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Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Sun, Sea and S in Santa Monica

Agent Triple P's latest trip to the US had come at very short notice. He had barely had time to line up any girlies and, rather to his surprise, it had been S, his film industry encounter from his previous trip, who had been eager to pick him up from the airport.


His trip had been remarkably smooth, the British Airways 747 had had a tail wind so arrived on time despite a delay at Heathrow. He had only taken hand baggage and with only a ten minute wait at immigration and no interrogation (the number of US stamps in his passport of late must be counting for something) he was able to bypass the luggage carousel. The dingy 1970s terminal was undergoing a sorely needed upgrade and so was covered with scaffolding. He walked up the ramp past the customs booth to the arrivals area where a crowd of people were hanging over the railings holding signs saying things like "Johnson, Electronic Arts", Hello Grandma" and "Orange County Sherrifs Department." Triple P was slightly anxious about meeting up with S as he had only spent 12 hours in her company, and most of that was in the dark, so was not sure whether he would recognise her from the dozens of other attractive Asian women in the arrivals hall.


But then he heard a girl calling out the horrible shortened version of his name (no, not Single P) and knew it was for him. S was leaning over the railing waving frantically in a typically uninhibited Californian way. This action helped his identification enormously as she was wearing another, what must be typical, low-cut top which displayed her assets very nicely indeed. He reached the end of the railing and she was there, bouncing up and down like Tigger before literally jumping into his arms and squashing her lovely chest against him. She said how great it was to see him again so soon as she hadn't expected to and thought he would just be another one of her one night stands. Triple P though better of making the same observation.


She was wearing skin tight white jeans and an open, wool, red plaid shirt over a short, low-cut, white ribbed vest. Triple P's hand slipped around her waist and he was rewarded by the feel of her warm skin between the bottom of her vest and the top of her hipster jeans.


She queried, as had the customs man, the amount of luggage he had with him but he explained that given the number of flights he had to do in the next few days he had decided to eschew hold luggage. He then had to explain what eschew meant.


They crossed the multiple lanes of traffic outside the terminal and arrived at the car park where they boarded S's jeep.




Leaving behind the weird pink sculpure lights at the airport entrance we found that, miraculously, the usual heavy traffic was not present and the drive to Santa Monica only took 25 minutes compared with the usual hour, or even hour and a half.

On the way she explained that although she had planned a night out she thought he might be tired and anyway she wanted him to meet her friend A who wasn't available that evening so she hoped he wouldn't be too upset if they waited until Sunday. Triple P wasn't so sure about the friend but at least she was a girl.




Triple P had stayed at the Fairmont Miramar twice before. He had had nice, but rather small, rooms in the modern tower. This time he had got a deal on a suite in the 1920s wing of the building. They arrived under the imposing floodlit fig tree outside the entance. Apparently, the second largest fig tree in California. Where the largest one was was not revealed to Triple P when he asked.

When Triple P checked in, the woman pointedly reminded him that his booking was for one, but gave him two room keys anyway. Triple asked S if she wanted to remain in the lobby bar whilst he took his bag up and unpacked a few things. But she said she wanted to come up to see his room.

This was rather comforting as he had met S in a bar about 6 weeks previously, had been in bed with her three and a half hours later and had said goodbye to her eight hours after that. He was not, therefore, assuming anything.


His suite was most satisfactory; with a comfortable living room a bedroom which only looked small because of the immense size of the bed and a bedroom suite which contained a very large bath.



As he set up his laptop, he was very gratified to hear S running the bath. He was even more gratified to turn around and see her standing in the doorway dressed just in her white cotton vest. Either he had told her of this particular fetish of his or it was just a very lucky accident. Nevertheless, he soon relieved her of this garment and they settled in to the bath togther.


Getting a good, deep bath in a hotel was getting increasingly difficult due to the increasing shower culture. Showers are alright if you had a friend to play with but they aren't as de-stressing as a bath. And of course you can't read a book in the shower. One reason that Triple P didn't think that the new-fangled electronic book would take over from the real one. He had dropped a book in the bath more than once but after twenty minutes with a good hairdryer you could get it back to a readable, if rather crinkly, state. Unless they produce a yellow (no doubt), waterproof one he didn't think that the electronic version would fair quite so well.


Anyway, reading a book would have been rude and, indeed, incomprehensibly stupid, when faced with S's dark nipples showing, enticingly, through the mountains of foam she had contrived to produce in the bath.



Amazon's Kindle: not as waterproof, or as much fun in the bath, as a girl



S started to do interesting things to Triple P with her very prehensile toes: what a skilfull girl.


After the bath, Triple P presented her with her pink and black present from Agent Provocateur and was gratified to know that he had not lost his eye. 32B was spot on. In their subsequent activities S refuse to take her new lingerie off which, after some initial disappointment, Triple P actually found quite enticing. Certainly Agent DVD would have approved. He prefers naked girls who are dressed.

Not surprisingly, after all this activity, Triple P dozed off and only woke up at 7.30pm when S said she was hungry and maybe they should go downstairs for dinner.

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