This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 3: When In Rome free porn video

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I knew Mel was all talk when she said she could easily leave Edwin in Caroline’s care. But I didn’t blame her. I just sat on the couch, next to Peter Fox, in Caroline’s luxurious apartment on the corner of Hyde Park, just over the Aston Martin dealership. He lived there now, on a trial basis.

“It’s a much shorter commute,” was all he said about that. I knew his home. The man liked marble statues, preferably with a penis or at least a six-pack. (No replicas of David, then.) He liked Persian rugs, Espresso machines that were only slightly more expensive than just buying a branch of Costa Coffee and that took three quarters of an hour to polish after brewing just one cup. And he had plenty of stuff like that in his manor house, where Mel and I had gotten married after a disastrous attempt somewhere in London. Have I told you about that? No?! Must be because I only ever tell that story to loyal friends. Passersby who just want a quick story out of me without reciprocating can make do with the CliffsNotes. Here they are: ‘I married Mel, after a day of mayhem.’ Never mind, let’s just move on. Peter and I listened to Mel and Caroline having a discussion in the nursery next door. A nursery that hadn’t been there two weeks before.

“So when he goes wha-whaaa-WHA, that’s usually when he’s tired, but not hungry. Or he’s missing a sock. He’s always missing socks.”

“I see...” said Caroline, trying very hard to keep her patience.

“More tea?” asked Peter, with a goofy smile.

“Yeah, we’ll be here for a while...” I sighed. I had another look around me. Caroline’s personal decorating style, at least in this apartment, had been: ‘understated quality’. There wasn’t much furniture, but what little she had costs more than most of the cars in the showroom downstairs. A Japanese lacquer cabinet, the mere possession of which was almost certainly a war crime in itself, stood in the corner and held a B&O flatscreen TV. B&O, the brand that has made me wonder how they haven’t gone bankrupt yet at least once a year since at least 1980. Vastly overpriced, technically outdated and ridiculously fragile and impractical gear, sold in shops that see less foot traffic than The Museum Of Prolapsed Sphincters. I guess selling Caroline Keller a telly once every five years was what kept them afloat. Their slogan, ‘Ærlig musikgengivelse’, must be Danish for: ‘Sold to the idiot with the platinum credit card!’

I’m pretty sure the sofa we were sitting on was the most expensive treat my buttocks ever had, too. But other than that it was just a lamp, a small side table and not much else, at least last time I came to visit her. Cream carpetting, obviously. Replaced bi-annually, or whenever someone spilled a glass of red.

Today it was different. Seeing the six foot teddybear presently lurking in the corner like a fluffy serial killer coming out of the lift had actually caused a neighbour to tut! Caroline had braved actual, out-loud tutting from a fellow resident! The next day people had observed deliverymen from Petit Bateau and similarly outrageously priced purveyors of baby accoutrements. Not that anyone here even blinked when the Harrods truck stood idling in the forecourt, but cardboard boxes for cots and bottle warmers were seen in the communal recycling bin and inquiries had been made to make sure ‘no unacceptable infant noise’ would be forthcoming from apartment 3c. Rich people ... the salt of the earth. And what happens when you salt the earth? Yes, everything withers and dies.

Still, the residents’ association would have no ground for complaints, because the nursery had been soundproofed. It also looked like the sales floor at Harrods, with many toys that Edwin wouldn’t be able to play with for at least two to three years and brand new furniture. Peter told me Caroline had spent in the area of twenty-thousand pounds to prepare the apartment for Edwin’s arrival. Which I will be the first to admit is obscene, except for her it just meant buying a few less pairs of shoes and frocks this week.

Look, I love my pet dragon. I really do. And I see all her eccentricities, trust me, but I also see what her world is like and how she goes out of her way to make it better for others. She’s earned all the money she spends, she really has. And so it is hers to dispose of as she sees fit.

Another snippet of Mel’s good advice drifted into the room while Peter was brewing more tea.

“So just use your wrist to gauge the temperature. Like this. Couple of drops.”

I guess Mel was telling Caroline how to check the temperature of the milk.

“Well, I was actually going to use this three hundred pound infrared bottle heater. See, it has a thermal imaging camera. If it’s orange, it’s supposed to be fine,” answered Caroline. I just toppled over and tried to smother my laughter in a six hundred pound throw pillow, but I was a bit too late.

“Something funny, Martin?” asked Mel, sounding annoyed.

“Yes! You two! Mel, let’s leave these people alone. Edwin needs to start his afternoon nap and he couldn’t be in better hands. You know I like to take my time getting to the airport.”

“I could always arrange the jet,” said Caroline, as they both appeared in the living room.

“Leave the jet where it is. We’ve got first class tickets to Rome and our suitcases are already at the airport. We’ll be fine. But we have to go!”

Edwin was sat on Caroline’s arm, perfectly happy. She has an incredibly calming effect on him. The only other person who can do that is Kate.

“Yes, please fuck off, the pair of you,” said Peter, emerging from the kitchen with two mugs. “And I mean that with much love and respect, obviously. But seriously, hop it. It’s a baby, not a portable nuclear missile. We’ll manage, or we’ll call Kelly’s mum.”

Peter can say these things and get away with them, because he’s a very charming man. He kissed Mel as if she were on her way out and gently steered her towards the door. In doing so he caught my eye.

“Oy, Captain Awesome ... Gerrout.”

That was to me. I can think of worse nicknames, even if the delivery was dripping with sarcasm. I got up and kissed Edwin one last time, then Caroline.

“Bye. Be good. Don’t cause a fuss over nothing and drive everyone up the wall, okay?” I said.

“He won’t, I’m sure,” said Caroline, tickling Edwin’s other cheek.

“Wasn’t speaking to him,” I said, very pleased with myself.

“Bye Edwin. Be nice to Uncle Peter and Aunty Caroline, okay?” cooed Mel, until Peter and I both placed one hand under her armpits and gently dragged her into the hallway. Caroline made Edwin wave as Mel simultaneously giggled and wept. Luckily she was fine by the time the lift delivered us in the tiny, but expensively marbled lobby. I texted Ali, my driver, who had been circling the block. I have a shortcut set up on my phone: rfp. That becomes:

“Ready for pickup.”

The answer came in a millisecond.

“Took you long enough. On my way.”

