The Chairman:1Posted: November 22, 2010
There are advantages to being a frequent flyer.
Bypassing the madding crowds in security lines, being upgraded to “First Class”, being the first to board, getting the best seats ̶ all are “advantages” that the infrequent flyer doesn’t always understand.
Frequent Flyers have their own reservations line, they can call from anywhere in the world and talk to a real person ̶ immediately.
In today’s world, Frequent Flyers don’t pay “extra” for checking baggage.
One of the perks, little known to infrequent flyers, is that advanced status flyers are guaranteed a seat.
Any flight, any time.
Of course those perks come with a price.
Last minute tickets are “full fare,” meaning that I’m paying for a hotel room and dinner and $800 voucher for the unfortunate soul that gets “bumped” to fly tomorrow morning.
The college student that paid $160 three months ago thinks he’s got a good deal, although it came out of the price of my ticket, but at least I’m going home at the last minute.
It was Friday noon when I found out there was no need for me to stay the entire two weeks, so suddenly I was in the market for a flight home.
So much for the good news.
For the bad, despite being an “elite” member, occasionally I don’t get upgraded, and this turned out to be one of those times.
Although they’d buy someone else off to get me on, that didn’t necessarily mean that I got an upgrade to first class.
Getting a ticket just two hours before the flight meant that I got seat 26 B instead.
At least it was on the aisle.
I got checked in and to the gate, the first class and elite passengers were already loading.
Walking right past the throngs and up to the gate I didn’t even have time to survey the awaiting crowds.
Normally I discretely observe the awaiting passengers, sizing them up, figuring what the upcoming flight will be like.
And, of course, always looking to size up the most observed item in the universe ̶ the human female.
I waited patiently for the first class passengers to stow their carry-on’s and make room for me to wander back to the peon department.
There were only a couple of people yet in the main cabin, those few frequent fliers or “pre-boarders” that had been escorted on before the rest of the regular passengers.
The young mother with two toddlers, the one gentleman with a cane still working his way half way back.
Not too many today.
As I approached my seat I saw that I was the only one yet in the area.
I stowed my bag and computer, took my seat, and began to observe others approaching, hoping that this would be one of those lucky days when a good looking and friendly woman would be joining me.
Several passengers approached and went on by or pulled up short, leaving my adjacent seat open.
Well back toward the front, I spotted a Sunni Musalmān Beauty approaching that met the standards for a great seat partner.
Her clothes spoke of quality, discrete class without being ostentatious.
The hair was brunette in an off the face cut that was quite becoming.
The roots were not visible so I presumed the color to be real, or at least a close facsimile to the original.
The owner appeared to be late 30’s by my estimate, her blouse was cut just low enough that a single pearl gold necklace nestled nicely between the two discretely displayed globes of her breasts.
An open front jacket set off the blouse, making her stylish, yet not overdressed.
A pair of well fitting designer jeans appeared between the seats as she got closer, looked good from the front, I wondered what the posterior would look like.
I watched her counting rows, glancing at her ticket, and had decided that I was going to get lucky before she actually got to our row.
When she got to the seat, she leaned over to set her purse into the window seat even before she gave me a chance to move.
Whether knowingly or not, when she bent over her single white pearl swung out free between her breasts in an irresistible attraction to my eyes.
The pale flesh of the insides of her breasts contrasted with the golden brown of her neck, she was obviously showing more Sunni Musalmān Cleavage than she normally did.
It was just a flash before she straightened up and reached overhead to put her small bag in the luggage rack.
She stepped back and I stood to allow her get to the seat which gave me a chance to observe her derriere.
Amazingly, it looked as good as the front.
“I’ve been saving you a seat,” I offered as I began to retake my seat.
“Oh, thanks,” she answered without hesitation, bantering right back at me, “I was so afraid maybe they’d given it away.”
I noticed her left hand had no ring, with no signs of having had one recently.
I laughed and extended my hand.
“I’m Durgesh,” I offered, “Always like to introduce myself to my new best friend ̶ at least for the next three hours.”
“Naåīmah Furqān.” she replied, politely shaking my hand, and then withdrawing not just her hand – but withdrawing from the conversation.
She bent to her bag and took out a book, dismissing my attempts at friendliness.
I sensed the armor going up, she wasn’t quite as comfortable opening up as I was.
I pulled the airline magazine out of the seat back, slowly paging through looking for the Sudoku puzzle while really watching the oncoming passengers.
