Edelweiss and Bougainvillea

[Zircon]

* This is a closed thread for Chanaud and I. Please enjoy the story *





“RISE AND SHINE, J!”

A matronly and womanly voice cut through the fog of sleep, and pain.

I groaned, and covered my pounding head with the pillow, trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hopefully suffocate my sorrows. My sorrows arising from a night of binge drinking with a few buddies. I knew what would happen in the morning, but at that time it was a very, very good idea. So good that I even follow that age-old adage of “Liquor before Beer makes one sicker, but Beer before Liquor makes one Better.”

Well now, the one adage that I should have followed was “in moderation.”

So with my head pounding away as if a jack-hammer was ever-present, my mouth tasting and feeling like the bottom of a parrot’s cage, I wished I was dead. This was not the first time I had so wished, but this morning, it seemed more fervent than usual. And not just because of the nasty hangover I was having. That was part of it, albeit quite a small part in my estimation.

No, I wished I was dead because of one person, Sherry Miller.

“RISE AND SHINE, J! You do remember what day it is today, don’t you?” This time, the voice was like right next to me, beside the bed. “J! Get your lazy butt up this minute!”

My name is Martyn J. (Joshua) Sophiea. Everyone called me J or Josh or Joshua, but never Martyn or Marty. (I never found out why the “y” was instead of the normal “i.”) And I never really bothered to find out why my last name was Sophiea. I always assumed it was Eastern European or something like that. Although after years of ridicule, starting from kindergarten right up to high school, until I was actually big enough to fight the “name-callers”, I was ashamed of my last name. “Call me Sophiea and die!”, that was and still is my motto.

“And you will remember to at least write a few sentences on a postcard?” that voice suddenly turning from matronly loud to sweetly motherly.

“Un Huh…” At this point I was agreeing to anything to keep that voice from adding to the pounding in my head.

You see, during the first two years of college, I was faithfully, almost religiously, writing letters to back home. Then in my Junior year, Sherry Miller happened. And the letters began to drop in frequency, until my mother, the one who had just so motherly woken me up, started to phone the college, afraid that I had dropped out or even been kidnapped. The letters resumed, about one once a month, and it was more of one-page notes rather than full-blown few-pages letters. I was too busy learning about the differences between a man and a woman. I think after a while, my mom understood that as well. At least I fervently wished she did and would.

Well, to cut a rather long story short, after graduation, Sherry and I were married. Partially in haste when Sherry announced that she was pregnant. I wanted to be married of course. Strange as it may sound, I wanted to turn into a carbon-copy of parents, who were happily married for over 30 years. As it turned out, my swimmers were not as good as I had believed because Sherry had what they termed as “A False Pregnancy.” By then, I had begun loan repayments on brand new suburban house, coupled with payments for a brand new 1964 Ford Thunderbird. So, for a number of years I was out working my ass off, while Sherry gleefully kept house. Back then 1964, women were still pretty much confined to becoming housewives. She did not seemed to mind, and I had clean clothes and good food. Life was pretty good. Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, not only did she kept house, she also kept an insurance salesman, a radio repairman, even a grocery check-out guy, and some others which she had failed to mentioned. The worst part of that was that my left and right neighbors’ wives were doing exactly the same thing. You can imagine the row I had with her when I found out. Which of course could not compare to the murderous row I was contemplating when I lost everything due to the fact that Sherry was from a rich family of lawyers. Her father, uncles, brothers, cousins, grandfather and granduncles were all lawyers. The only person in law that my family had was a distant uncle who was a county sheriff.

Penniless (almost), homeless (sort of) and car-less (definitely), I was forced to move back in with my parents, who shook their heads and mumbled, a lot, behind my back, about the fact that a 30 year old guy was still living with his parents.

I took all the grumbling in stride, as having someone to do the laundry was as close to heaven as I could imagine. And the food was excellent and filling of course. And the availability of my dad’s old truck helped a bit. It drank more oil than gas, but it still got me where I wanted to go, to work and back, and to the bar and back.

The bar was where Billy, an old school-mate, got me to enter an writing competition, which had the first prize of a all-expenses paid trip to Switzerland. It was an erotic story writing competition, and since I was using more and more of Mrs. Thumbs and her Four Daughters, I figured I would humor the drinking and fishing gang by entering. Mind you, Free Love was just beginning, and we had a new President in the Oval Office. So those two events, although seemingly worlds apart, gave rise to a new generation.