He has shortcuts as well, you see. Yeah, my driver has an attitude problem ... But let’s face it, he’s not the only one.

First class on British Airways is nice, but nothing out of the ordinary. Big leather chair, very nice lunch, some silly toiletries I’ll never use and then you’re there, on a short international flight from London to Roma Fiumicino, also known as Leonardo da Vinci. That’s quite obviously a marketing gimmick, though. And a useless one at that: who the hell picks their destination based on the name of the airport? If that’s how it worked, Batman airport in Turkey would get a lot more visitors than it does, not to mention more stag parties showing up in Moron airport, Mongolia. Conversely, Mafia airport in Nigeria might just as well shut down and the same goes for Asbestos Hill and Crooked Island, both in Canada. But it doesn’t work that way, which is why Bogota Airport, Butler Airport, Perm Airport and Pocos de Caldas are all perfectly happy with their IATA codes BOG, BUM, PEE and POO. Though I suspect flughafen Sembach in Germany may have paid extra for SEX, just to amuse the 17th Air Force.

Anyway, Fiumicino sits thirty kilometres from downtown Rome, and like anything Italian it is noisy and fairly disorganised but somehow charming. Don’t underestimate Italians, tempting though it may be to believe the stereotype. They’ve managed to keep the country going without any sort of functional national government for decades and they manage to build sports cars and vast numbers of very nice Fiats and Alpha Romeos, which in terms of logistics is no mean feat. They also build high speed trains, but the Dutch ministry for transport isn’t talking about that, ever again. (I am: we bought a train off them that couldn’t handle rain and snow. Or rather, we forgot to mention it should be able to handle that and so we got a couple of carriages that might as well have been made out of tin foil. They lasted a year. Looked nice, though.)

There’s an express train that runs straight to Rome Termini, but the reservation website is about as reliable as a Swiss FIFA chairman and the area around Central Station isn’t where you’d want to be, anyway. Unless you like the smell of exhaust fumes and interacting with the sort of bewildered people who carry placards with them, that is.

A perfectly nice local train also runs from Fiumicino to Rome, but for reasons known only to Italian civil planning committees it doesn’t actually go anywhere you’d want to be as a tourist, so you need to transfer, luggage and all, to the subway at one point. I’d have done that, but as Kate carefully explained (by bellowing in my ear for five minutes) I am a millionaire who should stop acting like he’s some flea-bitten backpacker, especially when I’m finally getting around to taking my gorgeous wife on a honeymoon for which she was long overdue. Fair point, really. I just needed reminding. You can take the Dutchman out of Holland, but...

The thing is, I wasn’t actually being cheap: I just wasn’t looking forward to dealing with a local cab driver. An ITALIAN cab driver. Think about that for a second. A cab driver AND HE’S ITALIAN! Dante missed a trick there, when he came up with his depictions of hell.

Luckily Keller & Fox is also a great travel agency and so Mel and I were met right after customs and baggage pick-up by a slender, cheerful young man with a thick black mane, who immediately began to flirt with my wife. As in, two seconds after he clocked us. But I know Italians: it’s just politeness with them, most of the time. You compliment the host on the quality of the food and you flirt with a woman to demonstrate you were brought up well. Mel found it amusing and I am pretty much the last person on the planet who is allowed to be jealous when my wife is being chatted up. She lets me get away with far, far worse.

Rome has a lot going for it, but I wouldn’t call it a beautiful city. I’d call it a fairly pedestrian city with a lot of amazing monuments in it. It’s been around since time immemorial, but by now only the monuments have (mostly) survived decades of fire, flooding, wear and tear, so most Romans live in fairly new, bland apartment buildings. We all like ornate facades with stone carvings but few of us can afford to have them made or maintained, so these buildings were simply plastered and painted pink or brown. Paris looks much better, if you ask me. So does Amsterdam. The typical Italian Cypress trees were everywhere, though, and the city has a lot of green spaces. The touristy bits are okay, obviously. But you can live in Rome and spend your days seeing nothing but boxes. Still, it’s the same in parts of London, I suppose.

Rome is quite manageable on foot, especially if you are a nineteen year old tri-athlete. If you’re not, the subway system is a Godsend. Unlike London or Paris, where you need an advanced degree in trigonometry to figure out your trip, Metropolitana di Roma has just three lines. It also has just three stations where you can transfer, so making a mistake is nearly impossible.

Most of the tourist attractions are on the east side of the Tiber, which meanders through town much like the Thames does back home. Only a few sites, including the Vatican, require you to cross the river.

We had booked an apartment in the fanciest neighbourhood (although that depends on how you rate the Vatican), Tridente. That’s where the Spanish steps are, and all the shops for people like Caroline. Via Borgognona is in a pedestrian zone, which is nice unless you’re dragging your luggage around with you. The paving stones are bluish and run past dozens of designer boutiques, fancy restaurants and expensive hotels. However, at number 22 there is only an unassuming double wooden door with a copper plate that has six doorbells, an intercom and a keypad. I found it after just fifteen minutes of pacing up and down the street, because for some reason the house numbers ran like this: consecutive numbers from low to high on one side of the street, then back again on the other side. So whereas you’ll usually find number 22 more or less opposite number 21, in this case it was opposite number 380! And this after a staring contest with our driver, who had expected more of a tip. He’d just slipped his mobile number to Melody and then he wanted ME to tip him! Plus, it turned out he had dropped us off at the wrong end of the street.

All in all I was relieved that entering the four digit access code from the email I had been sent unlocked the door in one go. We entered a dark, cool hallway where a motion sensor spotted us and activated a fluorescent lamp. Next to a row of six mailboxes (the mailman knows the code as well) numbered 101 to 109 hung a small, black lockbox with another keypad. The second code opened it and revealed a house key.

“Thank God for that,” mumbled Melody. She had found the flirting amusing, but the flight and the search for number 22 had worn her out. We didn’t have many reserves, being the parents of a one-year-old.

“Nearly there,” I said, turning to the next hurdle: a double stairway to the first floor. No lift. I hoisted both our bags upstairs while Mel went ahead.

“Left here,” she said, as I emerged at the top of the stairs. She opened a green door at the end of a marble corridor and went straight on to use the bathroom.

