Lisa's Skiing Holiday
Hi, my name's Lisa. I'll be nineteen in November, but I could easily pass for someone in their mid-twenties. I suppose the age thing might bother me as I get older, but for now, it doesn't bother me in the slightest.
When friends have said they envy my looks, I've thanked them for their comments and left it at that. Since my early teens, I wished I was blonde, but now I'm happy with my shoulder-length dark brown hair. It looks like the adverts you see for shampoo, and it's nice to hear people say it is my best feature.
I haven't had a lot of experience when it comes to men. However, I have had enough boyfriends to know what I consider good and not good. Most have fallen into the 'not good' category due to inexperience. I often fantasise about older men because the young guys in college are so predictable. They have no idea how to treat a girl properly. I am not talking about them opening the car door for me or buying dinner; I'm referring to sex, making love, call it what you will.
I've had one solitary orgasm while with a boy my age. I furiously rubbed my clit while he pushed his little penis in and out of my vagina. There were grunts and groans like he'd trapped it in a door, and I can tell you, it was not the best of memories.
I have this fantasy about losing my virginity 'properly'. By this, I mean the man includes me in the love-making. I would also like a distinguished older man who knows how to push all the right buttons, not a young lout with no clue.
I went skiing recently, my first holiday without Mom and Dad. It was my first 'adult holiday' experience ─ finally free from family jail. This doesn't mean my home life was terrible; it simply feels like something is missing. I have no idea what, just 'something.'
The two girls who went with me on holiday were my best friends. We seemed to hit it off immediately when I arrived in the neighbourhood at the age of seven. We've since been in the same classes throughout our time in school. We had sleepovers at one another's houses at weekends and dabbled at cheerleading and stuff. We also shared secrets. My friends can also look at least three years older when they wear makeup.
We planned to be at the ski resort for five nights, arriving Sunday and leaving late Friday afternoon. Stupid timing, I know, but it made it less expensive. We had been saving hard all year for this holiday, so we wanted to make the best of it while we were there. People who came into the hotel at the weekend paid almost the same amount for a Friday and Saturday night stay as we paid for five nights. It didn't make sense because we wanted all our spare cash for partying and skiing.
After unpacking, we checked out the hotel dining room for dinner. The place was already half full of people who looked like they had been on the slopes all day. Many looked exhausted and would probably have an early night before hitting the slopes again in the morning.
Surveying the room, I reviewed the men to see if any rang my bell--a distinguished, single, older man. A quick room scan showed I wasn't in luck this time.
The hotel had an a la carte menu, but they also had a smorgasbord-style buffet, a fantastic array of food, just like college, but ten times better. The buffet came at a price far less than a la carte.
The three of us joined the line, with me at the rear. I saw what I'd fantasised about as he entered the dining room and joined the line behind me. He was in his late forties or early fifties, with grey hair at the temples and a tan that had taken a lot of sun time to achieve. He was over six feet tall and looked fit.
The man's broad shoulders and narrow waist did not go unnoticed. I think he'd spent a considerable time choosing his clothes; they were both smart and practical. The white edge of his turtle neck beneath his cashmere sweater had the logo of a well-known ski maker. This man was an identikit picture from my fantasy. He looked good enough to eat.
I turned toward the front of the line, a little embarrassed. While I wondered if he'd noticed my bitch-in-heat behaviour. He smiled and said, "Hi."
I replied, "Hello," like a startled idiot and rushed to my friends' table. I almost tripped and sat down with a thump. They could see I was flustered but couldn't work out the cause of the high colour in my cheeks. They checked to see why I was embarrassed but saw nothing suspicious.
When I got to my room later, I undressed, jumped into my nice warm bed and fantasised about my older man. When I closed my eyes, I imagined him inside me. I had an incredible, no-frills orgasm while masturbating.
Following a good night's sleep, we were on the road by 7.30. The weather was from a picture postcard, a great start to the holiday. I didn't know that my first-day skiing would end in less than three hours.