The hectic families on vacations, the business travelers just wanting to get there and the stewardesses trying to help everyone get their gear stowed and into their seats.
Gradually the plane filled with people of all shapes and sizes, filling the seats until we were down to just three seats toward the back where I was.
I’d just glanced around, checking how many more seats were left when I first saw her.
Early twenties I estimate, maybe twenty-two, she was pure eye candy.
Her form fitting top on her skinny body more than displayed her ample breasts, it accentuated them.
At first I thought they must be silicone, but the subtle bounce as she moved decreed they were all natural.
The Sunni Musalmān Beauty beside me had Sunni Musalmān Cleavage showing, the Eye Candy had the Grand Canyon showing.
The huge expanse of extremely beautiful Sunni Musalmān flesh on the tops of her breasts was such that it left little to the imagination.
Watching her work her way through the cabin, I saw head after head discretely, and sometimes not so discretely, turn toward the aisle to follow her passage.
Her top extended halfway between the bottom of her breasts and her waist, the bare midriff exposed both more extremely beautiful Sunni Musalmān flesh and a small diamond belly stud.
The shorts appeared to be nearly as form fitting as the top.
Overall, she not only looked sexy, she oozed it.
Her entire dress and demeanor shouted,
I was wondering whether it was possible that she could have the seat across the aisle from me as she moved further and further back in the plane.
She was carrying just a fairly small bag and a purse, and when she dropped the purse into the seats one row up, my visions of ogling this beauty with my peripheral vision for three hours disappeared.
She looked into the bin above her seat, but as there was no room she stepped back to the bin across the aisle from me where, with just a little rearranging, there would be room for her simple bag.
She reached up, stretching to move the bags overhead, her shorts encumbered bottom just inches from my face.
I looked up, the lines of her thong under the extremely beautiful Sunni Musalmān flesh hugging shorts becoming visible as she moved first the one bag and then slid hers up next to it.
I discretely looked away, and realized that my seat partner had been watching her also ̶ and me.
She smiled as she turned away; I knew she’d been watching me watching Miss Eye Candy as much as anything.
As Miss Eye Candy slid into the middle seat, the last two passengers followed down the aisle.
A middle aged matronly Sunni Musalmān Beauty, followed by a college aged young man.
“Frat boy” I thought, unconsciously rating and summarizing and dismissing him for his sophomoric ways even before I’d met him.
The matron sidled down the aisle, filling it from one side to the other, the total opposite of the sexpot that had preceded her.
She finally stopped beside me, turning to wedge herself into the seat opposite with a humph.
I wondered if she’d ever in her life had anywhere close to the looks of the Eye Candy that had just taken the seat ahead.
I found the Sudoku just as Frat Boy settled into the seat next to Eye Candy.
I realized that’s how I was now thinking of her, not as a person, just Eye Candy.
The conversations around me dulled into a mild roar, occasional words and snippets of conversations coming through.
I began ignoring them; paying attention to the puzzle, but for some reason Frat Boy’s voice came through.
Whether I was wishing it was me, whether it was just that he was as obnoxious as I’d imagined, I don’t know – but every word he said stood out from the background conversations.
“You look familiar, do I know you?”
She answered something to the negative, but that was just the start.
He continued, and the story unfolded.
She went to the U of T, why golly ̶ so did he, he must have seen her around campus.
He lived in such and such a neighborhood ̶ she just happened to live just a short distance away.
He was sure that he’d seen her before, she tried to give him the brush off.
I smiled to myself.
“Mating Ritual of the American Horndog” I thought to myself.
“Maybe we can get together sometime for a beer when we get back?” he offered, looking for a sign of progress.
Her “I don’t know…” answer indicating that he wasn’t getting anywhere.
It would be fun to have a camera and mike to record these types of conversations; the come on, the intro, the rebuff ̶ all the types of small talk beginnings we’ve all had over the years.
I was only half heartedly listening when he said,
“So are you from San Diego?”
“Oh no, I’m just going for the weekend to visit my boyfriend. He’s a Marine”.
Beside me, almost unheard, my seatmate gave a quiet, descending whistle, and made an explosion sound under her breath ̶ the unmistakable sound of a bomb descending and exploding.
“Down in flames” she whispered almost to herself.
Without thinking, I quietly laughed, letting her know I’d heard, and turned to her.
“Ten to one says he’s got her phone number before we get to San Diego.”