To my buddies’ and my surprise, I had actually won. I figured that I would let out my frustrations by writing about my love life (not about the lack of, rather about my oft-times perverted fantasies), while including all the woman-bashing clichés that I could think of, and then some. Of course, the explicit nature of my fantasies of what I would do to Sherry and her evil kind helped. Not that I’m into BDSM stuff or anything like that, but she did sort of emasculated me with her infidelity. So I was lashing out at her actually.

Well, the party last night was for me going away for 2 glorious weeks in September to the Swiss Alps, an all-expenses-paid trip. A dream come true? You bet. Whether I was awake or not, I was on my way to New York International Airport, being driven by my parents. My buddies were probably still in the same drunken daze as I was. If you had asked me about my state of mind and body that day, I probably would have told you half-truths. My head was still spinning, couple that with the excitement of going abroad for the very first time in my life, you will get a very dazed and confused guy. All in all, it was blurry, not unlike the daily atmosphere of New York.

Besides, at 6’ 2” with dark brown hair and eyes and a still fit body, I had figured that I could still catch a lady’s eyes. My beer belly I assumed would come later, so my flat stomach was still something I was proud of. I was working out to get rid of all the calories from beer and whiskey. Maybe some of the Frauliens could help me forget about Sherry.

That was what was foremost in my thoughts as I ascended the plane at New York International, after a long and unnecessarily tearful departure. I was flying Swissair of course, and the Frauliens, umm, the stewardesses, helped my fantasies even more. The first destination was Zürich and then a connection to Berne, and then a steam-driven train to Grindelwald, the resort town in view of the Eiger. It was already autumn, but the snow would not come for another 2 months or less. I had figured that since this was the downturn of the summer season, the competition organizers would be able to save on the expenses a little bit.

Still a free vacation was still a free vacation, and when the film Goldfinger came out recently, I would be mad to turn down this vacation. I imagined myself in a brand new Aston Martin DB5, just like James Bond’s or being chauffeured around in the 1937 Rolls Royce III Sedance De Ville of Auric Goldfinger’s. It was every boys’ and more than a few men’s dream to be like Sean Connery and pick-up girls in a DB5. Quite unlike me and my falling-apart 1957 Ford pickup. More than likely, I would be walking, hiking, throughout the Swiss Alps in September.

Zürich International even smelled different from NYI. The air seemed fresher, as did the scenery. Not a hazy image like New York. Berne was even better, if that was possible. My canvas backpack was bulging, and frankly uncomfortable, but there the was not a dearth of blonde and brunette Frauliens around. Perhaps in my mind’s eyes, I saw Honor Blackman (Miss Pussy Galore) or Shirley Eaton (Miss Jill Masterson) or even Lois Maxwell (Miss Moneypenny) all around.

Gods! What a name… “Hi! My name is Pussy Galore…” I wished some girl would say that to me. Then I will really be in heaven.

“Hi! My name is Paul Robbart…”

I blinked.

“…Welcome to Switzerland. You must be Mr. Martyn, the winner of our contest.”

I looked at the shorter and smiling balding guy in front of me extending his hand. I took in hand in gesture, quite puzzled as to why he called me that. And since I could only mumble my reply, he took me as such, the winner of the contest. Besides I was expecting a Fraulien, speaking in heavily German-accented English to greet me.

“Ah. We’ll have to wait for your wife, Mrs. Martyn to arrive as well. Perhaps she’s held up in the ladies room?”

I blinked again.

And shrugged, completely and utterly mystified.

Mr. Robbart took that as an assent. And so we waited, with him still smiling, and with me still one heck of a dazed and confused guy.

 

[chanaud]

Sophiea J Martynn

“Teellleeeegram, Sophiea…” A voice echoed through the empty hall and came drifting into my open doorway.

The icy blue eyes staring back in the mirror remained focused never acknowledging her name . My hair’s wrong, I thought, totally wrong. I should have my hair down. With just one strategic pull, the turquoise shelled comb was in my hands and cascades of wispy blonde hair shrouded my narrow shoulders.

“Much better.” The approval barely made it out of my lips before a dark, rounded shadow filled the doorway.

“Telegram, Sophiea.”

“Thank you, Charlotte. You may set it down on my desk.”

“It’s from your parents. Don’t you want to read it right away?

Something could have happened to them. An emergency....”

I turned to Charlotte’s massive form. She waved the telegram in the air. Her excitement was the opposite of my deadpan expression. But I couldn’t hold it long. My face cracked. I couldn’t help it. Five years of her strict guidance combined with maternal warmth passed before me. She was more of a mother to me than my own biological one.

