Chapter 4: Fun in the Sun and a Little Tradecraft on the Side

Mel hated herself in the morning. She always did when she’d had too much to drink. She found herself naked under the covers and she was extremely grateful that Hilley had had the common sense to get her out of there before she did something she would REALLY regret.

As she began to shake off the night’s dreams, Mel explored down her body. She could feel the mass of her breasts as they lay partly on her chest and partly on her arms. She hefted their weight and thought, “These will be around my knees when I am my mother’s age, but they’re fantastic assets right now.” As she looked down her body, she saw that her nipples still rock hard and huge. She was so horny she thought she might die. So, she explored a little further down and found a place she was looking for. A couple of minutes later she emitted a loud “Ohhhhh” and writhed for a couple of seconds. She felt much better, but she regretted the fact that the housekeeping staff would have to change her sheets.

Mel put on her robe. It was one of the fantastic new things that her job had helped her buy. When she got into the living area Hilley was up and fooling around with the high-powered laptop that she seemed to carry everywhere she went. Hilley was wearing a blue bikini which put her fantastic breasts and supple athletic hips on full display. Mel wondered how a woman could get cleavage like that without help from an industrial strength bra.

Hilley’s perfectly natural beauty and athleticism were plain to see, from her healthy full head of hair down to her neatly painted toenails. She smiled and said, “Good morning sleepy head. How do you feel?” Mel felt fantastic now that she had gotten her horns filed down. She giggled and said, “Wonderful! What a glorious morning. Are we going to the beach?”

Hilley said, “I thought so, whenever you are ready.” Mel loved the beach almost as much as she loved sex. She rarely got the opportunity to experience sun and sand in London’s East End but occasionally one of the men in her life would take her to Brighton for the weekend. And she read all of the magazines and watched the TV shows that talked about beach lifestyles. She said, “Wait a second”, disappeared into her room and reappeared five minutes later in her new bikini.

She had never owned a swimsuit like the one that she had on. Before this, all of her suits were practical ones designed for swimming. Those were all she could afford. This one was purchased strictly to display her spectacular little body. Hilley, with her golden skin would have looked trashy in something as bright as what she had on. However, it was a perfect frame for much darker Mel’s extraordinary beauty. The suit was a fluorescent coral color that contrasted perfectly with her dark skin, waist-length raven hair and flashing black eyes. Her boobs were not so much contained as they were “corralled” by the string top, which covered her big nipples but didn’t disguise a thing.

The top provided side-boob, top-boob, and bottom-boob views of Mel’s magnificent chest. The bottom of the suit was essentially a thong which covered her lady parts, but left her big muscular buns completely uncovered. Her extreme hourglass figure always made her look like she was slightly chunky unless you saw her with her clothes off. Short girls tend to seem stumpy in the ass and thigh area because they are so compact. Little Mel did not have an ounce of fat on her entire body and that fact was obvious when you looked at her slim, shapely legs and perfectly toned bottom in her new “sexy” suit.

Mel bounced to the door ready to get out to the beach. However, it was a three block walk and Hilley said, “Uh, you had better put something over that my little friend, or you are going to set off riots. Australian men aren’t used to a sight like that.” Mel giggled and said, “Oooops I forgot!” She disappeared and reappeared in short shorts and a pullover sleeveless top that had blue stripes on it like the spinnaker on a racing yacht.

Hilley meanwhile had put on her ten-year-old England National Team warm-up suit. The two girls walked down to St Kilda’s beach grabbing breakfast at one of the ubiquitous food trucks along the way. The sun in early March is not as hot as it is in January, but the weather was blowing out of the outback and it was carrying 80-degree heat with it. The girls sat on towels on the sand and ate their breakfast in the still intense late morning sun. When they finished, they shed their street gear and they both lay down on their towels in their bikinis.

He was sitting further up the beach with several of his mates. They were looking for female companionship as they always did on a Saturday morning when two dazzling women walked through the low barrier wall and onto the beach. The two women were obviously new to the area since nobody recognized them, and they were both so remarkable that they would have been noticed. None of the group could remember anything that spectacular in their long history of lurking there.

