THE DAILY MALE
Just to fill you in on the back story to this new excerpt:
Calm Best Friend and I are in the Alps on a ski trip. She has succumbed to a bout of food poisoning and is confined to bed. I’m having a little flirtette with the Hotel Manager (Hot Frog) who has no idea how to kiss (!) while the other half of my brain is engaged in some serious interest in an older man (The Right Man?) who is part of our party…
Here’s what happens next:
There’s a whiteout brewing, so I forsake my skiing and stay in the room to look after CBF. She is shivery and feeling grim but I try to entertain her, reading articles from magazines and filling her in on the goings-on at the resort. I stay until the doctor arrives then go down to the village to pick up her meds.
At lunchtime I pop into the dining room to get her some consommé et voilà! Hot Frog is there as usual, sexuality oozing out of every pore. We share a secret smile and my attraction to him increases.
At 7 p.m., Calm Best Friend is still feeling wretched but orders me to go down for dinner without her and enjoy my evening. This time, when I get dressed, I don my just-in-case-I-get-lucky undies. It would be a shame to waste them, wouldn’t it?
I have no problem enjoying the company of two very different men at the same time, so am quite happy to spend the evening with The Right Man. He is very easy to get on with. I feel I can talk to him about anything and am relaxed in his company, though I’m not altogether sure what he thinks about me.
Later that evening we watch the cabaret show together and I lean up against him in the dark theatre imagining what a relief if would be to always feel this safe and this wonderful.
Just before midnight, he offers to walk me to my room. Although I’m meeting Hot Frog later on, I want to look in on CBF to see that she’s OK, so I accept. When the lift doors close and we’re alone together, The Right Man reaches his hand up and strokes my hair, looking down at me with softness in his eyes. My heart hesitates for a moment as I smile up at him then resumes beating at a faster pace.
We walk along the corridor hand in hand. Feeling bemused at this sudden rapprochement, I can’t quite believe that this lovely man is showing signs of interest in me. Could he really be The One? Could my rocky road finally become a tarmac-ed highway?
We stop outside my room and he leans down to kiss me. In confusion I turn my face away without, I hope, hurting his feelings. How can I possibly kiss him now and ‘Monsieur le Grenouille Chaud’ later on? While these thoughts are rushing through my head, he leans towards me again and before I know it, I’ve sunk against the wall and we’re locked together in a knee-trembling embrace.
Now here’s a chap who really knows how to kiss: tenderly yet with the promise of passion to come. I’m flustered when I realize he’s really turned me on. How cruel and shameless of me to use him as my warm-up man, but he doesn’t know this and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I pull away before we become overly engaged, but he begs a few minutes alone with me, which I find hard to refuse. I go into his room, mindful of the fact that the midnight text from Hot Frog is due through at any moment. Not having any pockets in my trousers, my mobile is wedged firmly between my breasts.
Sure enough, as The Right Man shuts his bedroom door and draws me close, I feel the vibration begin deep in my cleavage. I jump back from him suddenly, talking loudly to divert his attention.
‘Gosh, your room’s tidy for a bloke’s!’ I shout, disturbing the romantic vibe between us. He looks rather puzzled as well he might. Knowing that my phone is set to repeat at one minute intervals, I dive back in for a quick clinch then pull away again just before my tits go off for a second time.
This ridiculous hokey-cokey is hardly conducive to further romance and besides I have a date with someone else! Blushing and stammering with what I hope he takes to be girlish modesty, I peck him affectionately on both cheeks and reach for the door knob.
He stands there like a starving man who’s happened across the only restaurant in town only to be told the kitchen’s closed. I feel sorry and guilty, but tonight I am driven by unfinished business with a man who’s had more women than Winner’s had dinners and for some unknown reason, he is my choice du soir.
I hare off to my room to check on CBF. She’s sleeping peacefully so I touch up my make-up then dash out the door, dive into the stairwell and leg it up to the fourth floor. Hot Frog’s door is ajar and I slide in quietly. He’s sitting on his sofa deliciously decked out in a black open-necked shirt and gabardine trousers, like a panther coolly awaiting his prey.
He rises to greet me, pours me a fruit juice and we chat about the day, then all at once he’s in my face again with his big, wet kiss. Do I dare tell a Frenchman how to perform this basic act? Needs must.
‘Can I show how I really love to be kissed?’ I breathe seductively, and not waiting for an answer, I close his lips with my thumb and forefinger.
‘Ferme ta bouche,’ I command, ‘and do as I do.’
I lick my lips and brush them lightly against his. Emitting a low moan, he mirrors my motion. Our moist mouths slide sensuously across each other’s, our tongues licking, flicking, in a less-is-more kind of way. If I achieve nothing else on this holiday, at least I’ll have sent this amateur on his way with one proficient skill.
He unbuttons his shirt and guides my hand over his chest to his erect nipple. I rub it lightly and he groans and presses the length of his body against mine. His hand is flat on my derrière, pushing me against him as his …
To find out what happens next The Toyboy Diaries 2 – The Daily Male by Wendy Salisbury aka Poshbird is available now on Amazon and from all good bookstores.
Comments