“Really, Charlotte. Is it ever?” My eyes rolled behind my head in exasperation. I quickly walked over to the desk next to the picture window and picked up the telegram. Disgust was written all over my face. Having Charlotte as my captive audience, I held the thin piece of paper to my forehead. With my eyes focused on the high ceiling and using a former crisp tone, I pretended to read the telegram.

“It’s a note, mind you not even a letter, but a note telling me that the all too busy Mr. and Mrs. Randall Martynn the Fifth are detained at a charity ball to help save the seals, or to feed the ostriches, or to endorse the President of Timbuktoo with Prince Charles and will not be able to attend their only offspring, the sole heir to the Martynn fortune’s graduation.”

“Honey, you don’t know it actually states that. Why…..”

Charlotte’s voice trailed, her eyes were everywhere but on me. She knew I was correct. It’s been the same story since my arrival five years ago at St. Gallen University.

Immediately a hand rose to save Charlotte from having to imagine a plausible excuse.

A throaty chuckle fell from my lips. I turned away quickly, hiding the pain forming on my face. I gazed longingly out the window. Spring has sprung. Wildflowers were starting to bloom among the rolling hills. Large fluffy clouds met the green horizon. I’m going to miss walking the grounds, the school, and most of all Charlotte, I thought. But life was beckoning. And it was time for me to move on. Then a shiny silver object caught my eye. My graduation present from my constantly absent parents, a brand new silver 1964 Aston Martin was staring at me, waiting for me to start my life.

And that’s what I did. Immediately after I received my diploma and before the graduation parties, I hopped into my new sports scar and drove off in the direction of the Alps.

My first stop was to claim my prize. You see.. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even Charlotte of my dirty little secret. It all happened one day. I was in need of a broom due to a clumsy spill in my room, so I walked downstairs to the basement to seek a broom. The custodian’s office was empty with the door wide open. After peeking behind doors, I started rummaging through the shelves looking for anything that can act as its substitute. A half opened box piqued my interest. It was a plain brown box with no markings. Different from the others. So I pulled it open. The object staring back at me made me gasp and jump back. The lid sprung back closing the box. My curiosity got the better of me. I had to look again. With my heart thumping madly, I opened the box. Staring back at me was the raunchiest woman I’ve ever seen. A nude blonde woman sucking her middle finger was staring back at me. She had two perfectly rounded breasts, a narrow waist that flared out to rounded hips. Her legs were wide displaying her privates to the world. She was beautiful. Her body was a work of art. And the way she was staring back at me, so suggestively made me pick up the magazine and leaf through the pages. It contained positions of men and women, women and women, men and men, multiple men and women, everything imaginable and more.

A slight sound woke me from my reverie. I snuck the magazine under my shirt and ran all the way up to my room. Later that evening when everyone was secured in their rooms, I dared to open the magazine again. A whole new world opened before me. My body stirred and ached with each page. The new sensations overwhelmed me and made me hungry for more. I found myself exploring my body like some of the girls. The stories fascinated me. They were poorly written but I felt more emotions in that short paragraphs than of Thoreaus’s sonnets. After memorizing that magazine, I returned to the closet and replaced that one for another one.

After the fourth magazine, an article caught my eye. A writing contest. The best erotica story wins an all expenses paid two week vacation to Grindelwald just a short 8 hr drive from here. I knew I could do better than the published stories. So I set the challenge to the test and wrote a lengthy story of a professor taking a student’s virginity. Months later having forgotten about the contest, a thick manila envelop was waiting in my box. In it was my story typed by a professional, a congratulatory letter and a telephone number to confirm my reservations to Grindelwald Resort.

The dates were perfectly timed to my graduation. It was to be my first destination towards living life.

I arrived windblown and flushed from the bright afternoon sun. At the foot of the beautifully landscaped entrance, I pulled my car over to tie a white Hermes silk scarf over my head, and apply fresh candy apple red lipstick. It added years and maturity to my checkered royal blue suit. I wanted them to expect a worldly sophisticated woman. Not the virginal college grad that I am.
I didn’t expect an entourage waiting for me. There was a smallish balding man wearing a smart business suit and a tall, dark handsome man wearing a weary nervous look. Also was a young bellhop wearing gold and garnet. He gave me a look of approval before running outside to collect my four oversized bags.

“Mrs. Martynn.” The smallish balding man greeted me.