The apartment was nice. As promised we had a view of the street, a cosy kitchen, a flatscreen television I would probably not use even once and a bedroom on the other side of the house, out of the sun. The first thing I do when I enter a hotel room or an apartment is to check for bed bugs, so I did that rather thoroughly while Mel was on the loo. It was fine. The bed was neatly made. Just one pillow, but there was another one in the closet.

“Lots of personal stuff,” said Mel, when she came to look for me. “Family pictures.”

“Someone lives here most of the year, I guess. They bugger off when they can get a booking. It’s nice though, isn’t it?”

“If you say so. I’ve only seen the loo. Look, Martin, do you mind if I take a nap? It’s only four in the afternoon but I’m...”

Tired as a dog. I know. She looked it, to be honest. Having a child is one of the quickest ways to turn a lovely young woman into an animated cadaver. Okay, that’s crude. She was still stunningly beautiful, even though her breasts now had dents in them and she needed all her expertise as a makeup artist to hide the bags under her eyes.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll step out and get some shopping in.”

“Shopping? We’re dining out! I won’t sleep THAT long!”

“No, I mean just the essentials. I didn’t bring tea, we probably want some jam and crackers in the morning, stuff like that. I’ve checked the kitchen: it’s nearly empty. Say, did you see a complimentary gift basket anywhere? Or a folder with some information about the house and the wi-fi password?”

Mel was already stripping off. She sleeps nearly naked.

“No. Like I said, I’ve seen the loo and the hallway. If you give me an hour I’ll be right as rain, okay?”

“Sure. But I’m taking the key, so if you decide to leave the house you can’t...”

I don’t think she was listening by that point. She pulled back the duvet, stepped into bed and was snoring before she managed to pull up her left foot from the floor. I smiled, did it for her and quietly went outside.

I wandered around the neighbourhood until I found a tiny Spar supermarket. Spar is a supermarket chain that specializes in small branches. They could fit one in a public loo if they had to, but I’ve always wondered what they’d do if they were given a regular size store. My bet is that would be hilarious: they’d struggle to fill it, like a recently released prisoner in his first rental apartment. Their tiny freezers and miniscule checkout stations would look ridiculous. Their staff, only being used to walking sideways like crabs, would scurry around like scared cats and be confused by the fact they now had more than one of anything. ‘TWO brands of tea? TWO types of biscuits? This is madness! OH MY GOD SHOPPING TROLLEYS!’

I did the sideways shuffle past half a dozen old Italian ladies with expensive perms and sunglasses they kept on indoors, as I gathered some snacks in a tiny basket. Some bottled water, tea, biscuits. I’d nick some sweetener from the first cafe we’d visit, that would be soon enough. A jar of jam, a packet of crackers and a bottle of orange juice made valiant attempts to hide from me, but I’ve been in stores like these before. They’re not arranged by food type or even by broad categories. They’re arranged by the principle of ‘this is how we’ve done it since 1963 in this location and if we change it all the seniors who keep us afloat will have a stroke’. The cashier seemed offended by the fact I was buying Signora di Marco’s orange juice and Julio’s cookies (they hadn’t been in yet and I had the last one of both) but eventually allowed me to run my card through the cash register. Bless the European Monetary Union, which made it possible to use my bank card in the exact same way as back home. Americans may not be as familiar with this feeling, but Europeans over a certain age remember how a trip abroad would require a visit to a bank a few days in advance to get a supply of Danish Krone, Spanish Pesetas or Italian Lire, not to mention some gas money for the countries you’d pass through on the way there. Only idiots use local ‘bureaux de change’, you see? You’d be doing sums in your head all day and come home with a useless collection of small bills and coins, which you’d keep in a jam jar for the next trip. Glad to see the back of that system.

I gave Mel as much time as I could, but after an hour and a half the plastic bag was cutting into my fingers and I wanted a cup of tea. When I opened the door to the apartment I was greeted with an enthusiastic call from the bedroom:

“There he is! Come fuck me!”

“Oh, you’re awake. You could have called. I have a phone, you know.”

“I thought you were having fun. Looking at statues and stuff.”

I put my bags down on the kitchen worktop. We don’t usually yell at each other, but if you can’t have a nice yell in Italy then where the hell can you?

“Looking at ... You’re an art history major!”

“Flunked. Where the hell are you?”

“Kitchen!”

“That’s not where the fucking is!”

Okay, so no tea for me. I hastily downed a glass of orange juice and reported for duty. Mel was no longer naked, but this was almost better. She was lounging on the bed in some very expensive looking white lingerie, including a teddy so transparent I only saw some floating stitches.

“I showered,” she smiled. “But I’ll eat you raw.”

Then she sat up and grabbed my belt buckle. I was wearing jeans and a buttoned shirt as ever, with a cream jacket to hold my wallet and hide my embonpoint.

“I could give it a rinse,” I said. “Won’t take a second.”

She kept pulling me onto the bed.

“I’ll blow you later. For now, I really, urgently, need to be ploughed. We have to use a condom, I’m afraid. I’m back on the pill but I’m still irregular and I don’t trust myself yet. Don’t worry, I brought some with me.”

She opened a night stand drawer and produced a Durex box with twenty-four condoms, still wrapped in foil. (For obvious reasons those boxes aren’t called ‘family size’, but they are.)

“Jesus! Twenty-four? You can get ‘em three at a time you know!” I laughed, as I finally fell onto the bed. She crawled on top me.

“We’re not going home until this box is empty,” she said, grinning. Then we kissed. That was the one thing we didn’t stop doing, but the rest of our sex life had been a disaster ever since Edwin was born. It had taken her ages to recover from the stitches and even then we were just always so tired. Her more than me, because at the end of the day he needed his mummy a lot more than his dad. And let’s be fair, I had Kate to look after me. For me it wasn’t so bad, but for us, for our relationship, it had been rough. And I was pleased she was so eager to rekindle it.

“Okay, so three times a day, one for each hole, that’s four days. But that does mean we’ll have to have sex at the airport on our way back,” I said, trying to be funny. The joke was the ‘one for each hole’ part, because Mel doesn’t do anal. She’s terrified of it. I never cared for it either but Kate is fond of it and I’m over the shock by now. She prepares for it and we always use a rubber, so it’s fine.

Mel didn’t take the bait. She knows I’d never ask her for anal, much less spring it on her.

