We were two girls in a foreign country. My friend Natasha and I were vacationing in Australia, traveling around for a couple of weeks on our own. Beautiful sites, warm beaches, attractive men. I was in heaven. But I have to say the men were the best part, with their sexy accents.
Which led us to our situation. Natasha and I were enjoying a night out at a pub when we met Michael. The bartender brought us a couple of frosty pints of beer, compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar. Looking that direction, my first thought was, "Those are the bluest eyes I've ever seen!" He flashed a sexy, mischievous grin as I gave him a slight head nod telling him to join us.
Over a couple more beers, we learned Michael was 32, owned a surf shop, was single, and loved straight-forward American girls. Natasha and I were both flirting full-throttle. I would trace my fingers carelessly along my plunging neckline, drawing his icy blue eyes to the inviting shadows of my cleavage. Natasha would run her fingers through her thick, wavy, chestnut hair, letting it cascade down her bare back, only interrupted by the delicate string tie of her skimpy shirt.
I could tell Michael was enjoying the attention, occasionally resting his hand on Natasha's bare back, or patting my naked thigh when I said something funny.
"Sorry Michael, I need to go powder my nose." I hopped off my barstool, grabbing Natasha's hand and giving it a meaningful squeeze.
Never letting me down, she chimed in, "Me too. Can you save our seats for us? We'll be right back." She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, providing him with an incentive to not find someone else while we were gone.
As soon as we were safely in the Ladies' Room, we both burst out into girlish giggles. "He's soooo hot!" I could feel my cheeks burning from my excited grin.
Natasha started reapplying her lipstick, "Okay, who's going to get this one?"
"Rock, paper, scissors?"
We shook our fists and counted to three. Damn! I had paper, she had scissors.
"Sorry!" But she clearly wasn't. Oh well, she's my best friend. What's good for her is good for me.
When we returned to the bar, we sat with her between me and Michael. I joked, but didn't flirt. She turned up the charm. The three of us had a great time for another hour. Before we knew it, it was last call.
Michael was smooth. He very honorably offered to escort us to our hotel. We, of course, invited him up to our room for a drink (we'd picked up some bottles of Shiraz along the way).
While he used our bathroom, Natasha pleaded, "Please stay here. I'll feel safer having you here too."
I laughed, "Sure, I don't care. It's this or sleeping in the lobby. But do you want me on the floor?" I gestured to the queen size bed we were sharing. It had been cheaper than getting two beds.
"No! There's plenty of room, if you don't mind."
"Nah, I can sleep through anything."
A bottle of Shiraz later, Michael was kissing Natasha on the neck. She was giggling. Pulling away she said, "Would you like to stay?"
"Of course!" He said in with his sexy accent, winking at her.
Natasha whispered, "Does it bother you if my friend sleeps in the same bed? I can't kick her out"