“Ms. Martynn.” I corrected him. He answered with a nod followed by a look of admiration as if I was the modern woman he perceived me to be.

“Your room is ready. Come this way.” He directed to me and the tall man.

The lift was tiny. The three of us barely fit in it. The man in charge turned to me.

“My name is Mr. Robbart. I will act as your personal concierge. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at my private number listed by the phone. And may I add, congratulations on your prestigious award.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to the tall man who echoed me. We stared at each mutely. Our eyes flickered questioningly but neither of us said a word. Mr. Robbart stared at us in bewilderment. Just then the lift’s door opened breaking our awkwardness.

“Right this way, please. I think you will find this room to be private and away from our summer vacationers…” Mr. Robbart said as he unlocked the door with the hotel key. The door swung open revealing a room with a double bed and barely enough walkway to a simple dresser.

“Jonathan will be up shortly with your luggage.” Mr. Robbart turned his back and returned to the open lift leaving me standing there with the tall, dark stranger.

 

[Zircon]

Martyn J. Sophiea

The scenery all along the route of the steam-driven cog train was awesome, to say the least. It totally made me forget why Mr. Robbart called me Martyn, and why I was in a state of confusion. He just took charge, and hustled me to the train so fast, that I almost had to run to keep up. Apparently, he got a message saying that “Mrs. Martyn” would be arriving by road, instead of flying coach.

Anyway, the scenery was so much better than any postcard or picture could convey. I mean, the green grass was really much a shade greener than I had seen or imagined the color green to be. The sky, with whiffs of stringy clouds was the bluest of the blue. The air was so crisp and sharp that I could almost touch it. This was turning out to be much more than I had ever dreamed it would be. Truly, nothing else can compare to the real thing, the realness of actually being there. Even, the black smoke of the steam-engine added to the attraction, instead of being a nuisance like everywhere else.

I was so engrossed that I did not notice Mr. Robbart disappear to the dining car for a bite to eat. I was hungry as well, but somehow, the sensory feeding was going to be enough for a while. I did not want to miss a single thing. Truly, I was like a kid again, going on his first road trip. Everything was new, and fresh, and exciting. I had never been out of the great state of New York, so in a sense this was new.

The cog slowly made its way up the slopes of the Alps. I had thought that the slowness would chafe me, being such an impatient guy all my life. My short-lived marriage was a good example. Instead, I wished that this train would last forever. I had chuckled to see that even the cows were happy being here. In the distance I could the magnificent Eiger, but since not being a mountaineer, that held less attraction to me than the numerous farm houses all the along the track. I wowed to someday build and live in such a picturesque house.

The small station which was our final destination looked exactly like in a postcard. Right down to the low-ceiling dark-stained oak beams and roof. The hotel, which was the prize was also exactly like I had pictured. The Romanesque design was a charm in and of itself. The evenly spaced windows allowed to a much expanded view of the Alps and pastures. I was adding to my excitement by even standing in the lobby.

That was when I first glimpsed at my fantasy coming to life. A silver-colored Aston Martin DB5, just exactly like James Bond’s. And just like my fantasy, an absolutely gorgeous blonde arose from it. And immediately, my already overworked heart started pumping blood to my lower extremities, concentrating on one particular part only. I could feel the shortness of breath coming. Although I could have attributed that to the high altitude I was on, but I would be lying.

Her eyes were like the skies, deep blue. It was something that I could get lost in, and I would not have minded so much either. The sun, helping in a mysterious and inexplicable way, made her shoulder-length locks shine like gold. Her alabaster-toned skin exuded an internal light of their own, something which pales my slightly bronzed skin to their utter shame. Her body was unfortunately partially hidden by her checkered royal-blue suit. But I had no doubt that her body was in no way lost out to the rest of her. Not even to her lips, pout and enhanced by the apple-redness.

My God! An absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and perfect woman…

I was in heaven…

Which really explained why in my totally smitten and confused manner, I hardly mumbled a proper greeting for a lady. In my wildest dreams since she alighted from that car, I had hoped that she would be “Mrs. Martyn.” And in my wish for the coin in the wishing well was that she would indeed become permanently and rightfully so, Mrs. Sophiea.

The lift was indeed very small, and I was momentarily afraid that it would not hold the three of us in there. But I was thankful, for I got the chance to drink in her eyes, and smell the light perfume she was wearing. Her womanly smells made my knees go weak. But then I was saved when we got to our floor. Any longer in that lift, I would have made a fool of myself and got down on my knees to worship her.

