Travelling North Ch. 02

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When I got on the plane in Manila to continue my journey to Frankfurt, my assigned window-seat was taken. A child or woman, curled up in sleep or indifference against the cabin’s wall, was occupying it. The plane’s scheduled flight had started in Tokyo, and she or it had there taken possession of the vacant seat. I was in a happy mood and it was not worth making a fuss. I stowed away my hand-luggage and quietly sat down next to this rolled-up bundle.

About an hour after our take-off in Manila the bundle began to stir. What emerged was a woman. In the low cabin-light, it was close to midnight, she appeared almost waif-like, with short hair and a pale face. She sat-up and unhurriedly straightened-out her crumbled clothing. I noticed she had beautiful hands and manicured nails. Then she looked at me with a tentative smile, her hands pointing down into her lap and asked: “Your seat?”

Her voice was mature and well-modulated. English was for her clearly a foreign tongue. Now that I really looked at her, I saw an interesting, attractive, not at all child-like face. I could not guess her age: She could have been twenty or thirty-five.

During our torturous, long flight to Frankfurt we formed an attachment. There were scheduled stops in Bangkok and Athens but, more importantly, an unscheduled four-hour delay in Islamabad. With no explanation offered, we were forced to continue our flight in a different plane. All passengers were locked-in under guard in a function-room of the airport. It was how our peculiar relationship began.

We, somehow, just stayed together; I did not pursue her, she did not cling. Not then and not during the rest of the flight did we get to know much about each other. A contributing factor was the language-barrier; her English was almost as poor as my neglected school-French. She had acquired, as I learned later, a smattering of English in Tokyo in meeting with other foreigners. But we, somehow fell into a liking for each other, of being at ease with each other in a state of suspended distrust. Isabelle was French. When she gave me her name and I repeated it in my best French accent she smiled approvingly.

She had lived for almost two years in Tokyo and was now permanently returning home to her mother in France. She was quite willing to tell me what brought her to Tokyo and what she did there, but language handicapped us severely. I gathered that she had followed a Japanese man, whom she had met in France, to Tokyo and that their relationship had ended. Her gestures and body-language, as she struggled with words failing, suggested sadness tinged with anger.

It intrigued me why she was flying to Frankfurt and not Paris. She explained that she had not travelled in Europe. She wanted to return to her mother’s home on the Cote d’ Azure in stages: By train and bus through southern Germany, Austria and Switzerland. When I jokingly suggested that I could take her part of the way, she looked at me. There was a smile, more thoughtful than flirtatious.

In our conversations during the lengthy flight I also told her about myself: As much as the language difficulties allowed, about my study-leave and what I planned to do. By the time we arrived in Frankfurt, Isabelle knew that I was going to spend a week with my in-laws near Stuttgart, that I was buying a car, and that I would drive to Austria for a holiday with my folks.

Standing next to each other at Frankfurt’s airport with our eyes fixed on the circling carousel for our luggage, we were silent. Later, with our suitcases at our feet, we stood in embarrassed silence. I tried to find the words to ask ‘What now?’ I was reluctant to say ‘Good Bye’, which I could have said in perfect French. I had told her that I was going to a hotel to rest, before going on to my in-laws via Stuttgart. She had said nothing. But now she suddenly looked-up and haltingly told me that she wanted to come with me to Austria. My smile must have told her that I was pleased.

We, with all our luggage, took a taxi. I did not know Frankfurt and, therefore, ask the driver to take us to a hotel close to the main railway-station. The one he dropped us in looked somewhat seedy. When the unshaven fellow behind the desk asked whether we wanted two singles or a double, I looked quickly at Isabelle and asked in French and a show of fingers “un? deux?” Her “one” was emphatic, and her hand grasped my arm. I thought it was the hotel’s and the receptionist’s appearance that discouraged her from being in a room on her own.

The room and the bathroom appeared clean. I was dead-tired, and Isabelle from the way she looked was exhausted. I pointed her to the bathroom to have her shower, while I went down to the reception to check the railway’s departure-times for tomorrow. When I came back to the room Isabelle had not finished her ablution, so I started to undress. Then looking up, there she stood for a few seconds in the bathroom’s doorway, serious, with her expressive eyes on me. She had put on proper underpants but had left her jaunty little Bostancı Escort breasts uncovered. Isabelle’s lithe body, which I saw no longer as little girl-like, glowed from the heat of the shower. Then, without a word or giving me a look, she walked to the bed and slipped under the cover.