“You mean six times a day in my hot, wet...”

She nibbled my ear.

“ ... shaved, tight...”

Now she was fully on top of me, restricting me with her legs and grabbing my wrists. That was fine. It’s nice, when it’s your horny wife who does that. Less so when it’s an armed robber in a back alley, obviously. And very confusing if they turn out to be the same person, I dare say.

“ ... pussy. It’s all yours again. Grand reopening.”

Mel and I usually talk when we’re having sex. Kate just wants to kiss. I love kissing, but I’m fine with talking as long as it doesn’t get too mundane. If you start to bring up the fact we need a new dishwasher I’m calling time. It’s just that Mel LOVES fucking and for all my physical limitations I do have one strong selling point: I can fuck like a circus freak. Seriously, I’d be a great porn star. Any position, as long as you like. I ejaculate almost at will and that means I can go for as long as it takes. Mel loves to rotate through a number of positions and when she’s good and ready for the finale she’ll let me know. That used to be after only two or three minutes, because she thought I’d probably be exhausted. But then she found out I can do five or even ten minutes easily and boy does she take advantage of that!

We started off with me on my back. She put the condom on for me and gingerly climbed on top. We took a few minutes to get started, because she wanted to be in control of how much of me was in her at any one time. Melody looked downright worried as she lowered herself over me, determining the pace. First it was just the tip, but after a few minutes I was in halfway. We’d fuck for about ten to fifteen strokes, during which she would evaluate if and how much it hurt, and then she’d lower herself a bit more.

“Are you in all the way?” she asked. Now that’s a question we all love to hear, don’t we, guys? In this case I understood where she was coming from, though. She was so nervous, it was hard for her to read the signals from her own body.

“Two thirds, I’d say. Look, if it hurts don’t...”

“Doesn’t hurt. It’s just ... It’s different. Am I nice and tight for you?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful. I can’t tell the difference.”

“Really?”

Really, because all pussy feels more or less the same if you’re wearing a rubber. I decided this would not be a good moment to share that bit of trivia.

“I’m not as wet as I used to be,” she mumbled. “Guess that’s broken, too...”

I gently took her face between my hands, forcing her to pay attention.

“Mel, nothing is broken. It’s just nerves. Let’s kiss and not worry about how many centimetres I’ve got inside you.”

And so we kissed, even though I couldn’t get her to stop trying to lower herself a few more millimetres. After a few minutes, I stopped.

“Mel, sweetheart, don’t obsess over this.”

“I want to fuck! God damn it, it’s been almost a year! I know Kate keeps you busy, but I’ve really been looking forward to this!”

She rolled off me and we continued our conversation on our sides. I played with her dark hair. She has a natural afro, but sometimes it’s curly and sometimes it’s almost straight. I shudder to think what horrible chemicals are needed for that, but she’s a professional makeup artist and hairstylist. I have to assume she knows what’s she’s doing. I like the afro, really. I don’t mean she has one of those microphone-shaped heads, like the Jackson five. It’s still styled, but her hair has a helix shape and its fascinating to run your fingers through it. The secret is ‘apricot castor oil’, apparently. Us men have no idea of the expense women have to keep themselves looking good. I spend fifteen quid a year on razors from Lidl and that’s about it.

Melody, having been blessed with gorgeous brown skin, doesn’t use much makeup, but her eyelids are usually slightly blue and she uses a bit of eyeliner. God knows what she does to keep her eyebrows so thin and perfectly styled, but it must hurt like a bastard. I have some grey ones that grow in a weird angle and when I ask Kate to pull them out I usually end up teary-eyed and cursing under my breath. Imagine doing a few hundred each month!

“I used to get wet when you so much as looked at me,” she moped.

“Surely you didn’t think that was going to last? Be glad you’re not dry-heaving.”

“Hey! Don’t insult my husband! There’s a bloody queue for him, you know!” she smiled. I ignored that.

“Sweetheart, haven’t you ... explored things in the past year? I know you’ve been tired, but didn’t Susan introduce you to...”

The joys of the dildo. I couldn’t quite bring myself to complete that sentence. Not since I got hit in the face by one, which belonged to Kelly.

“Yes. Of course I play with myself, Martin! Like, almost every day. But I play with my clit, you see. I don’t actually stick my fingers up there.”

She held up her left hand, showing me her immaculate fingernails. I couldn’t tell if they were real or not but I guess they weren’t because she then said:

“Don’t want to lose one of these up there. And to be honest, I tend to think of that as...”

“As what?”

She blushed. I know what to look for and she very clearly blushed.

“As ... ahem ... reserved. For you.”

Mel has a submissive side to her, which sometimes catches me unawares. She knows I don’t care for it and I don’t really know how to handle it, either. So I just leaned in, kissed her and said:

“Well, my nails don’t come off. And I cut them regularly. How about I have a little play with you?”

“You sure?” she said, sounding worried.

“One finger at a time. If I’m honest I don’t feel all that much through a condom, so I can’t tell how you’re doing. But my fingers are fine.”

“Okay then!” she said, and rolled onto her back. I scuttled around to find a position I’d be able to hold for a while. That took some doing, as I’m right-handed and the best position is where I’m facing away from her.

“That’s okay,” she said, spotting my conundrum.

“No, I need to see your face. I’ll do it with left, that works too,” I said, crawling around her.

“Or we do THIS,” she said, kicking up her legs and curling her back. She hooked her elbows behind the back of her knees and then reached for a pillow, which she positioned under her lower back. She was right, this was a great way to spend some quality time with her pussy.

“There’s no way you can hold that position for more than a minute!”

“Try me. I practice yoga, remember.”

“Yes, all of six lessons so far.”

“I practice at home, while Edwin naps. Go on then!”

I tucked the second pillow underneath her, double-checked the edges of my fingernails and then ... I decided I’d rather do something else. And so I began to kiss her there, just the outside for starters. The inside of her pussy is lovely and pink, but the labia are much darker. Very convenient if you haven’t got your reading glasses on, actually.

“OOOOH! I like that! But weren’t you going to ... ungh ... going to ... oooooh fuck, yeah...”

“Isn’t the idea to see if I can get you wet?”

“Yes...”

“Let’s just see if I can do it without using my hands first.”