Mr. Robbart brought us to our room, which was an entire surprise by itself. It mirrored the lift, small but comfortable. It had a double bed, with fluffy pillows, a dresser and just enough room to walk without the knees hitting any furniture. And that was the extent of that comfort.

I hardly heard Mr. Robbart when he left, as I was still adding confusion to the rest of my already much confused day. I looked and blinked at her, noticing for the first time that I was not alone in being dazed. Although, she did make an extremely striking figure, confused.

“Um… Perhaps, there is a mistake?” I think I mumbled that just on the side of coherence.

“Yes, perhaps so…”

Then I got back to just blushing, as even her voice was perfect. Slow, precise cadence with a touch of command and strength. Demureness perhaps hidden well behind.

I got on the phone and called the front desk asking for Mr. Robbart. “… oh, I don’t believe that there is a mistake, Mr. Martyn. You and your wife are have my utmost efforts in making your stay as enjoyable as possible. Besides, this hotel as well as all the other hotels are fully booked and occupied. There was, I should say still is, a conference. It was supposed to have ended well before you arrive. But the organizers decided to expand it for another one and half weeks. I’m afraid that to say this, but this is the only room left available. I was lucky in that I made that booking well before hand. Otherwise, you two will be spending the holiday in a farmhouse. I’m truly sorry…”

I put down the phone and told her about the lack of any other sleeping arrangements available for another week or more. I still did not correct the name mistake. Besides, a wrong can make a right, right? That was what the devil on my left shoulder said. The Angel on my right kept pushing the dreaded conscience into the fore.

“We could… um… um… make the best use of this… um… of what we’re given. I think… No… I promise that I’ll keep my instincts in check. This also applies to us using the bathroom. I’ll remove myself from this room for the short while you need to be decent… This is my first holiday in a long time. I’ve never been anywhere before, let alone outside the States. This is a dream come true for me. While it’s not turning out into the best circumstance for the both of us, I’m loathed to ruin this holiday over a mistake…”

The first part of the last sentence was a lie. It was the best circumstance for me, well beyond anything that I could dream up. But I was true to my word that nothing untoward will happen without her permission. I was too much of a strict upbringing to do otherwise. And the Angel on my right shoulder…

“And please call me Joshua or Josh. That’s my middle name, the initial J. My friends and family do. Martyn is my first name. My last is Sophiea. But please don’t call me Sophiea. I solemnly do swear that I’ll be the perfect gentlemen in attending to your needs…” I extended my hand, hoping that she will take in kind gesture and allow me to share the room with her. Besides I was really dying to get to know her.

 

[chanaud]

Sophiea J Martynn

An American!

My long, sharp nose couldn't help wrinkling at the word. How gauche, was my immediate thought. I couldn’t help it. It was what my British upbringing had taught me to think of our friends abroad.

While he spoke, it gave me a chance to survey this stranger thoroughly. He was dark, not as dark as the Mediterranean’s but bronzed as if he spent one too many lazy afternoons lounging under the sun. I couldn’t help noticing that each time he moved, may it be the simplest gesture of extending his arm to lifting his backpack, his muscles rippled giving a hint of a well toned body under his neatly pressed chambray oxford shirt. Though the was clean cut, and hair neatly combed, there was a bit of rawness about him. Probably because he’s an American, I concluded. I’ve read about the American cowboys. They spend days under the blazing sun battling torrent conditions, corralling cattle, and lonely nights sleeping under the stars.

Yet there seemed to be a teddy bear under his ruggedness. His voice was gentle, his mannerism extremely humble. He seemed almost nervous. His eyes peered over his hooded eyebrows constantly seeking approval. He was different from any of the men I knew. Not that I’m experienced in them. Educated in an all girl’s boarding school since age five, I haven’t had the chance to interact with many men, only the family and parent’s friends that visited when I’m home for the holidays. He was definitely pleasing to the eye, I decided. And worthy of getting to know.

Don't call me Sophiea, he said with a look as if he just tasted something awful. My spine sprung up. Is he serious? What is wrong with the name, Sophiea?

"And what may I ask is the matter with the name Sophiea?" I asked haughtily. My eyes, the color of cold steel blue peered right at him, my nose high in the air.

Josh’s head jerked back, the surprise on his face was obvious. He didn’t expect my reaction. And for a brief moment, I regretted saying what I did. We were certainly getting off on the wrong foot. But, bloody hell, he started it.

“It’s not bad if I wanted to be beaten up by every kid in the playground.” He answered with a shrug.