I, like her, had a long shower. When I joined her in bed, she did not open her eyes but willingly, without a sign of shyness about our skins touching, moved into a comforting cuddle. In our state of exhaustion, we quickly fell asleep.

The next morning in the train to Stuttgart we laboured, because of our language-difficulties, over planning our shared time and the trip to Austria. Up to then, all that Isabelle knew about my fixed arrangements and open intentions was what she may have picked up in our incomplete communications on the plane. What could not be changed was that my in-laws expected me to stay with them for a few days. I was also uncertain, how long it would take to buy and register a car for my one-year stay in Germany. My plans for the journey to Austria could, within reason, be changed.

I intended to make our time together worthwhile for Isabelle. She readily agreed to wait for me, for however long it would take, in Stuttgart. Then, by car, we would travel leisurely through Bavaria to Innsbruck, spending about a week together. From Innsbruck, Isabelle could conveniently continue her journey through Switzerland to her mother in southern France.

After arriving in Stuttgart I relied on the Tourism Office at the station and not the ill advice of a taxi-driver to book a suitable accommodation for Isabelle’s stay. When we got there, she was not disappointed. When I glanced at the double bed and asked her if I should stay the night, she quickly answered with a nod and smile. I phoned my in-laws, telling them that I would arrive tomorrow.

Then we went for lunch, and after to a tourism-office to collect brochures on day-trips which Isabelle could take while she was in Stuttgart waiting for me. Both of us needed to go to a bank. I had only a few Marks left and had to convert my traveller’s cheques into the local currency. Isabelle did the same and a side-way glance at the traveller’s cheques in her wallet allayed any suspicion I may have had about being taken advantage off. We concluded the day with dinner in a little restaurant close to her hotel. I introduced her to the local specialities. Tiny as she was, Isabelle was a hearty eater enjoying the food and local wine. We were in high spirits when we returned to her room.

Without much ado Isabelle let me know that tonight she wanted me to be first in the shower. She joked, and I guessed she wanted to tell me that she took so long in the shower and if I went first, I could be asleep by the time she finished. To stop her wrestling with words and gesticulating, I took her in my arms. For the first time we really kissed. She pretended, I thought, to struggle, pretended hating to be kissed, then pretended to be overcome by my charm. When I released her, she had a wide smile on her face. We were beginning to find a way to flirt.

After my shower I lay in bed and waited. When she started to open the bathroom-door I pretended to be asleep. I looked at her, from under only partly closed lids, standing in the doorway. Again, like last night, in her cotton-panties, bare-breasted. I found her provocatively sexy. She reached for the door handle and closed the door with a bang. My pretend awakening was met with a grin. Putting her hands on her hips she strolled to the bed. I folded the cover aside to invite her in.

She quickly slipped into bed to put her arms around me in an affectionate, not at all sexually charged cuddle. While it contradicted, in a way, the seductive allure with which she had strolled to the bed, it also signalled to me not to presume anything. So, I let her cuddle me and I stroked over her short hair, till she raised her face and offered me her lips for a first, gentle, tentative kiss. But then, as if wanting to hide after what she had done, her face nuzzled against my shoulder. When she eventually raised her face to me it was her lips that sought mine.

Her lips gradually opened, inviting my tongue to be welcomed by hers. I allowed, therefore, my hand to explore and discover Isabelle’s body. We were still clinched in our cuddle, so my hand began to stroke down her back to begin to caress her shapely little ass. She moaned into my mouth as I gripped her cheeks and just lightly pressed her lower parts against my growing erection. Her tongue and quickening breath signalled a mounting excitement, as I drew my finger-tips up her spine and down her sides, over her buttocks and down her thighs and up again. Then she released me from the hug to allow me to look at her stretched-out, slight, delectable body.

