Down Under Dreams 1

He was tired. Not tired in the physical sense, but tired in the way one can get while trudging along the same path for too long without relief or the comfort of a nice place to sit down and take the air. There is a vague dissatisfaction that can overcome one who does the same things every day, in and out. A job that's really not quite enough to engage his formidable intellect. A home life that has long lost passion and romance. Silent frustration and ennui, but the impetus of momentum has a force all its own.

A chance radio contest about a long dead TV show, a phone call, and suddenly the man held a ticket abroad. Not two or more, but one. And after a heated if slightly frustrating set of conversations and arguments found himself on a plane to New Zealand. Why such a place? His son had spun the globe and put a finger down, asking daddy to bring him something from there.

It seemed very unreal at first, contrived. Even as he sat there in the plane, he was unable to relax and smile as if convinced that at any moment his name would be announced over the loudspeaker and asked to deplane to go back to security. There was no little trepidation mingled with the satisfaction of turning his cell phone off and tucking it away as the plane took off.

The flight itself was unremarkable, save for the pleasant novelty of having the stewards bring the bottles of wine around over and over, refilling everyone's cups for free. He refused the first time, but after a while shrugged to himself and had just enough to leave him napping for most of the flight.

In the main Auckland terminal, things were buzzing. There were uniformed men with dogs sniffing suitcases here and there, security standing about, and everyone seemed to be gabbling to someone else very quickly arranging pick ups, drop offs. Feeling a little lost, the man headed over toward a car rental company and asked about a car, and recommendations of where to go.

The young woman at the counter smiled at him warmly with a hint of sympathy for his slightly mussed appearance and stressed tone. She arranged the rental of one of the rare automatics, with plenty of warnings about which side of the road to travel on. For a moment it was like finding a new friend, and the man confessed the whole mad adventure in a rush. No plans, no agenda. A week with nowhere to go and no one to do it with.

The bright faced girl laughed, and casually passed him a brochure for a small bed and breakfast on the opposite coast with a map for how to get there. "It's very popular with the fisherman," she explained. "Sometimes you can even swim with the dolphins as they come into the small bay there. My dad used to go all the time."

The rates were surprisingly cheap in the flyer, and fit the limited budget of his trip enough that the man found himself nodding over and over. It was settled then. She shook his hand, and the warmth of that simple touch seemed to steady him at last. The world seemed more real abruptly, more clear, and for a moment he felt charming once more as he thanked her.

There were moments, as he worked his way through town many kilometers below the speed limit, that he became glad no one else was with him. Twice he narrowly avoided an accident by slamming on the breaks, and the whole matter of right hand turns felt all out of perspective. But once on the open highway he found a radio station and fewer cars. The windows down, he found his spirits lightening still further as he sang at the top of his lungs while winding through the countryside.

It was late afternoon when he arrived at the small town on the coast, winding through only a few streets before seeing the sign for the Mermaid Bungalows, the destination from the brochure. The old man at the front desk grinned as if he were a longtime acquaintance returning, clapping him on the shoulder as he helped carry one of the bags out to a small beach hut.

The cove was small, and lined with similar small huts on stilts, weatherbeaten but still cheery in a rainbow of colors with wooden steps leading up to the front doors. Inside was a bedroom, a small sitting room, a bathroom, and an area that was impersonating a kitchen nook by virtue of having two burners and a small beer sized refrigerator. Still, everything was neat and orderly, and in a strange way calm.

"You'll be wanting to leave your front door open after nightfall," the old man advised. When the visitor protested about theft, security, he shook his head and opened the windows. "We've got protection," he said. "And you'll want the cool breeze to bring in your dreams. Gets hot here during the day, best fill the cabin up with cool air at night. Plus anything else." And winked, turning to go as he waved off a tip. "Enjoy, young man."

That evening, the man dined in the main kitchen area. The girl at the airport seemed to have it right. All the cabins had been rented out by men that talked to one another congenially of fishing and sailing. None lingered over dessert though, and all the men seemed to check their watches until disappearing abruptly back into their own cabins.

The man walked for a while on the beach, listening to the soft shushing of water on the sand, the wind in the trees that lined the cliffs on either side of the small cove. A few shapes passed in the distance down to the edge of the water and back. "They're restless too," he thought to himself, and then tried to think of nothing at all as he drifted back and up into his own bed.

His luggage he stowed under the iron frame just in case, but the wind was soft and fragrant enough that he took the old man's advice about the doors and windows open. Shucking his clothes, he lay back on the bed with only a sheet above him and stared long at the ceiling. There lingered on his thoughts a sense of, if not relaxation, then at least relief. Respite. His eyes closed, and he dreamed.