“Well I’ve carried the name Sophiea since birth, and never received any threats.” I took a step forward and extended my hand while my lips curled into a smile. “Sophiea J Martynn. Please to be your acquaintance Josh.”

Josh. How American. I couldn’t help musing as my tongue played with the word.

“I suppose we must make do the best we can.” My voice trailed as I turned to survey the cramped quarters. The wood grain was hand carved. Antiques were small and simple, yet matched well with the pinstriped wallpaper. An ivory eyelet bedcover gave the room a Victorian romantic aura. It was perfect for lovers.

Except we weren’t lovers. So the room was cramped and I couldn’t help eyeing the bed warily. It was small, incredibly small. Sure it was big enough for the two of us, but I couldn’t help thinking about the possibility of bumping into each other in the middle of the night and feeling his flesh. The idea was enough to make my pulse quicken as my heart somersaulted. I couldn’t help blushing furiously at the thought. Josh saw my reaction and followed my eyes to seek the cause. He saw the bed and turned even redder than me. He knew immediately what I was thinking. The room was incredibly warm and seemed to be closing in on us. I had to get out of there. Quick.

“Ermm.. why don’t I take a walk around the grounds while you unpack. And on my way back, I will pay a visit to Mr. Robbart and inquire as to when a room will come available.”

 

[Zircon]

Martyn J. Sophiea

How British!

Haven't they realized that they lost the battle, that we had routed the redcoats and we had thrown their tea into the sea?

Nevertheless, her feistiness certainly added to her charm. And oh! She had an abundance of charm, especially when compared to a small town hick like me, even though I was from New York. She could charm the pants off me anytime and at anyplace. No wonder the Europeans thumbed their noses at noisy and brash Americans. They had infinitely more charm and grace than we could ever achieve.

When I took her hand in her proffered friendship, I got the lovely feeling of electricity running all over my body. I felt my ear burn red when I saw her eyes stray from the small bed to me. She seemed to have that particularly unnerving gaze inherent in those blue orbs. Not that I minded blushing, just that blushing was for females, while male would only grunt and holler wildcat calls.

“Ermm… why don’t I take a walk around the grounds while you unpacks. And on my way back, I will pay a visit to Mr. Robbart and inquire as to when a room will come available.”

"Ermm… Yes, of course. If you'll permit me, I'll gladly escort you as I too am interested in topic at hand." I said dryly, while hoping that Mr. Robbart would not have good news, forcing us both together.

Although my throat had dried up since then, there was one piece of evidence, which announced proudly to the world that I was a male. The huge tent pole in the front of my pants. I never had any success in controlling its thoughts, which were now turned to the prospect of sharing this little bed with this goddess. So instead, I nonchalantly walked pass her, giving her a full view of the few jerks, and put down my backpack. I wanted to laugh at her shock, if that was what was on her face. She apparently could not get her eyes off the size and girth projected by the cotton material.
I remembered offering my arms in a gentleman's pose, although I did not remember her taking the arm. I would have love the feeling of her dainty hands on me. The thing that stuck in my mind at that time was that I was feeling blasted hot, hotter than anything I had felt before and I was not even sweating. There was only one thing left to do to save her and myself.

At the door of the lift, I leaned over and kissed her on the side of the lips, not quite fully on the lips and not quite on the cheeks either. It was certainly a bold gesture, a middle path between a chaste kiss and a full-blown lover's kiss.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you, Miss Sophiea. I'll try to keep my ardor under control. Perhaps my presence away from you will help…" For the first time in my life, saying the name Sophiea brought pleasure instead of the normal disdain.

I blew a long breath of relieve when Mr. Robbart was off to a side room beside the front reception. It saved us the trouble of looking for him. We let him finish his business with the receptionist before disturbing him. Although by the sounds and looks of that conversation, it seemed that things were not cordial and not going well either. The flinging of arms, raised voices and flushed faces were telling. The culmination was the banging of a fist on the desk.

"Ah, sorry to disturb you Mr. Robbart. Perhaps you have some good news for us. I for one, feel rather uncomfortable in that room with Josh… um… Mr. Sophiea here." She said my name right, and I wanted to leap in the air when said Josh.