As I bend over to kiss her pert little breasts for the first time, she immediately cradled my head. She guided my lips and tongue over her bared body, from her throat and Bostancı Escort Bayan shoulders down to the boundary of her panties but, especially, time and time again, over her delectable little breasts. Her body arched against my mouth and her thighs twisted in undeniably lustful pleasure. It was time, to raise the curtain: To relieve her of her symbolic, I thought, ‘not-yet’ panties.

I reached down and placed my hand on her pressed together thighs, and began to draw my fingers slowly, barely touching, up over her pubes. Isabelle’s body went rigid and as I pressed the palm of my hand on her cloth-covered mound she moaned a loud “Non!” and twisted away from my hand. It wasn’t playful.

What came into my mind first, was that she did not want unprotected sex. I had thought of that and put a condom on the bedside table while she was in the shower. So, I kissed her gently; I must have murmured something to pacify her anxiousness before I reached out to show her the condom. She shook her head. Averting my eyes, she repeated a low voiced “Non. … Non.” She sounded regretful, choked by her inability to explain. I thought there was no need: She just had her period.

I did not want to show any disappointment. I pulled her as close to me as possible, without my erection digging into her now off-limits region. In between consoling kisses, I must have murmured some comforting sounds to pacify her, I thought, silly anxiety. When her hand moved down my sides and feathered towards my cock, I demonstratively jerked away from its touch. I grinned at Isabelle’s still worried face as I pressed out my exaggerated “Non! … Non!” She responded with a happy giggle and snuggled-up close, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘imbecile’. Eventually, we fell asleep. I think it took me longer. It was our second full night together. I, for one, had begun to desire her badly and we had not yet fucked.

Next morning, I departed for my in-laws home-town. As neither of us, in those pre-smartphone days, had a phone and our oral communication was shaky, I would send her a telegram to let her know when I would pick her up. The half-dozen words required I could even manage in French! She accompanied me to the train to bid me, with a hug, an affectionate “Au Revoir”. It reassured me; Isabelle clearly did not want it to be a Good Bye.

I spent six days with my in-laws, who were glad to see me. I managed to buy a suitable car and get it registered and insured. I liked my in-laws and had planned to stay longer but was eager to return to Isabelle.

When I pulled-up at her hotel, Isabelle, with her luggage at the ready, was waiting in the foyer. She had paid the hotel for her stay and was evidently as eager as I to begin our journey.

We decided to spend two nights in Munich, two nights while crossing through Upper Bavaria, and to decide later about how many we would spend in Innsbruck before we would part. That I remember it now in term of the nights suggests, correctly, I admit, that my attention then focused more avidly on the nights ahead, than on our travel-adventures during the days.

We arrived in Munich mid-afternoon, booked into a small hotel not far from the centre and spent the remaining day-light hours strolling around the hotel’s neighbourhood, first in search of coffee and then for an unhurried evening-meal. Isabelle was happy and chatty and our struggle with language was fun, enlivened by her expressive gesticulations. And I began to remember more and more of my long forgotten French vocabulary.

When we returned to our room, I wanted to rush Isabelle into bed. She, however, smiling sweetly, freed herself from my embrace after just one promising kiss to busy herself with unpacking a few things. It established an almost domestic normality. After she had put some of her things in the bathroom, she told me to go in first. She sat down on the bed and watched me undress. I felt both shy and determined not to show it. Her eyes never left me until I stood there naked and walked past her to the bathroom.

When I was finished and opened the door, Isabelle was still sitting on the bed. She was naked. I immediately noticed Isabelle’s trimmed and shaped auburn bush, now openly displayed as she rose from the bed. She stood for a long second, unsmilingly looking at me, before brushing past me into the bathroom. While earlier she had not averted her eyes from my then limp cock, now she avoided looking at my promising erection.

When she revealed herself again in the door-way, her panties were back on. I searched her face for a wink or a held back grin that indicated that she wanted to tease me. But she steadfastly looked down as she walked up to the bed. I reached for her hips and stopped her from sliding in next to me. She stood on the bed’s edge and I held her firm and pressed my lips on her belly for a long, sucking kiss. It would leave its mark, just near the edge of her damn panties. When I pulled back, I had the panties elastic seam between Escort Bostancı my teeth to let it snap back on her drawn in belly. Isabelle grabbed into my hair and pulled me away from what she sensed I intended. As she swiftly slid under the covers and into an almost frantic hug, she whispered a pleading – “Non! … Please, Non.”