They were carrying some food that they had brought from one of the trucks on the Esplanade. The one in front was tall and had a face that was absolutely stunning in a perfectly arranged movie star sort of way. The other was short and almost as good-looking in an exotic, big-eyed dark Indian fashion. The tall one was a true cover model. Her perfect features screamed blue-blood Anglo-Saxon, but her coloring was dusky. The little one was dark and clearly an Anglo-Indian with the huge eyes and delicate features of that superlative mix. They sat together, talked, and looked out over Hobson’s Bay where a regatta for little sailboats was going on.

The two women finished and the tall one rose and carried the remains of their breakfast over to the trash can. She moved with the easy athletic grace that he had only seen in other Olympians. He noticed that she was wearing what looked like an authentic warm-up from his second Olympics and he had the fleeting thought that he had seen her before. To say that he was intrigued put it mildly.

THEN the two of them proceeded to strip down to their bikinis. The little one had proportionally the biggest pair of tits he had ever seen on a woman. Why she didn’t keep falling face down with that much weight was a mystery to him. However, the rest of her was tiny and she had a hard body, like all of the other 5-foot gymnasts he had fucked. The other one was glorious. She also had big tits, but they were like huge solid mounds on her chest rather than the usual hangy-down women’s breasts. The rest of her was like an anatomical drawing of the perfect woman’s body. She had a long narrow waist below her deep ribcage. She had a stomach with a milder female version of his overdeveloped six-pack. She had wide, womanly hips, but her flanks were rock solid as was her muscular back and butt.

But the thing that just blew him away was her shapely, full, muscular legs. He had been in three Olympics and he knew what those looked like. He couldn’t stand it. They belonged to a world class female athlete. He had to talk to her.

He was a national hero, and he was tabloid handsome. So, he was used to women throwing themselves at him. So, he thought he would saunter over and give this one a chance. He turned to his best mate Charlie and said, “Let’s go over and chat up those two Sheilas.”

All in all, Charlie was a good-hearted forthright fellow who might be a bit of a party animal, but essentially kind and decent, nonetheless. And he could always count on Charlie to have his back. Charlie played football for a living. The boy had never done well in school and it was lucky that he could make as much money as he did.

Charlie was his exact opposite. While he was tall slim and fair, Charlie was short muscular and dark. He was a swimmer, while Charlie played Australian Rules football. They were both tabloid figures with their own fans. But while his fame came and went every four years Charlie was currently Captain and one of the star Back Pockets on a very good Melbourne team. Charlie was a classic build for that defensive position, strong, fast, and extremely tough.

He, on the other hand, was well educated. He had an “honors” in civil engineering from Swinburne. At age 28 he knew that his days on the National Team were done but he still liked to compete in local events and his Individual Medley times were still close to his current Olympic record in that event. Because he was a swimmer he also had to work for a living. When he wasn’t training, he was a project manager for Caelli in Melbourne.

They were happy to have a national hero in their employ, but he was also very good at what he did, specializing in high rise construction. The two of them got up and walked down the beach to where the two women were lying and introduced themselves.

Neither of us requires sunscreen, but we want to keep our skin moist. So, we rubbed a little tanning oil on each other. The swaying of those massive boobs from my rubbing on Mel’s shoulders was getting hypnotic.

I had just finished wiping my hands on my beach towel when two men began to walk toward us. They were both late 20s and they were both completely yummy. There was a tall, aristocratic looking blond one and a much shorter and very muscular dark haired one.

The blond had a shock of thick bleached blond hair that he wore California surfer style, very long on top and short on the sides. He was perhaps six four, but he was slim with exceptionally broad shoulders and very long muscular legs. There was not an ounce of fat on him.

The way he walked and held himself and his general demeanor broadcast the fact that he was an elite athlete. He was extremely attractive in an “I’m in perfect shape and I know it” kind of way. He had deep grey eyes that were no doubt Irish given his exceptional good looks and the fact that a lot of them were “transported” here as prisoners back in the 19th Century.