"Miss Martynn. I'm so, so sorry to disappoint you. As you may have overheard, I have some bad news. Instead of the number of people leaving as the conference winds down, I've just received word that there would be two more groups coming in. Two! My god! More people instead less. I've never seen this happen before. Therefore I must truly apologize for the inconvenience. However, you've my word that I'll do my best. No! Better than my best to make sure that your stay is as comfortable and enjoyable as possible. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and have a second round with the manager. Perhaps I can threaten bodily harm this time. If you'd be so kind as to bear with me for a little while longer. I'd enjoy both of your company for dinner tonight. By then I hope that I may have some good news for you. Please excuse me."

"That was brief and to the point." I grinned hoping to lessen the tension in the air.

"Yes… Um.. This evening then, Mr. Robbart. Perhaps in the meantime I'll try to take in the sights. I've heard that it's lovely around here."

"Yes, Miss Martynn. Absolutely stunning. May I recommend the Landülf path? It starts by right out the back door of this hotel. It'll end up at the Landülf farm, where the Landülf farmhouse is. It's by far one of the most scenic but short. One moment please…"

Mr. Robbart disappeared around a swinging door, and a few moments later, reappeared with a basket.

"Miss Martynn and um… Mr. Martyn, you can enjoy a picnic while you are out there. The food, wine and a blanket in inside. This is the least I can do for now for the inconvenience that I've caused."

"Thank you Mr. Robbart. The Land… um… the Lands path then." I tried to say that name but I could not quite match the Germanic accent of that name. I quickly grabbed the picnic basket. This was getting better and better. I had not been on a picnic in a long while.

Mr. Robbart took leave of us, which left us both alone in the lobby.

"Shall we?" I took her hand, since my erection had subsided to a manageable and less noticeable state. I was determined not to waste a minute of my stay here. Surprisingly she did not slap me for being so bold. I was of course expecting a slap or a kick to the groin.

The path meandered like a deer's walk. Instead of digging up a rock in the straightway, the path circled around. There were brooks with crystal clear water, which tasted so fresh and sweet. I had already forgotten about the wine in the basket, as I was contented. The sun was shining straight down, but the pines shielded us well. The floor was littered with needles and cones. And the air remained sweet with the added smells of crunched cones and needles.

There were several meadows with the browning grass swaying to an unheard music of the wind. Instantly the image of the Sound of Music came into mind. There were no cows, although I thought I had spotted a deer flash by. If Miss Sophiea was not with me, I would have ran and danced like Julie Andrews. Maybe my voice will echo down to the valley.

I did not speak as I had felt that words would have profaned the serenity that we were feeling.

It was too soon when the Landülf farmhouse came into sight. And what a sigh it was. We found ourselves in what I had perceived to be a large stabling yard, surrounded by a high wall of fitted stones.

Despite my untrained eyes, I recognized the construction as a fortification by its design, for stone steps flush with the walls rose up at several locations a short distance from the large building which I took to be the actual farmhouse. The top of the wall had crenels and merlons, and a walkway broad enough for two men to pass one another as they defended the grounds.

This was turning out to be entirely different from what I had expected.

The farmhouse was large. It rose three storeys into the air, and the roof was covered with stone tiles rather than thatch or dark oaken wood normally found in the valley. It was painted white, with wooden trim around the doors and windows, the shutters and doors having been painted a cheery red. There were several chimneys but no smoke belched from them.

"This is a fortress, not a farmhouse..." I whispered in awe. I knew that back in the distant middle ages, things were not always so peaceful.

The walls of the farmhouse were stout, and the forest on all sides had been cleared sufficiently to give archers on the wall a clear field of fire. The road from the woods turned abruptly halfway to the farmhouse and circled around to gates which I assumed were on the other side of the inn. No ram or burning wagon could easily be run along to destroy the gates and gain entrance.

Then I glanced for a long while at the placement of the building. Archers in the upper windows would provide a second rank of defenders to support anyone on the wall. I returned my gaze to the doors and saw they were also heavy with iron bands. I imagined that they could be barred from the inside. It would take stout men with heavy axes to break those down. Then I happen to glance up, and saw the murder-holes above each door. Hot oil or water, or arrows could be directed down at anyone in front of the door.

There was a tree stump in the middle of the path, with small stumps around it. From up close it looked like a table and chairs, which would make a good spot for a glass of wine, and rest tired feet. The farmhouse beckoned to be explored, but it can wait until some cheese and wine have been attacked on.

"Um… Miss Martynn… Sorry… Sophiea, would you like a glass of wine?"