I actually folded my hands behind my back and dove in. The idea was to show her we could have all sorts of fun, to restore her confidence that nothing was broken. Different, probably, but not broken. For a second I imagined the top of Edwin’s head peeking through, which put me off, but then I saw Mel’s face as she stared at me. She trusted me, in fact she relied on me to help her through this. And she is my wife, after all. So I manned up and kissed her there as if my life depended on it.

Three minutes later we were both one hundred percent sure she could get wet. Extremely wet. I reached for my shirt, because I urgently needed to dry my face. I began to slip in a finger, but suddenly Mel’s eyes opened wide.

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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 15 Call of the hunter

Today Sinterklaas arrived in The Netherlands! If you have no idea what that means, why not read my short story ‘Best Sinterklaas Ever’, available on this very website? It predates the events in ‘Best Sister Ever’. – RD Having all that security gear installed in my house made me a tiny bit paranoid, I don’t mind telling you. It’s not as if I’m planning to assassinate the Queen or overthrow the government when I’m pottering about in the kitchen, but my private affairs are rather unusual and I...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 7 Miles from Home

The last time I was at Hamad I had been escorted off the plane soon after landing. This was much better. For some reason we didn’t use a jetway to get into the terminal building, so I was treated to a blast of the familiar heat of Doha. It felt strangely comforting, for some reason. It’s not quite the same as the heat of Los Angeles, or Las Vegas. Maybe it was because we were so near the sea. For the first few seconds it felt a bit like a warm hug. Isn’t that odd? An airport bus drove us to...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 18 Teach her a Lesson

I suppose it’s only normal that you take on the English accent to which you are most often exposed. In my case it started when BBC 1 and 2 were made available on the Dutch cable network. I loved almost every show they put on and that shaped my theretofore rather unremarkable Dutsj Ekssent. Well, Lexy grew up watching shows and films like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Beverly Hills 90210, Clueless, The Twilight Saga and related TV trash. Not every character on those shows speaks Valley Girl, but...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 2 I Spy With My Tired Eye

Saturday June 27th, 2015. Dallas Road, Ealing. “Good morning.” “You’re up early?” said Kelly, who I found scooping yoghurt into a bowl of muesli when I sauntered into the kitchen. She’d spent the night at my house, in her own room. “Are you kidding? It’s five minutes past eight! I’ve been staring at the ceiling for half an hour, trying to get back to sleep.” “Well, give it another go. Or give me ten minutes and I’ll come and wear you out.” “Cheeky cow,” I muttered, as I filled the tea...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 8 Now Pay Attention 327

I signed another document and followed Miles into a cavernous space, which was rather dark. Two men in lab coats scurried away. Miles waited until they were gone and then flipped a switch on the wall near the door. Bright lights in the ceiling clacked on and unveiled a turning plateau with a car under a black tarp. I could see the tyres, but not much else. Miles and Hugo shot each other a look and grinned. “Carstairs! Your new vehicle! Feel free to do the honours.” I stepped onto the...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 10 Come on Saudi Letrsquos Go Party

I woke up around eight in the morning, an hour later than I’m used to. I walked to the other side of the house, to Asim’s bedroom, and heard snoring. That was good. I had a quick yet annoying shower and took some time to spruce myself up. I’m not one of those men who are completely hopeless when they’re single, but what with Mel being a professional make-up artist and hairstylist, amongst many other talents, I rarely needed to groom myself nowadays. But now I was spending time shaving around...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 26 Si Vis Pacem Nolite Exacerbare Carstairs

It was about ten minutes to showtime. I’d be at the mosque in three minutes or so, although K-T would drop me off at the mall entrance and then proceed to another destination. We were making good time, because although some traffic kept moving, many cars just pulled to the side of the road wherever there was space near a mosque. Sometimes cars were abandoned in the middle of the road, blocking each other in. The police never made a fuss: after all, everyone was supposed to be praying. Men...

4 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 2 Mosque you bring this up

Kelly was very quiet on the ride home, but fortunately (and I use the word fortunately as in: ‘I have learned to live with this as a project in personal growth’) my driver, Ali, has absolutely no problems filling a gap in any conversation. Even when no actual conversation is presently occurring. Kate texted with Melody about the contents of our fridge, so I could prepare a shopping list. Okay, so I’m now officially a guy who pulls up at a Waitrose in a chauffeur driven car, but then I buy...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 4 Ask Me No Questions

Still Monday July 7th, 2015. A government building somewhere in London. (smiled.oddly.hosts) I was made to sit alone in a room for about ten minutes, so ordered by a man who clearly had no intention of getting me a cup of tea. And I did ask, twice. He was a bit shorter than me, but also a bit wider. Instead of a suit he wore something that was supposed to give him a military look but made me think of a fisherman: a brown shirt, brown carpenter pants, army boots. He was ginger, but his hair...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 9 In Which our Hero has Lots of Dates

“Crank up the A.C, sweetheart. Let me get some water ... Oooaaahhh...” “Sweetheart? Again?” “Yes. I suddenly cared for you in the wilderness, in the land of great drought. And especially for that bag with bottled water. Let’s get a move on. You drive.” “Destination?” “The most expensive hotel in Al Hofuf. Unless you can find one with a charger?” “I cannot execute that search. We will reach Al Hofuf in two hours.” “Okay. Then I’ll do a search and you drive. Stop at the next empty rest...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 14 In Which our Hero Sings for his Supper

If you’re anything like me (but maybe you got lucky and you’re not) you’ll know this feeling: there will be something on the news that makes you explode with rage. Say, some idiot gets behind the wheel, drunk as a skunk, kills three people who were just standing at a bus shelter minding their own Instagram and then he sues the bus company for placing the shelter near a pub. That sort of thing. Or a Belgian man locks up some girls in his basement and starves a couple of them to death before he...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 19 Cooling Down in Riyadh

They waited until her heart stopped pumping blood, which took about twenty seconds or so. Then the pressure got too low, and the trickle stopped. Two men dressed more like medics than soldiers came out of the main building with a stretcher. They wore gloves and aprons. Hurriedly they placed the body on the stretcher. The executioner helpfully placed the bag with the head above the neck, but only after he was done wiping down the blade and carefully sliding it back into its sheath. The Imam...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 20 Unexpected Benefit of Some Religious Instruction

There were also some messages. One was from Mr. Constable, the MI6 officer at the embassy. He told me they had analysed the recording, but that I’d have to come to the embassy to read the transcript. By appointment. But not on Thursdays. Another message was a transcript of a text message from Asim, which contained an invitation to join him on his next visit to Dubai. It seemed he was in the mood to catch a movie, and Dubai had cinemas. Well, two. The third message consisted of a somewhat...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 25 I had a Cunning Plan

Sunday, 30/8/2015. Saudi Royal palace. My day started slowly, with breakfast being served without any extra items. I called on Anaïs with an eye on a cheeky kiss or a bit of a fondle, but was told by a rather indignant Malaysian chef who caught me looking around in her kitchen that she had been seconded to another palace for the next few days, to help prepare for yet another banquet. He then demanded to know how I knew her and what my business was with her, but I just told him I was acting...