The short one looked like a refrigerator with a head. He was maybe five foot eleven, but he was built like a locomotive, huge thick neck surrounding his round head; with his dark hair starting about three inches above his eyebrows and cut exceptionally short. It almost looked like fur.

He had huge heavily muscled shoulders and arms with tattoos all over them that seemed to be Maori a thick muscular chest and legs like two kegs of beer. He was clearly following his friend. He appeared to weigh at least forty pounds more than his taller buddy, even though he was five inches shorter.

I knew they were headed for us because the tall aristocratic one never took his eyes off me as he walked. He stopped about an inch from my towel and squatted down on his haunches looking at me. He said with wonder in his voice, “I have never seen anybody as beautiful as you.”

The little voice in my head which I suspect is my mother laughed heartily and said, “Well that’s a good start!” He said, “Let me introduce myself, I’m Bart” and he held out his hand from his squatting position. I didn’t know what to do except shake it and mutter, “Hilley.”

The other guy plopped down next to Mel, held out his hand and said, “I’m Charlie can we sit here?” Since he was already sitting on Mel’s towel and it would have taken a truck crane to move him that was more-or-less a moot point. Mel was delighted of course. She giggled and said, “My name is Melissa, but they call me Mel.”

She took his hands in both of hers while she looked him over like he was a steak dinner, and she hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. I think the hunger in her eyes actually put Charlie off his game because he suddenly looked nonplussed and withdrew his hand.

Both of them were eyeing us expectantly like we were supposed to know who they were. I said in my fruitiest Belgravia accent, “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that we know who you are. But we only arrived yesterday, and we haven’t sorted out all of the local heroes yet.”

That drew a laugh from the one squatting down next to me. He said politely, “May I sit?” I said, “By all means.” He sat on the towel next to me and said conversationally, “So where are you two from?”

I said, still keeping my vowels very long and dropping my r’s, “London, we just graduated university and we are here to start our careers.”

He looked amused and said, “Where is that?”

I said, “I’m starting an engineering job at Holden on Monday and Mel is a licensed solicitor in Great Britain. She’s here to get her licensure experience in the Crown Prosecutor’s Office in Melbourne.” They both looked amazed. I thought to myself, “Don’t Aussie women work?”

The one next to me said, “I’m an engineer too; Civil.” I gave him an approving look. The one next to Mel had a much more pronounced Aussie drawl, almost as incomprehensible as Mel when she is using her Cockney accent. He said, “And I play footie.” Mel looked puzzled and said, “Footie?” He laughed and said, “Australian Rules Football.” She said still puzzled, “Is that a sport?”

Both of them laughed. My guy said, “It is the biggest sport in this country and Charlie is one of its biggest stars.” Okay, NOW I got the reason why we were supposed to be impressed by HIM. I turned to my guy and said, “So why should we be impressed by you Bart? Be honest now?”

He said, “Well I MIGHT have won seven or eight gold medals as an Olympic swimmer.” It suddenly dawned on me why I thought I knew him. He was in the Olympic village in Beijing with me. He was called “the human torpedo” and he was an Aussie legend. He was also quite the lady’s man. I said, “Now I remember you. You were in Beijing with me.”

He said with some surprise, “You were there?” I said, “I was the backup goalkeeper for the English national team. It’s our biggest sport but English women are still a little too feminine to compete with the Americans, Germans, and Swedes. So, we didn’t last long. I never got into a game. But the pageantry was fun.” Now it was Bart’s turn to be impressed.

Charlie said, “Football? Women play football?” Okay!! Charlie was a blockhead. I said, “Yes and we sometimes even get our dresses dirty.” Bart laughed and Charlie looked confused. It was clear that Mel had about 50 IQ points of altitude on this guy, but she was looking at his biceps like she wanted to take a bite out of them.