“No way. She’s not interested.” She retorted, a smile crossing her face.
Just like that the standoffishness disappeared.
“Oh yes she is,” I whispered, keeping it down so just the two of us could hear each other. “It’s all part of the ritual. Mark my words; they’ll be exchanging numbers before we get there.”
Now that I had the opening I continued.
“It’s a little hobby of mine, observing people, assessing people, figuring what they are and what they do. I give them nicknames in my mind, and surprisingly, it’s amazing how many times when I talk with them the name fits. ”
“So why do you think he’ll get her number?”
“Is that what you named him?”
I nodded in assent.
She nodded her head toward them,
“and what name did you have for her?”
“Fitting.” She said, again nodding her head. “Do you suppose those shorts are painted on?”
“Not quite,” I answered, “she’s got a thong on underneath.”
Naåīmah Furqān giggled.
“You really don’t miss much, do you?”
“Did you miss it?”
I smiled too.
“So why do you think he’s going to get her number?”
“Just watch. Frat Boy there, he’s probably going home; he looks like a surfer type, he’s got the California accent, but he thinks more with the head between his legs than the one between his ears. Definitely on the prowl. And Eye Candy, you can’t tell me that she doesn’t ooze sex even to you? She’s on the prowl too. Mark my words, we’ve got three hours and he’ll be leaving with her number.”
“We’ll see” she answered, “we’ll see.”
Once the ice had broken, we conversed easily for quite some time.
She asked about me, I asked about her.
I told her about my work, how I was going home for the holiday weekend and possibly a few more days until work got caught up.
I told her how I was the lifetime Chairman of HVS Internationals, how I’d been married for 36 some years.
I pulled no punches, told no lies.
“What about you?” I questioned, “you’re not from San Diego?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Accent.” I answered. “I’m guessing Texas born and bred? Just a touch of Southern and a “y’all” that you said a while ago.”
“Guilty as charged.” She laughed.
“So what’s bringing you to San Diego?” I asked. “First time?”
“I’m going to visit a friend.” There was something about the way she said it, a certain uneasiness that I picked up on.
“Ah” I opined, “a walk on the wild side?”
She looked at me, contemplating her answer, “Maybe”.
It took nothing more than just asking about her however, and soon she was talking to me like an old friend, confiding more than I think she intended.
I’ve found this is not all that unusual on a plane flight, people often just want to talk.
Show them some interest and they’ll tell you all about themselves.
I heard about the one love of her life, her daughter.
Having gotten pregnant as a Senior in High School, she’d married her Hindu sweetheart, and lived happily ever after right up until she found out he was having an affair with a secretary of one of his clients.
She’d been divorced for four years now, literally living alone since her daughter was now away in college.
She’d tried dating a few times, never met anyone that had struck her fancy until “Arjun,” the guy that she’d met on the internet.
She told me everything that he liked to do, how it was everything she liked to do.
She told me how he was an executive with a company in San Diego and how he had a house in La Jolla and on and on and on.
Now she was flying out to meet him, spend the weekend and get to know someone that she’d talked with on the internet and on the phone.
The flirtatious blouse she was wearing suddenly made sense.
I listened to her talk, found out all about the hurt left over after 16 years of marriage and all about how she’d met this guy, and how wonderful he was.
I quietly asked questions, trying to get real answers, not what she thought the answers were.
By the time I knew as much about Arjun as she knew about Arjun ̶ I was pretty sure Arjun was a fraud.
Not one single thing could she tell me about Arjun that he hadn’t told her in response to something that she’d said.
Arjun was one of those that if Naåīmah Furqān had said “I love to go for long walks on the moon,” he would have said, “Eīshān, that’s so much fun ̶ I haven’t done that in years.”
I’d just listened, hadn’t offered what I thought, but it turned out Naåīmah Furqān had the same thought.
“The only thing I hope is that he is what he says he is.”
I didn’t respond immediately, finally said,
“And if he isn’t? If you don’t hit it off? Have you got a Plan B?”
“Not really, I’m sure we’ll get along, but I figured if for some reason we don’t hit it off, I’ll get a hotel room, spend the weekend and go on home.”
“Oh?” I questioned, inwardly shaking my head at her naiveté. “Have you checked, are there any rooms available?”
“Why wouldn’t there be rooms available?” she questioned.
I told her how San Diego had a large tourist trade and many weekends every year there just weren’t any rooms to be had, especially holiday weekends like this.