2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 11 Game Check Point

I’ve never been one to make much of a fuss over cars. I mean, I enjoy comfy seats and power steering as much as anyone and it has been said I’m a tiny bit obsessive over vehicular cleanliness, but by and large I am not very interested in the roar of an engine or how many horse power it has. So it was odd I found myself so completely enthralled by this Aston Martin Vanquish. Not just the paint job, which was a deep, dark, shiny, sparkly, magnificent blue, but the stitching on the seats, the...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 3 There is an I in MI6

I was met by Kelly in the hallway. “Hi,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. A chaste one, on the cheek. More than enough for me, thanks. Although admittedly I’d have been disappointed with less than that. “Hello, gorgeous. I think you might have come at an awkward...” “Oh, I know. I was summoned. Caroline has been here all afternoon. She even had a lie down, because of a headache. Mel and Kate know everything.” It was ominously quiet on the other side of the door that led to the living...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 5 My name is Carstairs Reginald Carstairs

Caroline summoned me to my office on Friday. My ticket for travelling the next Monday had just been arranged. I was actually discussing something with Daphne, which always takes a while, but Alice, her secretary, was quite clear: I was to report to the fourth flour at once. “Sorry about that, but I think you got the gist of it. Winston will certainly be able to flesh out the code. It will give you a chance to hang out together.” “I still want to know why you’re leaving,” said Daphne, trying...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 12 The Stein Way

As meetings go, I’ve had worse. I had no particular reason to doubt John Stein, but you never know what Americans are really up to. The Saudi government is only one of many undemocratic regimes they support to the hilt. They’re also not particularly interested in bringing people to justice. Generally all they need is a set of coordinates, a license plate number or the exact time their target will be driving past a hospital or day care centre. I was fairly sure a couple of terrorist attacks in...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 21 The Ugliest Laptop Ever Made

I woke up at nine, which was fine except a bit too late to attend the buffet in the main building. Never mind: I called the kitchen again and ordered breakfast. It would take a while to reach me, but as long as I didn’t order any hot items that was fine. Yoghurt, a bun and some jam would do me. I selected a suit and showed up just in time for my daily session with Alexandra. Technically this was the start of a new week, although neither I nor Alexandra got any days off. It was crunch time...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 22 Say it Donrsquot Spray It

I went over the call with Kate in my head, slightly upset at the fact I had broken off our conversation just to get out of the heat. Maybe it hadn’t been the heat so much as the fact I didn’t want to be reminded of how much I missed her. That girl isn’t just catnip to me: she’s oxygen. And every time we were apart, there was nothing for it but for me to practice holding my breath. I also worried about the fact people had started to miss me, all over sodding Doctor Who! It’s the shittiest...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 23 The Beginning of the End

Tuesday, August 25th, 2015. My garage. Total.hilltop.digital. It was about one a.m. when the door to the garage opened and K-T rolled in. I had called ahead, to let Anaïs know that I was fine and on my way. “How are you doing?” “I am drinking water and eating uh ... Maltezers. Very poor chocolate.” “Yes, it’s English chocolate. Could be worse, though.” “Hershey...” she shuddered. “Exactly. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Can you hang on?” “I can go nowhere else, Anglais. It is...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 24 Mosque Not Get Caught

Friday, August 28th, 2015. Royal palace, guest annex. The next morning I called Asim and offered to cook for him, so I’d be able to intercept any packages that might be delivered to his house. He was glad to have me and I took delivery of five boxes while he was out. I made us roast duck (honey roasted, with creamed cauliflower) and an old-fashioned trifle and then I stole one of his outfits: guthra, igal, thobe and sandals. Two thobes, actually, just to be sure. He only had fourteen left, I...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 28 All Out of Gum and Ass to Kick

Darkness had come and gone. Musa and I had worked all through the night. When I had answers to all the questions I could think of, and had copied the contents of the SD-cards to my laptop to make space on one of them, I had written a script for him to read. It was based on what he had told me, but we still went through it line by line. By that time he was struggling to stay conscious. The wounds on his wrists in particular hurt terribly, so much in fact that I had to cut him loose and bandage...

4 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 12 Next Contestant Please

Hi! This story contains some sudden scene transitions. This seems to confuse many of you. In the print version these jumps are clear(er) because only new paragraphs get a blank line. However, on this site every hard return gets a blank line. Fixing this would require going through the entire book to add the right display codes, and I can’t be bothered. So if you’re suddenly confused, just go back a few lines and you’ll likely figure it out. Cheers! RD. On the way out I shook quite a few...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 14 Therersquos no office like the Home Office

The trip back home was luxurious but uneventful. I had taken Caroline out to dinner for our last night in Doha, after an afternoon spent in Souq Waqif. I liked it there, because even though it was rather sanitized, there was more than enough to see, smell and taste. Sure, one or two of these hole in the wall shops sold the inevitable Gucci handbags, but it was actually fun to learn from Caroline how to spot fake goods. “Take this GG canvas horse bit hobo bag,” she said, while the salesman...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 5 lsquoWell I can see who wears the trousersrsquo

So there I was, in a homeless shelter somewhere in Rome, with a nun, a priest, my wife and the head of the Catholic church. So the bartender says... Okay, there was no bartender. Too bad, because this was supposed to be a vacation, damn it! A honeymoon! But what do I get? I get to go from one potential aneurysm to the the next! Someone walks in on me fucking my wife! Then there’s an orgy in my apartment! I seem to be on a painting made well before I was even born and to cap it off THE...

