This is my first story on Literotica although I have published a few elsewhere and may bring them across if suitable.
Somebody famous (probably Mark Twain as he had all the best quotes) once said that fiction is always semi-autobiographical i.e. write what you know but I would be the first to say that David King is not me. I may have experienced some of the things that happened to him and I would have liked to have experienced more of what he did encounter but in the end this is a fantasy ergo fiction i.e. not fact.
Having said that: if 'Jess' ever reads this and can identify herself then I hope that she completed her project.
For those of you looking for a stroke book: go somewhere else. This is in the 'Romance' category for a reason although could equally have been in the 'Mature' category. It is long; the longest I've written so far but I hope those setting out will read to the end.
I'm English by the way so I write in English as it was meant to be written. Please use Google Translate for those of you who are separated by our common language.
Let me know what you think.
LBFM
Chapter 1
I'd been keeping it together all through the long flight trying not to think too much and just let the free booze and made-for-video movies numb my brain but I knew it would hit me sometime. However, the manner of the breakdown was a surprise; right out of left field. As I waited for my baggage at the carousel a young Chinese girl carrying an iPad approached me.
"Excuse me sir, would you mind answering a few questions about your experience of Hong Kong airport to help us improve our service?"
I'd been coming here for so long now that it was inevitable that they'd get me sometime and I couldn't really claim that I was in a hurry as the belt hadn't even started depositing the first bags yet.
"No, I'd be delighted to."
A slight exaggeration but it pays to be polite. The normal questions started flowing, the type where they give you options and you have to say which you think is the most accurate and as we neared the end she asked for some personal details and with it the killer blow.
"What is your marital status, single, married, divorced?"
I looked at her in panic, my tongue completely tied and my brain frozen.
"Emm ... I ... err ... don't know."
It was her turn to look confused.
"Sorry sir, I do not have that option here."
With that my resolve, to keep it in, broke and tears came to my eyes. The poor girl looked horrified so I turned away looking for the toilets and almost ran across the baggage hall. I'm felt that every eye was on me and I could hear the questions and comments.
"Mummy, mummy, why is that man crying?"
"Hush dear; he got a market research question wrong!"
I sat in the stall for what seemed like hours reflecting on the conversation I'd had two days ago. Conversation, huh, more like the closing remarks at a business presentation.
"So in summation ..."
Yes, she used the word 'summation'.
"So in summation, he's like a younger version of you and makes me feel young again."
Yes, "younger" would be the correct description, he's exactly half my age! If I did the pervert calculation of half one's age plus 7 then my wife is a pervert by three years. Not that she'd admit to it because despite being over 40 she looks 10 years younger and a certified MILF. I'm sure she hasn't told Steven her real age.
Over 40, that's her problem; despite how good she looks she's completely neurotic about it. The boob job was meant to help but that just brought into question other perceived imperfections so Botox and lip fillers followed and then an affair ... affairs ... who knows. Me, the stupid, trusting soul, working long hours and away from home for extended periods just to keep her (and me in all honesty) in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. I had given her ample opportunity to find someone to make her feel young again.
I should have guessed when she started going 'clubbing' or going away with her (single) girl friends or from the fact that she had started sleeping in the guest room because our old mattress suddenly gave her a bad back. One £1500 memory foam, orthopaedic mattress later and now it made her too hot. At least I did get to have sex with her on the one night she tried it, the first time in months. I didn't even twig when we met Steven (a football coach at the boy's prep school) in the street and she became very animated and invaded his personal space so much she was out the other side.
Dumb! Dumb! Dumb! That's me, by the way, but for whatever reason I wasn't looking for it. Too trusting by half!
So here I am, 52 years old, sitting in a toilet in Hong Kong airport crying my heart out over a failed 20 year relationship wondering how the hell I got here. It will never last they told us when we got together and there was only an 8 year difference but we were from different sides of the tracks, well different layers of a management hierarchy but you know what I mean. Well an 18 year difference even from the same side of the tracks will surely crash and burn.
Won't it?
What would I do if it did? She obviously needs something I can't give her. Maybe an elixir of eternal youth would work but I don't have one handy so I'm stumped. I, too, look good for my age but she's counted the tree rings and knows how many there are. So, if being a good husband and father and earning a good wedge, keeping it all together and never straying counts for nothing then I can't offer any more.
Trouble is; I love her too much. Well, I love the 21-year old petite girl whose gorgeous arse I saw walking away from me on the first day of the new job and later became my PA. I love the girl who I kissed for the first time 6 months later, 5 months after her wedding.
OK, so she has a previous conviction for adultery but then I was married at the time too but I had at least got past my first anniversary.