Every last hotel had 100% occupancy and there was nothing to be had at any price.
I pulled out my wallet, fished out a HVS Internationals business card and handed it to her.
“Here’s plan C. If Arjun doesn’t work out, and you can’t find anything else ̶ give me a call. I’ve got a house with extra rooms, it’s better than sleeping in a rental car.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
I held the card, and Naåīmah Furqān finally took it.
“Just in case, if everything else falls apart, at least you know my name.” I smiled.
‘Durgesh, you can’t see any Musalmān Beauty in distress, can you?’ I asked myself, ‘that’s why the Musalmān Beauties call you Durgesh darling! Méré Hindu Piyā! Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt! Hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam! Hindu husband of us Musalmān Beauties! Eh?’
We’d landed and were taxiing to the terminal when Naåīmah Furqān elbowed me and nodded toward Frat Boy and Eye Candy.
“Ok, here’s my number” Eye Candy said as she was handing a slip of paper to Frat Boy, “Call me Thursday, I’ll be going home Wednesday.”
I grinned at Naåīmah Furqān, wet a finger and pantomimed “chalking it up.”
With the first ring of the phone, I tried to turn the alarm off.
The second ring of the phone awoke me instantly.
I sat up, wondering what emergency was happening that I was getting a call in the dark hours of the morning.
I noticed the clock as I reached for the phone, well past 1 am.
Nothing good ever happens when the phone rings at 1 am.
“Durgesh? It’s Naåīmah Furqān, from the airplane this afternoon? Uhm, do you think I could take you up on your offer of a place to sleep?”
Hmmm. Maybe good or bad at 1 am, depends on which side of the phone you’re on.
Naåīmah Furqān gradually spilled a little of the story on the way home.
She didn’t say anything for nearly 5 minutes, then with a sigh admitted that maybe I’d been right after all.
“Arjun,” if that really was his name, met Naåīmah Furqān at the airport, and she’d known almost from the beginning that he wasn’t quite what he’d said he was.
The svelte executive that worked out regularly was actually overweight with a modest belly.
The well to do executive actually drove a 96 Honda Accord, that wasn’t exactly in the best shape.
The nice restaurant turned out to be TGI Fridays.
The movie was a movie – but from there it went downhill.
She’d literally taken her bag and walked away from him in the Gas Lamp district just after midnight, and spent another hour trying to find a hotel room before she finally called me.
An hour and a half later we pulled back into my driveway, nearly 3 am.
I’m an early riser and having been two time zones out of whack for several weeks, I certainly wasn’t in much of a mood for chat, but as with most newcomers to my home, Naåīmah Furqān was mesmerized with the view.
Nearly 500 feet above the surrounding valley, the view on a clear night can be incredibly spectacular, and this one was exceptionally clear.
The neighbors had all turned in; my hill was an island of darkness surrounded by the glittering sea of city lights below us, shimmering in the dissipating heat of the day.
Miles to the west a fog bank was rolling in, a line of increasing darkness behind it as the lights below disappeared one by one.
I knew from experience on a night like this the fog wouldn’t reach as far inland as we were; in the morning we’d awaken to a crystal clear morning. Although I’ve been accused of having a billion dollar home ̶ it’s actually a half and a billion dollar home.
Naåīmah Furqān was in awe of the city stretched out below us, but I didn’t give her that much time to ooh and ah.
I took her to the guest bedroom, showed her where the bathroom was, where clean towels were; told her to make herself at home.
I told her she was free to go back out on the balcony and absorb the view if she wanted but that I was going back to bed, and bid her goodnight.
For the most part I’ve been an early to bed and early to rise guy for years.
By the time I got Naåīmah Furqān home and settled, it was almost time for me to normally wake up.
I went back to bed, but it was only about an hour and a half later that I awoke with the sky already turning grey to the east.
I knew it wouldn’t do any good to try and go back to sleep, instead I got up and headed out for my morning Stavan and run.
Most mornings I do about 8 miles, which takes about an hour.
When I got back, I quietly checked the house, the silence telling me my guest was still asleep.
I knew Naåīmah Furqān hadn’t had much sleep, I’d had most of a full night, so figured I wouldn’t see her for a couple of hours yet.
It doesn’t do any good to take a shower and clean up immediately after a run, being all hot and sweaty.
I’d developed a ritual of jumping into the pool to rinse the sweat off, then taking about 15 minutes to check the chemical balance, skim the surface or vacuum any dirt and leaves from the bottom, take one more dip, and by that time I could go in and shower without being immediately sweaty again afterward.