At that moment, I wanted to hear it as a naughtily teasing, sexily enticing ‘Not yet, but later! Perhaps?’. What I ignored was that she struggled to tell me something. I had made up my mind to play her at her game: I would stop trying to take, what I wanted her to offer me in hungry lust.

I would learn, of course, how wrong I was in thinking that Isabelle was teasing. It was no game for her. During our night together a week ago, I should have learned not to rush and trust her honesty. What I had not yet understood about Isabelle was how fragile and yet brave she was. She needed to believe that she was affectionately loved and found beautiful, before she allowed her womanly sensuality to well up. Her, for me, so enticing willingness to show herself naked was not the confident, erotic display of a woman certain in her sexual allure. Confronting me naked, unsmiling, she seemed to question me whether I really could like and could love her slight, fawn-like body? This display of her nakedness always ended, therefore, by rushing, without uttering a word, into the warmth of a purely affection-seeking cuddle.

So, I held her lovingly in my arms for a long time, until her lips came searching to be kissed and her lithe body stretched out along mine. It did not shy away from the feel of my growing erection. Isabelle was much shorter than I. While our kisses grew more demanding and our tongues wrestled each other, her thighs had opened and now embraced my cock, safely away from her panty-guarded crotch. When I slid my hands under her panties to grab her buttocks she cried out, half in protest, half in excited surprise. I loved feeling the shivering play of her muscles under my hands as I gripped and caressed her lovely offerings.

Isabelle, between hungry kisses, had started to whisper in French, and her thighs opened and closed and massaged my now rampant erection. I had to escape. Turning her on her back, I took a long time to show Isabelle how much I loved her sexy, little breasts and so excitable nipples. She moaned and whimpered, holding and cradling and pushing my head over her breasts, as I ran my tongue down and up her sides, circling her belly. I had also started to stroke up her thighs, fingers pressing just lightly to tempt them to open as they slid slowly over her covered sex. Her pelvis soon started to lift and press harder against my fondling fingers, as if daring them to do more. Eventually, I expected to meet no resistance when I reached down to strip of her panties. But Isabelle, grabbed my hands and with a tortured, long drawn out “Non…” twisted away from my touch.

I realised then that I had been mistaken in believing Isabelle was playing a seductive game. Whatever the reason for her refusal to go further, she was upset and obviously worried that I misunderstood her ‘NO’. She had clasped my face and looked at me pleadingly while her pelvis ground, almost feverish, against my cock. I clasped her into an embrace, kissed her lips that still seemed to search for words I would understand. I again took caressingly hold of her bottom without pressing her onto my, she seemed to love the feel of, rampant erection. Isabelle responded. She suddenly turned away from being gently kissed; she now kissed me hard, cradling my face and then invading my mouth with a probing, sucking abandonment that surprised me. She had freed herself from my grasp, shifted onto her knees to crouch over me. While she wildly kissed me, her breasts rubbed against mine, I could feel her erect nipples.

And then she started to move slowly down over my body and her hands and mouth found my cock.

The bedside-light was on and I could see her face: With her lips and tongue playing over the tip of my firmly held cock she looked up at me. Her eyes told me she wanted me to see. I stroked her head with one hand, letting the other move down her back to caress her just in reach, excitedly wriggling little ass. She liked, pressed against my touch, shifted closer, while her mouth locked over my cock, taking it in deeper and deeper with every sucking move. One of my hands found her thigh. I could not resist stroking my finger-tips up and down its velvety inside until her thighs opened just enough for me to touch the raised fleshy fold of her pussy, now under panties that were no longer virginal cotton! Her thighs began to shiver and clamp shut and Isabelle’s mouth now engorged my throbbing cock with salacious intensity.

I tried to hold back but all to quickly she was getting me undone. I reached for her head, tried to pull her away. She resisted. She drank what I poured out and lovingly sucked and licked me clean. Then, she rested her head on my thighs for quite a long time, smiling up at me, contentedly fondling my now satiated cock. She started to tell me, in a low voice and in a French that I suddenly understood, that she was happy, and that our loving was good for her, and that she wanted it to be good for me too. Then we cuddled up and went happily to sleep.

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