 

[chanaud]

Sophiea J Martynn

The way he caught my stare at the bed made me blush further. When his face reddened as dark as mine, it was endearing. Then my eyes fell and saw IT…HIM! I couldn’t believe it. It was so big! And so hard! The think trouser material could hardly contain it. It seemed to rage within his pants, and left me wondering if it hurt. It must hurt, I decided. How could it not. Images of the pictures in those naughty magazines were coursing through my head. I wondered if his was the same as all others. I couldn’t help staring. My mouth dropped and was all of a suddenly dry. So dry, I couldn’t swallow. The heat coursing through my body left me trembling like a frightened deer. I was a frightened deer! I’ve never been with a man before let alone seen one standing proud before me.

He didn’t attempt to hide his hardness. Instead he mumbled something incoherent. I couldn’t hear him. All sounds were monotone, I was in a deep tunnel. I just nodded in agreement to whatever he suggested.

Josh followed me out the hotel room. He was standing so close, I swore he could hear my heart beating in my throat. And he must have. He leaned in close, and kissed me. Lightly like a butterfly’s. I turned to him expecting another one, but the deafening sound of the elevator doors opening recalled me back to reality.

“Control yourself…” I told myself. “You are a sophisticated, world class writer. Writer! Oh no, that’s why I’m here in the first place. That bloody contest. Wait. He’s here, too for the same reason.”

Then a gasp escaped my throat. Luckily the lift opened again drowning my audible gasp and saving me from further embarrassment.

Mr. Robbarts was out of breath and obviously out of control. He was sincerely embarrassed for the mishap. His face was beet red from the overbooking mishaps, but sympathized with our dilemma. Josh and I knew we were in the mercy of his hands. But there was nothing Mr. Robbarts could do. We were the least of his problems. When we mentioned our little walk, he agreed too wholeheartedly. It was another problem solved if albeit temporary.

The scenery along the winding path was breathtaking. Summer in the Alps was in its glory. Clear blue skies hung over us greeting the glacier lakes. The white mountain peaks was begging to be painted. Growing up near here, I’ve been tainted. I’ve hiked many back roads to the Alps and seen many trails like these before. But this time was different, I was seeing it through Josh’s eyes. I, too, became the little kid in a candy store. I watched him carefully. His eyes darted everywhere drinking in the beautiful scene before him. His skin seemed to come alive and was singing to the high mountain peaks. I found myself giggling like him. This handsome stranger was opening my eyes. And I was doing nothing to stop him.

What I didn’t expect was the Lundulf farmhouse hidden deep in a valley. I estimated it to date back to the 1400s. Little pieces managed to crumble off the stone walls, but the structure refuse to crumble. It stood high and mighty, a fortress from all evil doers. The center court was long and wide as if it was expecting a busy market, every Saturday.

“Um… Miss Martynn… Sorry… Sophiea, would you like a glass of wine?"

His soft voice broke me from my reverie. Josh holding the bottle of ’59 Gruner Veitliner suggestively in the air made me smile. “Why I thought you would never ask.” I responded as I sat down on one of the inviting stumps. Immediately I kicked off my shoes and ran my barefeet along the soft green carpet. long limbs extended out hugging the log before me.

“What a breathtaking view.” I couldn’t help blurting out. Josh nodded as he handed me a glass of the pinot noir. My senses kicked in. The fruity scent of the pinot noir filled my nostrils before my lips touched the outer rim of the glass.

“What Shall we toast to?” I asked him over the rim of the wineglass.

“We should toast, shouldn’t we?.”

“Of course. It’s bad luck not to. So I’ve been told.”

“Then we must.” His mind wandered for a long second.

“To Mr. Robbarts. Due to his blunder, we wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying this great view.” His dark eyes spoke to me.

“Yes, to our lovely Mr. Robbart. May he continue to blunder during our stay here.” I couldn’t help responding, letting Josh know I’m enjoying his company.

Upon the first taste of the light fruity liquid, my eyes closed. The sweet flavor flowed into my mouth and instantly a refreshing surge charged through me. When I finally swallowed the first sip, I happened to look up at Josh. He was staring at me with a distant look.

The look on his face, and the wells forming in his blue eyes made my heart turn. Suddenly all shyness escaped me and was immediately replaced with a strange sensation that I had ever felt before Strangely it didn’t confuse me. I accepted it fully. And allowed myself to relish in this new delight..

With my eyes closed, I leaned back on the log and offered my face and bust towards to the sun. I knew Josh caught each movement, which made me smile internally.

“This is so lovely, I never want to leave.” I commented softly. Then I felt him. I felt him before his lips touched mine. Soft breaths drew near. I knew he was about to kiss me. I didn’t stop him. I willed him to continue…