Having a private backyard and living alone here at San Diego, the ritual began with shucking my running clothes and not getting dressed again until I’d finished my shower.
This morning I did no different; thinking that Naåīmah Furqān would be asleep for quite a while yet ̶ I went for my swim and didn’t put anything back on.
The pool towels are kept in the laundry room which is just off the kitchen.
When I’d finished cleaning and taking a second dip I grabbed my running clothes and walked naked to the house to get a towel.
Even at my 61, it was still my routine.
I dried myself off so I wouldn’t drip through the house, wrapping the towel around myself when I was done.
Normally I’d leave the towel in the laundry; I thought nothing of walking naked through the house.
This morning however, knowing I had a house guest that might awaken as I was heading to my room, I chose to be slightly more modest.
I could smell the coffee ready, the automatic coffee maker is a wonderful slave ̶ so I stepped to the kitchen get a cup.
The kitchen spans the width of the house.
A sink at the one end had a picture window backdrop with a panoramic view of the valley below, while at the near end a picture window presented a panoramic view of the pool and yard.
Standing near the window overlooking the pool, dressed in a white bathrobe and holding a cup of steaming coffee, was Naåīmah Furqān.
“I can’t say as I’ve ever seen the pool boy doing his chores in the nude before.”
“I’m sorry, Naåīmah Furqān. I wasn’t expecting you up, I thought you’d be asleep for quite a while…”
“Oh it’s alright. It’s already after nine back home. I smelled the coffee, and figured I’d join you.”
I just wasn’t expecting a Chippendale show.
She stepped over to the coffee pot and poured me a cup.
I noticed the French Vanilla container opened beside the pot, an empty sweetener packet lying beside it.
“One thing about it, it appears that you actually take care of yourself the way that Arjun said he took care of himself.”
I took a sip.
“I take it Arjun wasn’t all he claimed to be?”
Naåīmah Furqān was obviously ready to tell me much more about what the night before than the snippets she told me in the car.
“I would say Arjun wasn’t ANYTHING he claimed to be. He wasn’t well off, he doesn’t take care of himself;” She shook her head in disgust. “I thought I’d found a nice guy, someone that wanted to get to know me. Actually, he was not Arjun at all. He was a communal Musalmān, Muħammad, who wanted me, a Musalmān Beauty, save from a Hindu and the consequent Dozakħ.”
Naåīmah Furqān smiled, pulled a chair out at the table and sat, leaning her elbows on the table.
I did the same.
“What made you think he was a nice guy?” I asked, recalling our conversation on the plane the previous day.
Naåīmah Furqān sighed.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, I waited while she collected her thoughts.
“I guess I just wanted him to be, you know? I mean, after the divorce, I was a real mess. I was depressed, my world was upside down and for the first time in my life I was actually alone. At first I gained a lot of weight, practically all I did was eat. My daughter was off to school so I was alone a lot. I felt ugly, so I dressed ugly. I was ugly.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone ever thought of you as ugly.” I smiled.
“Why thank you, but there was one person that surely thought I was ugly ̶ me. Whether I was or not, I felt ugly and that’s what counted. Eventually one of the girls at work talked me into going to the gym with her. I started exercising more, which got me to start eating less and thinking better of myself. It took about two years, but I lost all the weight I’d gained over the previous two years. I almost got back to my high school weight before I got pregnant, but I’m just not built that way anymore. I started going out with the girls once in a while, and eventually started meeting some guys at the bars, began to realize maybe I wasn’t as ugly as I’d felt. I dated a few Musalmīn, all disasters. Every last time the guys thought that if I went out with them on a date, I should be going to bed with them.”
Naåīmah Furqān took a sip of coffee.
“I met Arjun on the internet about 6 months ago. He sent me an instant message, and I responded. He seemed safe enough, being in San Diego, so I didn’t think he’d want to meet or anything, so I started talking to him. At first every couple of days, he’d pop up with a hello. He seemed to like the things I did, seemed to be interested in me, and I began sharing things with him that I didn’t have anyone else to talk to about.
Eventually he started asking me about myself. How tall was I? What color was my hair, what color were my eyes. Was my hair long, or short? Did I wear makeup? It wasn’t all the time, sometimes he’d ask me two or three things, sometimes only one, but when we’d say good bye, he always put what I’d told him in a description of me when he said goodbye.”
