.

“As you can imagine,” I began hesitantly, “I’ve been having trouble with this. I’m assuming you don’t want to do this all together.” They both fidgeted nervously. “I do like both of you, I think you’re both great company and you’re extremely attractive in different ways. Now I’m going to go in the bedroom and I want you, Gigi, to join me.”

I strode into the bedroom and there was a brief, mumbled conversation between the two women. Then Gigi came in and closed the door behind her. I took her in my arms and said, “Gigi, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” I kissed her tenderly and ran my hands down her back to her bottom, taking a buttock in my right hand. “I so want to make love with you.”

Gigi sensed something. “But…” she said.

“Gloria would be very pissed off, wouldn’t she?”

Gigi stepped back and said, “It’s okay, I’ve already conceded you. You’re right. She would be murder for the rest of the holiday. I told her I’d just explain it to you and then she can come in.” She gave me a little kiss and touched my surging penis. “Have a nice time,” she said as she turned and left.

There was another brief conversation between them before Gloria came in, smiling self-consciously.

“Two old women still getting locked in the eternal triangle,” she said. “Why would you be interested in either of us, anyway?”

“Because you’re gorgeous,” I said as I licked her slack, sinewy neck. She stroked my back and then stood back, wrenching the dress over her head with one slick movement. She was wearing a white bra and tiny beige panties. I drew her towards me and we kissed. She took hold of the top of my trousers and unzipped them. My naked cock found her hand and she gasped.

“So you were expecting to have one of us,” she said with a sly smile.

“I was hoping,” I corrected her. “A gentleman never presumes.”

“Does a gentleman presume he’s going to get a blowjob?” she asked.

“As I said,” I replied.

“Well you can start presuming right now, Mr Australian former test captain. I looked him up online,” she said as she slid down my body, got gingerly on her knees and took my cock in her mouth. “You can presume anything you like with me. Because I will do anything you want.”

We moved onto the bed and she repositioned herself before continuing to suck me.

“You will do anything?” I said playfully.

“Anything,” she replied. “What do you want?”

“I want to lick your arse,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“It will be the first time,” she said. “But sure, why not? How do you want me?”

“On all fours,” I said, enjoying what I was asking her to do and the pure animal nature of the position. A woman in that position, naked, is only expecting one of three things, maybe four. Or five.

Gloria got on her knees and made herself completely vulnerable to me. Her slim, pale body awaited my attention, my possible violation, my certain salaciousness. She was waiting for a man to lick her bottom, and she had reached the advanced age of 68 without experiencing it. I could see the apprehension in her tense body. I kissed her buttocks and slipped my tongue gently into her cushioned recess.

“Oh my God,” she said with pleasure as I began to work magic on her with my tongue. “God. Why has nobody ever done this to me before?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever asked? Haven’t you ever invited somebody to do it?” I asked.

“Don’t talk,” she ordered. “Just do it to me.” She shuddered as an orgasm swept through her. “Oh, you dirty, dirty man. You make me such a dirty woman. I’m ashamed of myself, but I love it. What is Millicent going to say?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Gigi Fernandez,” she said.

“Are you going to tell her?” I asked.

“She probably knows,” Gloria said. “She’s sitting out there listening. It was part of the deal.”

I remembered I hadn’t heard Gigi leave, but then I had my mind on other things. Gloria began to tremble again and sighed and then screamed as she came for the second or possibly third time.

“Enough,” she said, removing her equipment from my face and lying on her back. “Do me again tomorrow,” she said breathlessly. “Promise? I want that cock inside me working up a storm. Now, are you going to sleep here?” I nodded and kissed her gently.

“But…” I began.

“But what?”

“I haven’t come yet.”

“Oh God,” she said. “Silly old fool. I’m sorry, darling. Where would you like to cum? In my mouth? Come up here and do it. Wank into my mouth. God, you’re a dirty man.”

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