I love the girl who gave me a blowjob and swallowed my come in my car after a squash match and then followed it up by impaling herself on my cock in my office while the world went on outside. I love the girl who made me come four times in one evening the first time we made love in a proper bed. Does that paint the picture? It was fun, exciting, risky and as raunchy as hell.
That girl I love. What's she's become, I'm not so sure.
Trouble is: you get so used to what's around that you have no idea how to go on without it.
When finally I left the toilet my bag was the last one on the belt and they were just about to take it to the big pile of accumulated, left behind, shit that you see in every airport baggage hall in the world. How do people forget they've got a suitcase, or a baby stroller or a false leg?
The Hong Kong MTR system is a thing of beauty and quietly and quickly whisks you from the airport into the centre of Hong Kong. For those who don't know there are two parts to the centre of HK, the island itself and Kowloon which is the mainland and the two are separated by the harbour. Usually I stayed in the Intercontinental Hotel on the Kowloon side, with a spectacular view over the harbour but this time I was booked into the Holiday Inn on Nathan Road with a spectacular view of the air conditioning ducts of the building next door. I had whinged to my PA about this but apparently the Intercontinental and most of the other hotels were full for some convention and the bank would not run to the cost of the Peninsular. The Peninsular is an old, colonial era building and was a great hotel with a great view over the harbour until the Intercontinental and a couple of museums were built in front of it on reclaimed land but that's HK for you.
The journey to Kowloon takes about 20 minutes and I sat numb and staring for the entire journey. I walked to the hotel despite the heat; it takes 10 minutes or so and the humidity gets to you but a taxi would take longer due to the one-way system and crazy traffic. I checked in and dumped my bags, showered and changed and went back out for my HK arrival ritual of riding the Star Ferry over to Central on the island and then back again. I do it just to breathe in the smell, listen to the voices and look at the sights. HK harbour is the greatest skyline in the world as far as I'm concerned and is stunning at night and my jetlag just melts away in the 15 minutes or so it takes for the round trip.
Given my emotional state this time it didn't have the desired effect so I wandered up Nathan Road, one of the liveliest, craziest shopping streets in the world which normally energises me but I wasn't in the mood so returned to the hotel and headed to Harry's Bar on the first floor.
I'm sure that every hotel in HK has the equivalent, part cocktail bar, part knocking shop but it seems more obvious in Harry's Bar and I've never really noticed in the other hotels I've stayed in. The cocktail lounge is all relaxed seating and table service for families and business people but the bar area at the back is a different atmosphere although there are a lot of business men back there too. Not so many families though!
I just wanted a drink but felt uncomfortable sitting alone in a deep sofa in the lounge so headed for the bar, a horseshoe arrangement with stools against the bar and the outer walls. Surprisingly there was a free stool at the bar and I sat and ordered a beer and looked around at the lovely girls, many involved in convivial conversation with tired white guys. They were mostly Thai and Filipina but also a number of stunning blondes, probably Russian. At the open end of the horseshoe stood a couple of Chinese guys who looked to be the management. But not hotel management if you get my drift.
The last thing on my mind was to hook up with any of them so concentrated on my beer and it disappeared very quickly. Evaporation, I guess. I ordered another and stared at it to make sure it lasted longer this time.
The old guy next to me whispered something in the ear of the young blonde he was sat next to and left. 30 seconds later the girl did too, shooting a look at the management as she went. An inscrutable nod in return was the only response. I returned to my beer and my thoughts before they were interrupted by someone standing next to me.
"You want to buy me drink and talk about what's bothering you?" came a quiet, well spoken voice with an almost English accent instead of American.
I looked up into the dark, smiling eyes of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and all I could do was stare.
I have always thought South East Asian woman to be incredibly beautiful and sexy but the DNA in this girl was mixed with something else and the result of this fusion was incredible.
As I slowly marshalled my thoughts I managed to look at her more closely, despite my depressed frame of mind, there was a subconscious recognition that this was a perfect match for my inner definition of female physical beauty as the girl looking back at me ticked all the right boxes:
Malay, Thai or Filipina ... check but enhanced by the fact she was part Hispanic which gave her even higher marks in my eyes
Large, dark, almond shaped eyes ... check
Full sensuous mouth with an adorable over-bite ... check
Flawless complexion and little make-up ... check
Long black hair almost to her waist ... check
Small, petite breasts but not flat-chested ... check
Tight, compact bum but with womanly curves ... check
Well, I guessed the last as I was looking at her front but just knew that under the fairly demure black cocktail dress there would be a smoking hot body. However, I could see that she would tick another box; she would be much shorter than my 1.85m height as our eyes were almost level and I was sitting on a bar stool. There is something that appeals to me about petite women and I mean women not children, maybe I secretly want to dominate them with my superior physicality but I prefer to think that it is some innate protective streak. I looked at her eyes; they showed actual concern or maybe she was a very good actress.
