Poolside Girls

From the weblog of my mind comes water eddying at the edge of a hotel swimming pool. With a novel in my lap, I lapped femininity sunning itself. I picture a memorable holiday experience dated January 1978.

My first Southeast Asian excursion had an unpromising start. My younger brother, James, agreed to be my travel companion. But I received the late news that he had cancelled. The army pulled rank, and James stayed in Australia, engaged in 'war games.' So, as a reward for completing my university degree in design, I headed off solo to Malaysia.

I experienced the nervous twinge of travelling alone. A beach resort relaxed my nerves. In a poolside deckchair, optimism surfaced. Travel, I convinced myself, could make me bolder. My daily restrained personality might expand. I held the hazy dream of chance meetings—the vague yearnings for one-night stands.

I paused, seeking R and R on a tropical beach: Batu Ferringhi, Penang. The location housed a superior hotel fronted by a striking beach- view. Cashed-up guests burnt money on strident and intrusive jet skis. Skywards, a speed boat towed a parasail.

I relaxed, a novel in my hands, expanding my mind on the vast Russian steppe, reading Dr Zhivago. A paperback novel purchased in an all-purpose shop at a mountaintop casino.

My thoughts swayed, collecting the past week and this day — a mishmash of individual, eclectic experiences. They joined to make a holiday special: binding, blackjack at a gaming table, vibrant highland jungle, and a beach, its palette pale caramel.

My eyes wandered beyond my reading to peep at two natural blonde European stunners lounging, pursuing a tan. Thoughts about the pair crowded my mind.

What were they doing with no male friends? No, buddy dudes decked the pool zone. A married man nearby likely possessed the skills and experience to flirt. But, his wife and kids preoccupied him. A sandcastle focused his eyes, unfree to roam, let alone fix his gaze on eye candy: a blue and a black bikini.

It appeared I picked a family hotel when I arrived weary and tired late last night. The train arrived at its destination after midnight. I wanted to sleep; I wasn't choosing a hotel based on its clientele. This resort appeared to be the wrong choice for two young single women! The girl's rhythmic German accents coaxed my body in their direction: contrasting bikinis, one maritime hues and the other dark, raven sleek. The blonde in the blue bathers opened her thighs. She bent and raised one leg whilst her other leg stayed straight.

Sunscreen glistened on her sleek, lustrous calves. Her body followed the line of the deck chair. Then her rib cage stirred, restful, repeated inhales and exhales. In and away, like my darting eyes.

My gaze entered her personal space, drawn to her dark sunglasses. I toured her lithe body, pausing at her generous breasts. For a while, my eyes lingered on her bikini's crotch, vague on what the Mediterranean blue bikini veiled. Its sleek outline alone sustained my attentive curiosity. Next, my eyes roved in the opposite direction, but my mind kept tabs on her private triangle. Any thoughts of her lush femininity stirred in a male haze.

My peep sauntered to her bikini line. Then, over the soft female cushion of flesh protecting her womb, peeping at her indented navel. I roved over the blonde's breasts. So fulsome to burst into the natural space of the world where they belonged. Instead, a flimsy piece of cloth restrained them. I watched her ribs and joined her steady breathing. Her relaxed plasticity made me fancy spooning. My eyes upward sweep found her moist lips. I realised the girl's sunglasses rested higher. Blue eyes penetrated mine.

I met her eyes, and I sensed she watched my eyes undress her. She caught me captivated by her complete female form: her abundant flesh and defining detail.

She gave a slight smile, spawning fun at its twin edges. My brain halted, immobilised in a make-or-break moment. Then I withdrew my eyes.

Several seconds passed, and I read no further. Instead, I reread the same lines.

"So, you like parasailing," said the opulent cleavage outside my immediate space.

I heard her voice, but my eyes weren't looking at her lips because inopportune bashfulness dominated me. Small talk routinely took a leave of absence from my mind when feminine charm considered me.

The tattered traveller's copy of the novel hit my lap, yet my mouth overrode total self-effacement.

"Yes," I muttered.

The opportunity to try a parasail intrigued me an hour ago. I experienced the new, enjoying wave crests and the sandy shore below me, a red and white parachute spread behind, and the wind whipped my face—high, peaceful, and gliding.

This stunning girl spied me soaring above the waves. I should have used this to start a chat. Instead, I created a dead-end conversation. Everything halted haywire at my end. The blonde ran through the red stop-light of my shyness. The 'Mediterranean' was closer to me than the local balmy cyan sea. I viewed the jet skis in immediate demand. The husband, I noticed before his children, and the sandcastle still occupied him.

Meanwhile, I could smell skin. Fine, downy, sun-bleached hairs on a lower forearm trapped my gaze. The blonde in the blue bikini stood beside my deck chair.

"I have read your book," she said.

Make small talk, I told myself. I remained silent, trapped in a timid shrink. Yet my eyes kept alert — the blonde adjusted her sunglasses. She used them to hold her long, flowing, fair hair close in colour to the local beach sand.

No question of who was in control here; a playful smile set her agenda. The pacing belonged to her; luck placed me in the right place. Finally, my brain stirred. I should buy the girls a drink.

Piña colada and Mai-Tai circulated, yet stuck to my tongue. Alcohol, I placed my faith in a male's regular aid in female company. Drink choices abounded in my head, but a decisive choice eluded me.

"Daiquiri," eddied into my ears, framed by a blue bikini.

My eyes tarried below face level and then tilted upwards.

"Daiquiri," echoed the girl in the black bikini.

My eyes locked on her hip, following her movement rising from her deck chair. I dithered between sweet black and blue. The Mediterranean blue bikini moulded alluring; the classic black contoured stunning.