3 years ago
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Maiden of Rome

Maiden of Rome by ShannonQ A noble Roman Tribune is captured in a battle with the Germanic tribes. He is given to a witch and eventually turned into a woman. She is given the name of Penelope. She is sent back to Rome. What will her family do? What will her father say? What is her future in the greatest Empire on earth? Rated R ONE The rains intensified as the XVII...

3 years ago
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A Stitch In Time Chapter 2 Rome

He'd been aligned in the chamber so that he's be facing south when he arrived. Remembering the time constraint, just 15 minutes, he moved to the container. He was already wearing the toga of a Roman citizen. Also sandals on his feet. It was June, the days would be warm, this night a rare cool relief. It would be different in the crowded city. Getting used to the smells, the close humanity, of past times would be one of the difficult parts of his mission. In the box he retrieved the sack...

4 years ago
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Suddenly Part Three Life in Rome

Suddenly Part 3 Life in Rome By Lauren Westley (Authoress Comment: All disclaimers regarding all my writings hold true here. If you think any character was you or any character reminds you of someone then I hope it's either a dream or preferably a fond memory but in any case I hope you are smiling. ) This continuation is dedicated to all the wonderful people who either commented, wrote me or...

3 years ago
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Tales of Ancient Rome

              Tales of Ancient Rome                         by                         TGSynopsis: In ancient Rome, a noble woman develops a taste for torture.  There’s a wee bit of ?tongue in cheek? humor toward the end of the story.  31 pgs.Story codes: F/M, BDSM, NC, Slavery............Oh, Hell?..Just know a lot of bad stuff happens to some guys, and they're very unhappy about it......But they're the only ones who feel that way.                        Chapter 1                 Time to Go on...

4 years ago
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Servant of Rome

"I hate this course," Jesse said. She closed her textbook with a snap. "Roman history is a confusing mess." "You mean it is not like current political history?" Kalliste Periakes said. She was standing at the stove in the back of the Women's Co-op, a graduate student in archaeology of indeterminate age. She had lustrous black hair, a pert, up-turned nose and a generous mouth. Today she was cooking a dish from her native Crete. "Current politics seems simple," Jesse replied. "I have...

3 years ago
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Rescue in Rome

Janie Ward sat on her suitcase and looked, almost dumbly at her phone, not even sure what to do next. It had been almost a life long fantasy, a hope, a dream, and here she was, sitting in the tatters of her great European Adventure, her longed for trip to Rome, and she was on the verge of tears. Thoughts raced across her mind, as she fought back the tears: ‘How could Marge do this?’ She’d scrimped and saved and had been scheduled to go on this dream fulfilling trip to Rome with her friend...

3 years ago
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Julia of Ancient Rome

JULIA of ANCIENT ROME.I.The feast had been vast and stretched way into the night. It was now 6 o’clock and the serving slaves of the evening were thankfully joined by the early rising cleaning drudges. The majority of clearing up had been accomplished but some of these wretches had been constantly on the go for twenty hours. A banquet of this magnitude took much preparation; then there were the serving duties once the guests arrived. It had been 3 in the morning by the time the last guests had...

2 years ago
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When In Rome

Rome, December 1944.An army truck carrying Iota platoon weaved its way through the back streets of the ancient city. Inside, fifteen men huddled against the cold. Sargeant O'Malley drove in a seemingly random direction, but lost he was not. Seated in the back the men shivered, for these were the dregs of the army, the soldiers who just didn't fit; they had been called up and sent to a war that they did not understand. These men, while not bad, were simply a hazard to themselves and those about...

Uniform
1 year ago
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When In Rome

It all happened in Rome. I was on a holiday of self-exploration, and it was the first time I had truly travelled alone. I had never been away from home and my family for so long. It gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t experienced prior to this.I had spent a few days doing the typical tourist obligations; the museums, the long walks even a church or two. It took a week or so of being with myself with nobody watching me (as I usually and have always felt) to realise that I was my own person. I...

First Time
3 years ago
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  • 17
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When in Rome

I was a couple of years out of college, working a job that I had little enthusiasm for, when my dad called me up and asked me if I wanted to go with him on a business trip. It was no ordinary business trip, it was a week in Rome and, if I could come, he would book us in Rome for the weekends on both ends giving us extra time there. Well, I did have vacation time and jumped at the chance to go. My parents were divorced when I was in college, I knew a few of the details, it's hard to keep...

1 year ago
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Aurelias Torture and Exection A Tale from Rome

Preface: This fictional story takes place in Roman times (~ 400 BCE) when all emperors, senators and magistrates had to do in order to keep the masses in control was to offer them blood and entertainment in the colosseos. Aurelia is a Roman noblewoman who made enemies out of the wrong people. After her capture, she is sentenced to be executed in the arena for the pleasure of the common people, and in the process, making it a prolonged, degrading, and utterly humiliating and painful one....

2 years ago
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When In Rome

Authors Notes[b] When In Rome isnt exactly a series of erotic stories. When its completed, it will (hopefully) read more like a novel. Plot, subplots and all. There will be (on average) three separate scenes from three separate Point(s) of View (POV) per chapter. While every chapter will have sex in one form or another, every scene will not. If you want to skip through and only read the sexy bits, every chapter will be headed by listing which scene(s) in that chapter include sex. Chapter one...

2 years ago
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Queen of Rome

The first time I saw the city of Rome I was chain to a cart as it was pulled through the streets. I couldn't believe how large the city was. The colors, smells, and sounds took my breath away. And so many people. All looking and pointing at us as we were taken to our fate. And what was to be our fate you may ask; to serve the city and it's people as slaves. I would not let them shame me, I thought. You may wonder how I can to be here chained and far from my land and home. I was born in...

1 year ago
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When in Rome

To celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary my wife Susie and I decided to return to Italy which we had first visited ten years earlier. The twins were seventeen years old now and quite capable of looking after themselves, although we did impress on them that we expected the house to look spotless when we got back, and issued a stern warning about what would happen if they had raided my store of single malts. We also had a quiet word with my parents just to keep a discreet eye on things.We...