He was amazed. This gorgeous creature was a world-class athlete like him. He stopped ogling her and looked into her eyes for the first time. He had been reading “Italian” because of her dusky skin when he was suddenly confronted by a pair of incredibly deep azure blue eyes. Those eyes were infinitely powerful and intelligent, and they looked amused. He got the feeling that he was dealing with another apex predator. It unnerved him.

He’d never been anything but totally in charge when it came to the opposite sex and he knew a lot about the female of the species and this one wasn’t being honest. For one thing, nobody that beautiful would be an apprentice design engineer at Holden. More important, her kind of powerful intelligence would find other things to do in life than automotive engineering.

He was very bright himself. You can’t compete in an individual sport like swimming and not have remarkable reserves of mental strength to power you through the moments when your body has already quit. But it was clear that this woman was much more powerful intellectually and mentally than he was. He noticed that she was looking at him speculatively, like she was sizing him up as a potential bedmate. THAT he liked a lot.

In the meantime, Mel was savoring Charlie. At first, she thought that she had drawn the short straw since this one seemed like a ball of muscle not attached to the brain. But she DID like his strength and from the bulge in his package she thought he might be worth working with. She lay back and subtly arched her back, thereby emphasizing her huge tits and beautiful hips for him. He did everything but drool on them.

She shaded her eyes and said, “So how does Aussie football work Charlie?” He launched into a long explanation about the game and the rules and the players and a bunch of other things she didn’t care about. But his boyish enthusiasm and total lack of pretense were very attractive to her.

Mel was used to lower class boys. They might be going nowhere in life, but many of them had a natural dignity, kindness, and respect for women, that she didn’t encounter in the richer ones - the ones she usually fucked. And this one was both lower class and apparently very rich and famous. It was a winning combination.

He seemed almost childlike. She had originally put that down to stupidity. Then he began to explain the complexities of the game that he played for a living, and she could see that he was as intelligent as she was. It was just a different kind of “applied” smarts. The more she listened, the better she liked him. The guy next door in Stepney had a bull mastiff. When she first saw THAT creature, she thought that it was a huge scary, stupid thing. Charlie seemed a lot like that dog, very intimidating on the surface, but sweet, kind and even gentle underneath.

Charlie’s accent was nearly incomprehensible. Apparently, that was the heritage of his birth on a sheep station near Ballarat. It told the world that his family worked in menial jobs. Mel’s true accent was Cockney, which was the speech of the London streets and compared to Hilley’s aristocratic drawl it was equally lower class.

The more she talked with Charlie the more attractive this big, plain-spoken, muscle bound teddy bear seemed to get. He was clearly enthralled by her. He couldn’t stop staring at her giant tits. She looked at that powerful body and practically licked her chops sizing up its potential. She decided that she would have a very good time during her stay.

Oddly, Mel seemed to be warming up to Bart’s friend. I was not paying much attention to the two of them because I was concentrating on Bart. But Charlie and Mel got up and walked toward the Esplanade together, with her holding his hand as they started out. They were obviously heading toward a car parked there.

Three quarters of the way over Mel’s new friend had gone from holding her hand to putting his hand on her back above her sashaying butt cheeks. As they crossed the boundary wall, I saw him shift his hand to one cheek. Mel shrieked and giggled. When he jerked the offending hand away, she grabbed it and put it back on her left cheek. He seemed absolutely smitten, just as any man who fell under Mel’s spell would be.

Unlike Mel, I know what it feels like to be the girlfriend of a tabloid star and I was wondering what hanging around with this guy would do for my mission. He had already told me the same thing that Kelley had, that I stuck out. And I knew that being too conspicuous could be the death knell of our efforts. So the last thing I wanted was to be photographed with the guy.

Then it hit me, “No it wouldn’t, it would be just the opposite.” The more I thought about it the more I realized that this was the perfect opportunity to sell our legend. If I turned up as the girlfriend of a prominent athlete nobody would suspect that I was ALSO doing something covert. Covert operatives head for cover; they don’t seek out the paparazzi. I was planning on fucking him anyhow, but the realization that he made excellent cover actually gave me and Mel a reason to be with both of them.