My glance moved to the girl in the onyx swimwear. Her manicured fingers stretched perfectly and elegantly, resting on a sleek hip.

"Daiquiris!" the girl in the black bikini announced, bouncing in excitement.

General introductions followed as I joined the girls standing. Leise waved over the cocktail staffer and ordered drinks. Her lips shaped, cupid bow sensuous. Next, I memorised her breasts, where her tanned skin met the stretched, shimmering black fabric.

The two girls chatted unbroken, outlining the hotel's qualities until our drinks arrived. The pair bubbled, cocktails in hand. I raised my glass in agreement and feasted my eyes on Miss Mediterranean Blue—as Lena sipped her daiquiri. The cocktail moistened her plump lower lip. Her upper lip was thinner; both were juicy temptations. Drinking, she teased me by wetting their teardrop shape.

The afternoon became memorable. The scenery played its role, providing postcard lighting and palm trees. Whilst a tight ring of three deck chairs centred on me. Time seemed on hold, and my company became super relaxed and uninhibited by the minute. Luckily, Leise and Lena spoke excellent English. The German I knew belonged inside war comics. A fad Josh and I prized in primary school. The comics reduced German to 'Achtung' and 'Schnelle.' Neither word loomed useful.

As the afternoon shaped, I entered a personal mental minefield of figuring out how to get one of these girls to my room. I believed in my chance and choice! The alcohol relaxed me in the girl's closeness. Well, after I ordered a second round of cocktails. The drink helped my chit-chat.

The duo expanded on life in Cologne. Architecture and design let me share my awe of their city's famous cathedral. My knowledge perked me to express opinions and enthusiasm about my home city, Melbourne, allowing my artistic intelligence, if not my pickup wits, to shine.

We gabbed on common topics: Uni, part-time work, and travel. Both girls flirted, Leise's fingers spread and displayed. Lena's tongue licked her lips.

Leise moved our genial conversation to the murky shadows of the local nightclub. The girls partied last night, hooking up fast. The pair of guys, backpackers they decided on for company, were on the margins of drunk.

Leise scoffed, "They sculled too much of the cheap local beer."

Lena piped, "The boys overestimated their prowess."

I gulped a decent mouthful of my drink.

Leise delivered her opinion on the dudes; "Their combined performance was disappointing."

I sprayed my drink.

A foursome and I pictured a writhing mass of bodies on a bed.

Leise concluded, "It was not memorable."

The girls shared a naughty giggle at my flustered reaction. While the pair chuckled, my thoughts delved.

Not memorable, meaning what?

At this point in my life, my experiences counted as limited. I hoped to avoid joining the 'not memorable' if I scored. I wondered if Lena and Leise had rebuked the men who aimed to please them. In my unshared youthful opinion, any sex was better than none—

In hindsight, her word choice probably meant her lack of fulfilment. My curiosity drifted to the backpacker's post-sex. An awkward exit by the boys or girls? I gauged Lena and Leise as polite and only tête-à-tête after leaving the guys.

Still, if I got lucky, I knew I wanted feedback: a word, a look, a kiss.

I hedged.

Did I want to hear you will improve with experience?

Yet, if I sensed they felt 'not memorable', the phrase smacked of memory dismissal.

To be unworthy of recollection. 

Still, I fancied remembering this gorgeous pair.

I pondered the backpackers, later in life, recalling their night with the girls. Their perspective on the girl's aroused summoned no doubt as different as night and day.

I drank deeply to stop this over-dense thinking.

I desired one-on-one.

Which one? 

Strategies brimmed in my mind, devoid of action.

Lena, let's walk along the beach. Leise, a shared jet ski? Leise, a massage, including the toes. Will you join me? Lena, a dip in the pool? Lena, I want to sample your lips. Leise, I want to peel off your bikini.

An array of racy scenarios lobbed in my head like exploding grenades — fanciful dreams mixed — with well-mannered and chaste ideas about relationship-building.

Let's explore a temple complex or the railcar up Penang Hill. 

These squeaky-clean thoughts tried to douse the incendiary sex-filled ones. But, unfortunately, the hormone overload in my board shorts kept reigniting.

The hustle and chaos in my mind and pants halted because a hotel staff member approached Lena and Leise. I listened; a private car booking awaited the girls outside the lobby. This information waylaid my thoughts of potential sex.

Private car? I processed; they would leave me! 

I gulped my drink and rubbed my chin. An afternoon of pleasure in their company plummeted into free fall.

"We booked a car for a drive around the island. Join us!"

Lena squealed.

Leise smiled her approval.

An ear-to-ear beam showed my acceptance before I managed a nod, followed by a late, eager "yes."

"We must change," announced Leise to Lena.

"Meet you in ten at the front!" Lena called, moving and waving.

She stopped and returned.

"Longer, okay," she said, tapping my arm before skipping away.

I needed to move; board shorts and no top wouldn't cut local expectations outside the resort. So, I scampered to my room, dressed in a full cotton shirt and long, thin pants. Then I fronted the lobby in quick time. I glanced at the enormous clock and paced between the indoor planters.

Several minutes late, the girls sauntered into view, swinging small day bags and swishing in delectable light floral dresses.

We met the driver and hopped into a worn, dark sedan, where Leise cosied on the backseat beside me. Lena occupied the passenger seat beside the driver in the aged, spacious vehicle.

Boutique tourism, including scenic and cultural stops, was on the agenda.

Now, I know the opportunity to learn and experience the local customs presented if you keep an open mind.

Yet, instead, my thoughts strayed to sexual opportunism as the coastal road meandered before us.