With no dedicated ski training, it didn't take too long for my thighs to begin aching. The stress of skiing the slope for the third time ended with my skis facing the wrong way and me sliding down the hill head-first. The powder snow made its way down my ass crack, and I couldn't stop shivering.
My ankle had taken a wrong turn, and my back felt like I'd strained muscles alongside my spine. I didn't feel on top of the world, but I thanked my lucky stars that it wasn't worse. I said the same thing aloud to my friends when they helped me to my feet. Feeling sore and embarrassed, I said I'd catch them later when they returned from the slopes.
When I arrived at the hotel, the staff helped me put away my ski gear. I decided to warm up with a coffee. As I entered the house bar, I saw my fantasy man from the evening before. He smiled, looked at my slight limp, and said, "Trouble on the slopes?"
"You could say that."
"What happened?"
I explained my lack of ski fitness and my stumble. I also explained that I'd decided to call it a day rather than chance making the injury worse. My fantasy man's name was Jeff, and he was in the bar enjoying a cappuccino because he'd been at the hotel a few days already and wanted a break from the snow and too many people.
After introducing myself, he suggested a hot bath and a warm oil massage. "You will feel a hundred per cent better after that, Lisa."
I didn't comment other than asking the barman for a coffee, thinking the recommended massage sounded fantastic.
We talked for the next half hour as though we'd been friends for a long time. It was nothing like my conversations with boys in college. I knew there was every chance my fantasy might come true if Jeff was as good at everything else as he was at holding a conversation.
Jeff explained that his wife had died two years earlier from breast cancer. They didn't have kids, so when she was gone, he was alone. He's relatively successful, fit, and lives in the same city where I live. His fitness came from daily visits to the gym and being an amateur triathlete on weekends. This week off was the first time he had stopped work long enough to take a holiday since his wife died. Burying himself in work was his way of getting over his grief.
It had taken him over a year to come to terms with life following his wife's death. There was no drama as he explained the situation; he told it how it was. He had not been with another woman since his wife died, and his business had kept him so busy that he rarely thought about sex.
"Maybe only once or twice a day," Jeff had said with a cheeky grin.
I didn't feel the slightest pressure from Jeff's comments; it made me think that he might be my fantasy come true. I decided I had better have the suggested hot bath, or the aches and pains would still be there tomorrow, cutting a large hole in my available holiday time.
Having finished my coffee, I looked at Jeff and said, "Well, I'm going to take your advice and go for that hot bath. It's a pity the hotel doesn't have a masseur I could afford."
"Just call me when you've finished your bath, and I'll bring the oil. I'll be in room 571 when you're ready. I'm a pretty good masseur when I put my mind to it."
I smiled, said I might take him up on his offer and walked away as calmly as possible. My insides were doing backflips as I wondered whether I would call room 571 when I'd finished my bath.
When I returned to my room, I felt a chill. It was probably from seeing the snow outside the window. I turned the thermostat up ten degrees and began running the bath. A 'bath bomb' I'd brought from home had the foam a good foot above the tub before I knew what was happening. I thought about Jeff's offer as I stripped off my clothes.
Clouds of steam made the place warm as I stood in the bathroom. I waited a little while before jumping into the tub. It helped me to make up my mind. I stepped out of the bathroom, picked up the phone and called 571.
"Hello, Jeff, it's Lisa. I've decided that I'd like to take you up on your massage offer. My body is aching, and I think trying to loosen up is a great idea. I'm in room 633; come up in half an hour. I'm about to jump in the bath, so I'll leave the door off the catch, and you can come straight in when you arrive."
"OK, see you in a half hour."
My heart began to thud like I'd been exercising hard. I heard my pulse loud in my ears. I returned to the bathroom, slipped out of the hotel-provided robe and stepped into the hot water. I lowered myself into the tub until the foam aligned with my eyes. I cleared a patch with my arm and lay back to enjoy the soak.
I heard the room door open and then close again a short time later. "It's Jeff, Lisa. I'm early; I hope that's OK?"