Mel and Charlie returned with a huge cooler and an odd-looking football. Charlie was carrying the cooler with Mel sitting on it holding onto the ball and looking as splendid as Cleopatra herself riding on her gilded barge. Charlie could have just as easily been carrying a tray with teacups on it for all of the effort he was putting into toting the food and Mel.

He put the cooler down with a weighty “clink.” Mel hopped off and Charlie opened a cooler full of the nectar of the Gods, Foster’s long necks ice cold. We drank beer all afternoon and into the evening, Charlie tried unsuccessfully to teach us how to hand-pass, bounce and kick an Aussie football. Charlie was a magician with the thing. I couldn’t get the hang of it.

He would run with it and 100-pound Mel would “tackle” him. They would both fall down laughing. It was cute. By sundown, Charlie and Mel had just settled for a bout of serious making out on the beach. Even that was sort of sweet. It was kissing, not foreplay.

Mel had turned sideways and had her arms thrown around the tree trunk that Charlie used for a neck. He was holding her in his enormous arms. Her extraordinary tits were squashed against his massive chest and pillowed out on the side between them. They would kiss for a long period and then just look deeply into each other’s eyes or talk.

Mel on her best day is hard to understand with her heavy Cockney accent. And Charlie’s drawl would be incomprehensible to Crocodile Dundee. So it was hard to tell what they were talking about, or even whether they understood each other. At least she hadn’t lapsed into Tamil, so far. It was just precious.

There was no heavy breathing, except while they kissed and no moaning from Mel. It looked exactly like what it was, two relatively simple and uncomplicated people getting to know each other in a way that they both best understood.

Mel relates to men in physical terms. I think that’s because she has always been so far above the people she normally hangs out with. This, there’s no appeal beyond the physical. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever had an actual boyfriend.

As they kissed and held each other, I could almost sense the special bond forming between those two incongruously simple, yet complex people. Charlie was a hunk in a dark, musclebound sort of way. Even though he was straightforward, he clearly had emotional depths and an intelligence that he kept carefully hidden from all but a few trusted people.

Mel was the same way. Looking at her, you would see an extraordinarily beautiful and incredibly sexy little woman with the bubbly personality of a well-mannered Yorkshire terrier. She kept her amazing intelligence and razor-sharp legal mind locked up in her beautiful head, hidden away unless she wanted you to see it.

I was getting to know my new friend Bart, but not by swapping tongues with him. After some careful thought I had decided to hold off on fucking him, even though my experience of the night before had left me wildly horny. I decided to just sit on my blanket with my arms wrapped around my knees and go the conversational route.

Mainly I wanted to ensure that I didn’t give in to my still raging hormones. He filled me in about everything in his life. He was the son of a reasonably well-educated man, whose first priority had been to ensure that the next generation had the benefit of a good academic grounding.

I think there is a tendency for the rest of the world to see Australians as a nation of either surfers, or Crocodile Hunters. They miss the outstanding art and cultural scene because Australia is so far removed from mainstream media. So Americans don’t have a grasp of the really outstanding number of world class universities down there.

Bart was a product of that excellent educational system and he was clearly a very intelligent and competent man. He had advanced degrees in engineering and a world-view that matched my own sophisticated upbringing. Of course, the fact that he had traveled around the world competing for his Country probably helped reinforce that global vision.

The swimming was a fluke as far as he was concerned. He had competed in that sport from the age of 8, just like a lot of the other little boys down-under. It was only that he was always so much faster. As his reputation grew his parents had entered him into more advanced competitions until by the age of 15, he was beating everybody in the Country.

The fact that he was almost fully grown at that age had helped. However he also had a freakishly efficient body that let him operate at peak performance longer than everybody else. That gave him an extra burst whenever he needed it.

Like most exceptional people, Bart didn’t feel like he had earned any of his gifts. They had always just been there. So his dominance in the sport was no big deal to him. He was much prouder of his accomplishments in the professional world. He turned and pointed out a high rise building on the river that he had built. He said, “THAT is something I am proud of.”