The touch was light along the top of the sheet, slowly running up his leg and over one hip to rest on his belly. A faint creaking of the bed as weight settled onto it was the only sound, not enough to fully wake him yet. The stroking continued, shaping his form under the light cotton sheet, feeling the planes of his chest and arms, and down once more to legs, feet. In the distance, seagulls cried as if startled, whirling once before winging off to new perches elsewhere.

Still the light touch wandered, grazing over where his penis lay against his hip but returning there over and over. His eyes opened, but only drowsing to see the dark head bent over him, breathing out warm, moist air that stirred him even through the sheet. His hand reached down, touching hair that was faintly damp and smelled of the sea. But it was still a dream to him, her slow smile to find him awake though it changed her actions not at all.

Again she breathed against his skin, stroking a now growing erection on either side before leaning in to rub her cheek against him there. Slowly with her free hand she drew the sheet down and away to fall over his feet as her face moved in to smell at the nest of curls there.

His eyes, half lidded, still watched her as she closed her own eyes and inhaled deeply of his scent. The hand that moved down his leg to pull them slightly apart was soft, almost cool though she warmed quickly to the touch of his skin.

It was the tip of her tongue that just darted out to taste him that woke him up thoroughly at last. His eyes opened widely, the hand on her hair shaking ever so slightly as his brain awoke at last with a faint hint of alarm even in the midst of melting pleasure. "Who are you? I can't do this, I'm..."

The rest of his protest died into a quiet groan as she opened her lips to take him between them. She licked around the head in little swirling motions, darting in to taste that tiny slit before running around the outside again. His hand tightened a little in her hair as though to pull her away, but the faint sound of pleasure she made at the gesture startled him back into stillness. His eyes searched the gloom, seeking out anyone trying to get at his suitcase, his belongings. But there was nothing, save in the distance the distinct sound of a woman crying out in muffled ecstasy.

Prostitute. That must be it, he thought, having forgotten until this moment the legality of it down here. Health inspectors, regulations, yes. That must be it. He should send her away, but found himself mentally calculated his budget. Tried to ask her what it costs, but there was no reply save her hand sliding down between his legs. He gave up words then as her mouth and hand worked together, still lightly at first. She licked him like a sweet, fingers slowly massaging his sac before sliding up and down the silky skin.

In an instant his brain decided to give up calculations. This was real, he thought. This was new, and different, and change. What could be the harm of once, just letting a stranger seduce him? Eyes closing, he seemed to relax all at once as she wrapped her lips around her teeth and took more of him in her mouth. Wet and wanton, she let the sensitive tip slide along the ridges on the top of her mouth to press against the back of her throat. His hands fisted in the sheet beneath him, and he moaned.

Again and again her head dipped down on him, the heat of his skin drying the tips of her hair. He found a rhythm with her, slow but sure as he guided her head deeper onto him. Once or twice he pushed deeper into her throat, and he held her there groaning with the pleasure of it until she pushed back to steal another breath. The faint edge of roughness pleased them both, soft sounds emerging from her that hummed lightly through the cock wrapped lovingly in her hand and mouth.

No sound in the night now save the soft sounds of her slurping, pre-cum and her saliva sliding down between his legs and over his balls as her hand and jaws tightened a little. She paused to lick at the sensitive spot just below his head along the back ridge, fingers tightening to pull his balls away from his body ever so slightly. He gasped, and tangled both hands now in her dark locks to push her down harder onto him.

Faster too, his limbs felt tingly with the rush of sweet tightening along his groin. Her tight lips slid up and down his shaft, dark eyes catching his to watch his eyes even as he watched her in return. She shifted more between his legs that he parted gladly for her, both hands working him now as she slurped hard upon him with her lips gone darker with the pressure upon them. Once or twice she would pause, raising up just enough to let him watch his cock slap lightly against her lips before swallowing him down again.

Fire and urgency built within him, and he began to push her into a rhythm that screamed along his nerves. Small, animal like sounds came from her throat as well as she worked him with a tight jaw, fisting him below her lips and pulling hard. He came like an explosion, half rising up off the bed in a few hard jerks. She kept her lips upon him, holding the jism that erupted in her mouth for a long moment before he felt her throat move, swallowing him. And more, as he flowed out with such quantity as though it had been weeks. Months. Years since a moment of satisfaction could blur the world around him so.

He fell back against his pillow breathing harshly, slowly releasing his grip on her hair as she cleaned him from balls to tip with tiny, kittenish licks. Now and then he'd shudder, oversensitive at the tip as she worked, but not ticklish enough to stop her. He closed his eyes as she shifted off the bed, dry scrubbing at his face for a long moment and feeling the blood pounding in his veins, slowing by degrees.

The floor creaked near the door slightly. "How much do I owe you?", he asked simply and unromantically as he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to look her way. But she was gone.