An Arse To Die For

I groaned. "Oh, Dolita, pardon my language – the word 'sheila' is used by Australian blokes to describe any woman aged from 15 to 55."

"And what do you call them after 55?" she laughed.

"Tired old tarts," I joked. "But since you're obviously over 15 and under 55, to me you're a 'sheila'," I told her.

"Well I'm not much over 15," she said, coyly.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," I said. "You've gotta be 20-plus. Say 22?"

She giggled. "Silly, I'm 32. Do I really look 22?"

"You look absolutely smashing," I said, without a trace of a lie.

"You look pretty good yourself, Shayne," she said. "You here long?"

"A fortnight," I told her. "And you?"

"I rent an apartment here," she said, "I do some modelling and I've appeared in a couple of videos."

I told her about my job in Sydney. I sell cars – not second-hand crap, I specialise in brand-new Altezzas, actually, and some of them can be seriously sporty little motors.

We lay back in the sun, chattering away and when I lay on my belly to get my back tan going, Dolita stepped over and rubbed lotion all over my back and thighs. I was wearing full-cut Speedos, but she hiked the sides up so my buttocks were exposed. She poured lotion all over them and her hands were wonderfully soft, yet strong at the same time.

"Nice buns, Shayne," she said, as she massaged the lotion into my arse cheeks. I'm not afraid to admit I felt my old fella stirring in my Speedos. She was one seriously hot bird!

After an hour or more basking in the sun, I pulled my towel over me and announced: "C'mon, Dolita, it's time we enjoyed a nice cold glass of the amber nectar."

Again that frown. "Amber nectar?" she queried.

"Beer – well, I'm up for one. Do you drink beer?"

She nodded. "I've been known to have a cold one on a hot day," she said, sounding as if it was a line someone had taught her.