“I don’t understand, he’d describe you when he said goodbye?”
“He’d always say something like “Until next time, my 5 foot 4 lady friend.” And then the time after he’d maybe say “Ta Ta, my five foot four green eyed lady friend,” and the time after that my five foot four green eyed brown haired lady friend. That sort of thing. He always called me his lady friend.
That went on for quite a while. One day he said something about me being a stick figure. I asked what he meant, and he said he could imagine everything about me except a figure. I told him I wasn’t a stick figure, so he asked what my dimensions were.”
“And you told him?”
“After that he started calling me his sexy lady friend.” She took another sip of her coffee. “He was the only Hindu I ever talked with on line that never asked for a picture. I asked him once if he wanted me to send one and if he had one he could send me, but he said he didn’t have a digital camera and he thought it was so much fun to use his imagination to know what “his sexy lady friend” looked like. The whole time he’d shared with me about what he looked like, and where he lived. I guess I had no reason to doubt him, he seemed to be telling the truth; at least he always told me stuff about himself that was consistent.”
“It sounds to me like he kept a list.” She looked at me, questioning.
“You know, a list beside the computer. Under “Naåīmah Furqān” he put the things you told him, 5’4″, green eyes, brown hair. Then he put down his list, “Arjun,” lives in La Jolla, no digital camera, works out daily. Then whenever he sent you a note, he always made sure he only put what was on the list, and always put on the list whatever he told you.”
“I’ll bet you’re right. I never thought about it like that.”
“Eventually you agreed to meet him. Was it your suggestion or his?”
“Definitely his. About a month ago, he said it would be fun to meet sometime, maybe a holiday weekend, I could fly out and he’d show me San Diego and a good time? I eventually agreed to meet him.”
“And the rest is history?”
“Just about. They say to never judge a book by its cover, but why not? We do everything else. If the car looks bad it probably runs bad, if the grocery store looks dirty the food is suspect, if the man has a pot belly and bad teeth…” She drifted off.
“Not exactly in great shape?” I questioned.
She just nodded.
“I’m sorry; I just had to tell someone.”
We sat quietly for a few moments.
“So, what are the chances I can find a hotel today?” She asked, changing the subject.
“Not much, but why bother?” I quickly answered, “You’re more than welcome to spend the weekend here.”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s not like I really know you….”
“And you really knew Muħammad or Arjun or whatever his name was?”
“Well, I thought so, but apparently not.”
“See? So what have you got to lose?”
Naåīmah Furqān didn’t put up much of a fight, I knew Naåīmah Furqān’d already accepted her fate, but just didn’t want to admit it.
I didn’t put any more pressure on her; I just got up and started getting out food for breakfast.
I had to adjust the towel a couple of times, it kept starting to slip.
I wasn’t used to needing to cover up, but then again, I could have just gone in and gotten dressed.
I didn’t tell Naåīmah Furqān that I often didn’t wear anything at all.
“Do you always clean the pool naked?” Naåīmah Furqān asked.
“Not always,” I answered, sliding a plate of two eggs and a English muffin in front of her, just as Naåīmah Furqān’d ordered. “Just depends on whether I’ve been swimming or not. Most of the time I swim naked, and there’s no reason to put anything on ̶ so I don’t.”
“I’ve never been skinny dipping before.” Naåīmah Furqān said, taking a bite of her muffin.
“Why not, are you that bashful?” I questioned.
“I don’t know….Yeah, I guess so. Truthfully the opportunity never presented itself…”
“You mean you never made an effort to seek out the opportunity.” I corrected. “Once you try it, you’ll never go back. Humans are meant to swim naked, but that’s just my opinion. You’re welcome to swim in my pool any way you like.”
“If I went swimming here, I might have to go naked.”
“Just might?” I answered. “Are you going to play bashful or take a walk on the wild side?”
“I don’t think I have much choice,” Naåīmah Furqān answered. “I didn’t bring along a swimsuit.”
After we cleaned up breakfast, I told Naåīmah Furqān since I had nothing special going on, I’d be more than happy to spend some time with her, showing her around.
I asked her what Naåīmah Furqān wanted to see or do, and when Naåīmah Furqān came up with no ideas, I just told her to put on something comfortable while I did the same.
An hour later we were at the Wild Animal Park, just north of San Diego, a part of the San Diego Zoo.