Group Sex
3 years ago
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  • 20
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Rome

As is well known, Rome is a major center for art, architecture and engineering. the last time we were there there was no exception to bring something. We visited a place with many sculptures. There was also a young group of Asians (which is a lot of everything in Europe). A girl was standing looking at a sculpture of two ancestors who were, quite enough, naked. She started talking to my boyfriend and she told her name Maiko, was 18 years a week ago and was on tour with uneversitete she went to...

4 years ago
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  • 24
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A sexy weekend in Rome

Ian smiled at the waitress gratefully as he took a drink from the tray she was holding as she passed. For just a moment, he was left alone in the huge function room at the hotel where he was staying in Rome. It was the third and final day of a series of meetings he had been attending in an attempt to engineer the takeover of an Italian company by his own employers. The meetings had been successful, so this function was turning into a bit of a celebration.But Ian wasn't enjoying it a bit. All he...

2 years ago
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Dont Sleep on the Subway Book ThreeChapter 41 Jun 1944 Allies Enter Rome

“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.” ― Ronald Reagan The long, hard slog up the boot of the Italian countryside was hard on both men and equipment. Eventually, the allies found...

4 years ago
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  • 41
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Rome

The year is 51BC, Julius Caesar just finished conquering Gaul and Rome is being flooded with gold, slaves and other spoils of war. You are the son of a member of the lower nobility, although your father has a seat in the senate your family does not hold much influence in roman politics. It does however have a few businesses, mainly brothels, and with the large amount of slaves coming into the city, your father decides to open a new one in the city of Ostia the harbour city of Rome. Your father...

Fantasy
1 year ago
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  • 41
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TransAtlantic part 1 Departure from Rome

TRANS-ATLANTIC part 1 DEPARTURE FROM ROME Jack Masterson arrived at the cruise terminal in the port of Civitavecchia, near Rome, Italy. He was a travel writer who owned and operated a travel website that reviews luxury resorts, hotels, cruise ships and destinations. He'd been in Europe for a month; traveling and posting articles on his site about his adventures. Tonight he began his trip home to the United States, but he wasn't flying. A Trans-Atlantic cruise on the Holland...

3 years ago
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  • 17
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When in Rome

I woke up, and felt my hard cock rubbing against your ass as you snuggled against me. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually here, in Rome, lying in your bed. I had flown in from Canada the day before, and had arrived in time to share a wonderful dinner at your favourite restaurant. Then, we spent the evening wandering around the city, as you showed me some of the places you enjoyed. Finally, we made our way back to your apartment, where we got ready for bed. It was a little weird at first. We...

3 years ago
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  • 23
  • 0

When in Rome

I woke up, and felt my hard cock rubbing against your ass as you snuggled against me. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually here, in Rome, lying in your bed. I had flown in from Canada the day before, and had arrived in time to share a wonderful dinner at your favourite restaurant. Then, we spent the evening wandering around the city, as you showed me some of the places you enjoyed. Finally, we made our way back to your apartment, where we got ready for bed. It was a little weird at first. We...

Straight Sex
3 years ago
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  • 37
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 6 Whatrsquos in a Name

“Martin, get up. It’s gone ten. The Pope has been up for over five hours, you know.” “Good for him. Show-off.” “You’ll miss breakfast!” “I told you: get them to deliver a tray to the room.” “I don’t want to eat in the room! I want to eat on the rooftop terrace again! Come on, you can’t stay in bed all day!” “Yes, I can. I’m on vacation.” I was being truculent, although I like to think it was in a playful way that women secretly find boyish and charming. Mel would probably not agree. Nor...

2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 4 Begin the legume

“Okay, so maybe it’s me. I’m on TV, sometimes. I did a movie. Someone made a painting and thought of me. Or they saw an ad or something. This happens to Emma all the time.” Melody shook her head. “Except in her case they Photoshop her face onto pornography. That’s her actual face, not a portrait. This is one, and it’s fairly well done. The painter wasn’t very experienced, but certainly talented. I’d say he used a live model, not just one reference picture.” When Melody says these things,...

2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 17 The Faint Light at the End of It

Well, there we are: the final chapter. You have until January 1st to read this story before I make it available to premium members only. Your comments are welcome and if you find you like this sort of thing: there’s plenty more available on my site. – RD It rained. I think it should rain, at funerals. Most people stood under black or transparent umbrellas, but I wore a Macintosh over my black suit and I just didn’t care. I needed to focus on not crying. Rain on my face might help to conceal...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 16 Deep underground

All was well until we arrived at Paddington. It was busy, but not too busy for the crowd to give us half a second so we could lift Edwin’s stroller over the infamous gap and onto the platform. But then there’s an escalator, a fairly long one that leads back to street level. You see, the track slopes downward from Edgware road to Paddington. Trains aren’t generally good at inclinations, but it’s a fair distance between those stations. One of the escalators was being serviced: a man in a blue...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 27 It Only Hurts When I Laugh

As soon as the rolling door had shut behind me, I began to undress. The plastic segments that allowed in some sunlight were so badly scuffed nobody would be able to see inside. Not unless they pressed their face up against them, anyway. My suit was in tatters. I wasn’t even sure why I wasn’t wearing my slacks and button down shirt. It’s think it may just be that wearing a suit seemed suitable for the occasion. If you’re going to commit mass murder, you should at the very least dress for it,...

4 years ago
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A WellLived Life 2 Book 8 NIKAChapter 15 When in Rome

September 26, 1994, Munich, Germany “«Guten Morgen. Mein Name ist Steve Adams. Ich bin von NIKA Consulting. Ich habe einen Termin mit Herrn Schultz.»” “«Guten Morgen, Herr Adams. “Er erwartet Sie. Bitte gehen Sie durch diese Tür. Das erste Zimmer auf der rechten Seite»” She indicated a door and I walked through it, then walked into the main conference room. My German was just good enough to get past the receptionist, but I wasn’t going to be able to carry on a full conversation. I decided...

4 years ago
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  • 18
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 11 My French connection

I like to think I’m a decent man. I don’t leer at women, not even when I’m absolutely sure they’re not watching. I don’t turn around to check out ‘cabooses’, I don’t call women ‘darling’ unless I know them very well indeed and by and large you can trust me with your daughter. Unless she’s REALLY insistent and/or has grown legs and breast that make Marilyn Monroe look like a coat hanger. But even then I try really, really hard to ignore that. But being in a country where women were nothing...

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