My ex had been nagging me for some time to join a social dating club. “Not an online group of saddo serial shaggers, but somewhere where you might possibly meet the next Mrs Bottomley” was how she curtly put it.
So I duly enrolled with Cupid’s Bow. It wasn’t cheap. After an uncomfortable face-to-face interview with a middle-aged woman who looked like a retired traffic warden, I was admitted to the group’s exclusive membership on the understanding that ‘smutty hanky-panky will not be tolerated.’ Social events comprised pre-booked theatre trips, supper evenings in small Soho restaurants and occasional private views of London art exhibitions. Closer fraternisation was left strictly to members to arrange via private emails.
After a couple of rather quiet group get-togethers, I received an email from a member called Jen, who said she was trying to make up a party of six to take a villa on the Costa del Sol later in the summer. Interested parties should contact her. I sent off a friendly reply and a couple of days later, Jen emailed back to say she’d included me in the group, which would comprise four women members and two males.
Our first nervous meeting was in the Departures Hall at London’s Gatwick Airport. Tall, slim, auburn-haired Jen, with her clipboard, was clearly in charge. Then there was feisty Cockney Doreen (a doppelganger for Barbara Windsor if ever I saw one), petite Ingrid (I guessed she might be German) and sedate Susan. The only other male member of our party was nerdy Tim – who turned up late replete with his laptop satchel. Why Jen had gone for a 4:2 ratio wasn’t explained. She told us the two-hour flight would be met by a six-seater mini-bus which would take us straight to our villa.
We couldn’t have wished for a better location. High up in the hills overlooking Malaga harbour, our villa was a restrained single-storey exercise in white concrete, with all the rooms having floor-to-ceiling windows which slid open for access to the paved area around a swimming pool. There was generous shade from small palm trees and breathtaking views of the Mediterranean. We all congratulated Jen on her superb choice, then eagerly headed for our rooms to unpack and get into our costumes for some serious sunbathing. Tim and I were in an annexe.
Jen and Ingrid were already stretched out on sun loungers when Tim and I arrived. Moments later, in a lime green bikini which left little to the imagination, Doreen arrived and cackled: “Anybody checked whether there’s any booze in the fridge?”
Right on cue, sedate Susan appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray with six coasters and a large jug of a red liquid which she announced was known as Sangria. It certainly packed a punch. “Phew, what’s in it?” asked Tim.
“Red wine, Angostura bitters, mint, quartered Seville oranges and ice,” adding nonchalantly: “and I added a few measures of brandy.” The party got stuck into the cocktail with relish, nibbling on the salted biscuits which Susan had found in the kitchen pantry. While she went back to replenish the jug, Jen and Ingrid – who were now holding hands - lay back for a snooze.
Tim was soon busy on his laptop while Doreen, sitting at the edge of the pool, dangled her legs in the water. She turned to me and murmured: “Cor, warm in-it?” I smiled and nodded in agreement. Putting her hands behind her back she unclipped her bikini top, letting it fall into the water, then turned so I could admire her huge breasts in profile. With a giggle, she observed: “Don’t want to have no suntan marks around me boobs, do I?” Tim didn’t even look up.
When Susan reappeared with our Sangria refill, she was quite taken aback. “No-one told ME this was going to be ‘topless’,” she announced haughtily, slamming the tray onto the table between Jen and Ingrid, who had now been awoken by the commotion. Jen spoke first. “Sorry, Susan. What do others think?” She looked over at me and Tim. “Doesn’t bother me,” I said.
“Well, I’m with Doreen,” said Ingrid, quietly unclipping her bra to expose a small pair of breasts with puffy nipples. Jen followed her example, revealing a deliciously freckled bosom with dark brown nipples.
“Well… I can see I’m outnumbered!” Susan scoffed. Doreen moved across from her poolside position and stood behind her. “Like me to get them out for you, darlin’?” she giggled as the haughty one’s perfectly-formed breasts came into view. Aided by more Sangria, the atmosphere between the six virtual strangers soon became relaxed.
“We don’t have to eat out tonight if you don’t want to get dressed up, folks,” Jen announced after jug number three. “I’ve checked in the freezer and there’s plenty of prepared meals we could warm up in the microwave.”
"I'm for staying here and having a pool party,” announced the feisty Cockney. I wondered whether she’d also be leading the campaign to get the others to take off their bikini bottoms. And how long would it be before the quartet demanded to see Tim’s and my tackle! But a communal striptease never materialised, though I noticed that Doreen had clearly set her sights on Tim, doubtless deciding he was an ‘easy lay’. Whether I’d get to have a tumble in the sheets with the organiser now seemed rather unlikely.
~ ~ ~
For our first full day in Malaga, Jen announced that we would be visiting the renowned seafront fortress known as The Alcazaba. A taxi came to collect us at 11.00 am.
It was stiflingly hot, with large crowds of tourists exploring the huge 11th-century Moorish fortification. We left after an exhausting hour and eagerly agreed with our taxi driver’s suggestion to visit a cool tapas bar on the waterfront.
“What’s it to be tonight, folks?” our guide enquired.
“How about a barbee?” Doreen suggested. There’s one in the pool’s storage shed.”
“I’d be up for that,” Susan chimed in enthusiastically. “And perhaps Tim could conjure up some disco music on his laptop?” Everyone else nodded agreement and Jen said she’d get our taxi to make a detour to a mini-Mart for the food on the way back to the villa. “And remember to put brandy on the shopping list!” Doreen added.