I looked where he pointed and there was a huge monolith, all lit up in the gathering darkness. I said, “You built that?” He said, “I was the construction manager for it. I lived and slept at the site for 11 months while it was going up and as far as I’m concerned it is my firstborn child.” I laughed, but I was impressed. He was only 28 years old and he could make something like that happen.

Bart had the kind of magnificent body that only a world-class swimmer can develop. The best word I can think of is “economical”, or sophisticated.” But another one might be “sleek.” It was rock hard, but the muscles themselves were smooth, not dense. He had all of the cut development of a swimmer, huge deltoids, and pecs from pulling himself through the water and core muscle area, six-pack stomach and obliques were like an anatomy drawing.

Still, it was his legs that were his extraordinary feature. Swimmers have to balance weight and drag against power and thus the legs of really outstanding swimmers are amazingly powerful without being bulky, the word “streamlined” comes to mind.

The muscle groups were all distinct, but there was none of the bulging biceps that his friend Charlie had. It was like looking at a Formula One racer next to a tank. They both had immense power, but the form was different because of their different function.

I was lost in envisioning what that body would feel like with my legs wrapped around it and I could feel my resolve slipping, so I turned to his face. It was chiseled and very patrician. The aristocratic image is something that has been passed down in the bloodlines of the English nobility. It features an elongated face and high cheekbones with the long delicate nose and chiseled chin of the Norman combined with a fair complexion and blond hair of the Saxon.

I probably look the same except my bloodlines are older, Celt-British. So I am darker. His eyes were the sexiest shade of grey, very similar in their impact to my deep blue ones. And they projected a satisfying amount of good humor and intelligence.

I like a man with a sense of humor and this one was full of fun. There were also energies in those eyes that I understand from the depths of my own soul. It is the intense competitive fire that drives certain people to excel past conventional boundaries.

I also discovered that he was rich, not my kind of wealthy, but richer than any of the other men I have ever wanted to fuck. I was surprised since swimmers don’t get paid. But one of the advantages of being a national hero is the endorsements and public appearances and those things had been going on for almost a decade. That loophole in the International Olympic Committee’s rules had helped him to roll up an eight-figure bank account, so he really didn’t need to work. He just wanted to. I began to see a lot of similarities between him and me.

They had built a fire and while Charlie and the little top-heavy one made out on their towel Bart sat and just talked to her. He wanted to take this slow because he was getting feelings for this woman that were new and strange and he wanted some time to see what that all meant.

He had never met a more beautiful or sexually attractive woman in his entire worldwide experience. His career had put him with every athletic woman in the world and he had fucked a lot of them. So he knew the distaff side. And he was a media star down-under, so he regularly had models and starlets throwing themselves at him. But he had never met the total package.

Looking at the firelight playing on her face, he realized that this woman was truly beautiful in a way that classic female beauty is defined. She had thick auburn hair that she wore medium length. She had the most gorgeous oval face with a sharp chin, high cheek bones and thin nose and wide, sensual mouth of a movie star. But it was those incredible, huge blue eyes that blew away all rationality when he looked at her.

Those eyes were anything but innocent. They conveyed a depth of passion and intelligence that he had not encountered in any person he knew, except perhaps himself. He had noted how big her breasts were, but the thing he could not get his mind around was how round, and solid and perfectly shaped they were sitting there in that little bikini top. The rest of her body was dancer not soccer player. She had told him that she had had intensive dance training and that was all that showed in her.

She might be an international soccer player, but the ones he had known in the Olympic villages did not have a tiny waist to go with their muscular hips and buns. This one’s waist narrowed so far above those ample hips that he thought he might be able to span it between his two hands. And her legs were not soccer player legs. They were the long perfectly muscled, full round and supple legs of a ballet dancer.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her body so he could see between those legs all the way to the place where her muscular butt provided the cushion she was sitting on. And that ass was to die for, jutting out in two round hills and attached to a muscled back and hip structure that conveyed vast natural strength.