What If?. Shari Low
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It started fairly inauspiciously with a long lazy day at the beach, lots of Ambre Solaire, and the odd game of beach volleyball between visits to the bar for cocktails. We returned to the apartment at six, to prepare for yet another night in Benidorm’s high spots. And when I say high spots, I mean anywhere that sold alcohol and had music that was louder than Concorde. We had developed a very efficient rota system for the bathroom. The boys would go first, and while they were showering, we would have a happy hour on the balcony. When they were done, they would clear out to the pub, leaving us to get ready and meet them later. All very civilised, if it were not for the inevitable clutter, water fights and general mayhem which inevitably ensued.
Unusually, I showered, dressed and made-up fairly quickly that night, having come to the conclusion that it was too hot to fart around and it wouldn’t matter if you had a face like a sunburned arse, in this town you were still guaranteed male attention.
By the time we reached the Scotsman, the guys were on a table singing ‘High Ho Silver Lining’, so we took the opportunity to steal their seats. A bad move as they proceeded to sit on our knees until cramp forced us to dump them unceremoniously on the floor.
At around eleven o’clock, I was feeling decidedly shaky on my stilettos when a tall blond guy walked in, followed by a dark-haired bloke. The blond shouted a greeting to Sarah. I vaguely remembered him as Graham, the guy that she’d been fraternising with the night before, after his great line in chat won over both Sarah and the approval of our self-appointed Barnsley bodyguards. He made his way over to our table, while his friend fought his way to the bar. Through the crowd, I could just make out the top of his head as he waited to be served.
Graham took up position on Sarah’s knees just as his mate turned round and started to make his way towards us. My heart stopped. Within seconds, I required oxygen. I was just about to search for a brown paper bag to hyperventilate into, when his eyes caught mine. They were so blue that, had this been in the nineties, I would have sworn they were coloured contact lenses, and they were framed with eyelashes that Max Factor would have killed for.
He was about twenty-one, had jet-black hair, dark skin and the jawline of an American soap actor. He was stunning. His eyes held mine while he covered what seemed like the mile and a half to our table. He put the drinks down, still staring. A smile crossed his lips, revealing teeth that I wanted to tap to make sure they were real. My heart thundered so loudly that I was sure it was drowning out the ridiculous ‘Shudupa Ya Face’, that was blaring from the speakers. He stared a bit longer, then slowly, in a soft Scottish accent said, ‘Are we leaving?’
My brain screamed, searching for a witty reply that would have the others clutching their sides, but my power of thought had deserted me.
‘Yes.’ Yes? Was that it? Was that all an educated, smart-mouthed female could come up with? My first encounter with love at first sight had rendered me witless.
He put his hand out and I took it, still lost in his gaze. I followed him outside, where he turned right and started walking, saying nothing. After about a hundred yards, he stopped, put his hands on my face and kissed me slowly. I felt my legs buckle underneath me. God, what was happening?
We kept walking, turning left, then right, until we were entering one of the big posh hotels on the seafront. We passed it every day on the way to the beach and it definitely wasn’t the kind of place that would have ten people to a suite, with a bloke in a sombrero playing guitar and a comatose drunk called Sock Man. We took the lift up to the sixth floor, then entered his room, where he turned and kissed me again. Only this time it didn’t stop.
He unbuttoned my top, dropping it to the floor, then slid my skirt over my hips to join it.
Meanwhile, my enthusiasm for the situation was made clear by the fact that I had somehow managed to remove his shirt and trousers. I should probably have stopped and considered whether I wanted to lose my virginity to a complete stranger, but it felt so good that nothing short of a tranquiliser dart could have stopped me. We tumbled onto the bed, kissing, groping. Before I knew what was happening, a condom appeared and then it was on and his naked body was pressed against mine.
‘Lift your hips,’ he whispered, nuzzling my ear.
What did he mean? How high? Somehow this just wasn’t the time to say, ‘Excuse me, but I haven’t done this before so do you think you could possibly draw me a diagram of the exact angle of elevation which you require?’ I knew I should have paid more attention in biology when they were giving ‘The Talk’. Or maybe rewound the steamy bits in 9 ½ Weeks.
I tilted my pelvis and he slid slowly and gradually inside. My body welcomed him eagerly. He continued to move out and in, sending glorious waves of ecstasy coursing to previously unstimulated areas of my anatomy, until eventually he came shuddering to a halt, just as a new feeling deep in my pelvic area caused an explosion I’d never felt before. So that was what all those orgasm articles in Cosmo were raving about then.
He collapsed beside me, then turned and touched my face.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered.
I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I gasped, breathless. I didn’t know what else to say. My mother had always taught me that if someone gave you a compliment you should smile and thank them. I don’t think she meant that to apply after a stranger had just been intimate with your tickly bits, but then I wasn’t sure of the rules of this new game. What exactly are you supposed to say after a guy has met you, said ‘Are we leaving,’ followed by ‘Lift your hips’ and your only utterance has been a feeble ‘Yes’?
I searched my brain for points of reference. I was sure this was when the guy rolled over and was snoring within ten seconds. Why then was his finger tracing the outline of my nipple? Now my stomach. Now my thighs. Good God, he wanted to do it again! Was this normal?
He pulled me on top of him and without thinking I was suddenly moving, using muscles I didn’t even know I possessed.
We made love twice more, once in the bath, and it was starting to get light when we fell asleep, me still with an inane grin on my face. So this was it. Virginity gone. After years of fumbling with my on-off ex, Mark Barwick, resisting the temptation to cross the last line, I’d had my first sexual experience with a man I couldn’t have picked out in a line up only a few hours ago. It should feel so wrong, and yet it just felt perfect.
The sun streaming in through the window woke me at ten o’clock. For a moment I didn’t know where I was, then I remembered. I started to get up when pain forced me to slump back down. My legs felt like they’d run a marathon. I stumbled to the bathroom, gathering my hastily discarded clothing as I went. I looked in the mirror. Big mistake. My face was red, my eyes looked like a road map and my hair had clearly exploded during the night. I couldn’t let him see me like this – the shock would scar him for life.
I dressed and did the best repair job possible before surreptitiously making for the door. I had just pulled it open when he sleepily mumbled, ‘Can I see you tonight?’
‘Sure,’ I replied without turning round, ‘I’ll be in the Scotsman.’
I staggered back to the apartment, praying that nobody would be awake. I quietly opened the door and was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when I saw a sea of expectant faces. The gang were indeed up and broke into a standing ovation.
Laughing, Kate gave me a drink.
‘What’s this?’ I stammered.
‘It’s a new cocktail we invented for you. It’s called an Invaded Vagina.’
Oh, the embarrassment. Was nothing private in this world?
‘But how did you know?’
Sarah butted in. ‘Graham here,’ she said, gesticulating to my night of passion’s friend, who was sitting in the corner, ‘went back to the hotel last night, but he heard you inside, so he hotfooted it over here with a full report.’
I was mortified. Ground open up now and swallow me please.
‘Well, aren’t