We had to wait about another four weeks until we managed to get together again. My son was away on his annual vacation with his dad when Guy came to see me in Ireland. By then, some pressure-cooked horniness had built up on both sides. I went to the airport prepared with two champagne glasses, chocolates, and the sparkling chilling in a wine cooler. This friendly welcome surprised even a daredevil like him. We climbed in the back of my van in the multistory car park. I had chosen a badly illuminated spot to have some privacy from prying eyes.
“Wow, lady, this is something else!” he remarked between sips in the back seat.
“This is what the Irish call Cead Mile Faĩlte.” I mumbled fiddling with his pants, “the land of the thousand welcomes.”
“You cheeky monkey!” But he liked it – I could tell.
“I thought you might be hungry when you arrive.” I shoved another yummy piece of chocolate in his mouth, licking my fingers seductively. Then I started to suck on him. He was moaning with pleasure, but inexplicably, he was nervous, looking over his shoulders from time to time. We managed to consume the champagne and most of the sweets, but not to consummate our love making since I was too afraid of being caught, as well. We drove home, knowing a long weekend of relaxation, seduction, and pleasuring each other lay ahead of us.
We tried out most of the rooms, including the kitchen counter and even the patio outside hoping my elderly neighbor Margaret ─ or her bachelor son – wouldn’t peep over the hedge to say hello. There was little sleep at night and lots of action during the day – me always wet and Guy ever ready. Ah, the titillation of the flesh…