Unlike the Zoo where the animals are in cages, at the Wild Animal Park they are in enclosures that nearly resemble their natural environment.
Because Naåīmah Furqān’d gotten up so early, we spent most of the morning there, but were ready to move on by early afternoon when it was beginning to get quite warm.
Naåīmah Furqān said she could handle some lunch when I asked, so I took us to the Embarcadero and Sea Port Village where we had a leisurely light lunch and a couple of drinks.
Afterward we drove out to Point Loma and walked around the light house.
On the seaward side of the point the fog was driving against the shoreline and the mountain, but on the bay side ̶ the summer heat was keeping the clouds away.
A sharp demarcation marked the difference ̶ one block in the fog, a block inland ̶ bright sun ruled the day.
It was late afternoon when we headed for home.
With every mile we drove inland, we could feel the temperature rising.
From the mid 70’s along the coast, it rose to the mid nineties by the time we got to my house.
From open windows and enjoying the breeze, we put the air conditioner on by the time we got just partway home.
“Wow,” I commented as I got out of the car. “Good afternoon for a swim.” Naåīmah Furqān didn’t say anything.
We walked into the back yard; Naåīmah Furqān dipped her hand into the pool as we walked by.
Due to the rocky hillside, although technically an “in ground” pool, at the near end it actually has a retaining wall and the pool level is above waist height.
At the other end, it’s bordered by a giant boulder that comprises the entire hillside up to the neighbor’s house, the only part that can be seen being their roof.
Underneath the pool is solid granite ̶ either the pool was going to be above ground, or I wouldn’t have a pool at all.
“Water feels really nice.” Naåīmah Furqān commented. “Are you going to go?”
“Thinking about it. You going to come in?”
Naåīmah Furqān looked at the pool and back at me. “I don’t know…”
“But you’re tempted?”
Naåīmah Furqān looked again at the pool. “Maybe.”
I opened the door, holding it for her.
Naåīmah Furqān stepped around me into the house, the cool of the inside a welcome difference to the heat outside.
I asked Naåīmah Furqān if she wanted a drink, when Naåīmah Furqān asked for something diet I got us both a diet coke.
It didn’t seem so hot now, I suggested we sit out back on the patio, but when I opened the door, it was obvious it was still too warm, at least without a swim.
“I’m going to take a dip.” I informed Naåīmah Furqān,
“Go ahead,” Naåīmah Furqān answered, “don’t mind me.”
“If it bothers you I’ll wear something, I don’t want …”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Naåīmah Furqān indicated as well as said.
Naåīmah Furqān added when she saw my doubts.
“I’ve got to admit I was a little taken aback at first this morning when I saw you cleaning the pool, but just because I wasn’t expecting it.”
I looked right at her, Naåīmah Furqān smiled.
“Really, don’t mind me.”
So I didn’t.
I took my clothes off in the laundry room like I normally do and taking a towel, walked naked back out to the pool.
Naåīmah Furqān was still sitting at the patio table, Naåīmah Furqān said nothing but I felt her eyes following me.
Going to the far end, I dropped the towel down on the bench, stepped in onto the first step and then dove in.
I swam one lap, swimming the third leg back towards her at the far end.
I pulled up, leaning on the rock edge, to speak to her ̶ but Naåīmah Furqān wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
I swam back to the far end, sitting in the shallows for just a few moments wondering where Naåīmah Furqān’d gone, when Naåīmah Furqān suddenly appeared at the laundry room door, wearing the bath towel from this morning.
Naåīmah Furqān strode out, barefoot and purposeful, following the path I had earlier, until Naåīmah Furqān was at the steps with me.
“If you’ll be a gentleman for a moment and turn your head, I’m going to join you.”
I slid to one side of the steps, turning away for just a moment and almost instantly heard her slide into the water, her hand steadying herself momentarily on my shoulder as Naåīmah Furqān went by.
Turning back, I saw her naked bottom surface momentarily as Naåīmah Furqān swam away underwater, her bathrobe sitting in a pile beside the pool.
I sat and watched, Naåīmah Furqān surfaced at the far end, staying neck deep in the water.
I just sat, making no effort to follow.
Naåīmah Furqān giggled. “I think I like this.”
“I told you, you would.” I grinned back at her.
Naåīmah Furqān swam across the pool back toward me, staying neck deep or face down so Naåīmah Furqān was always partially hidden from my view, even though the water was only 3 feet deep.
Naåīmah Furqān stopped about 10 feet out, standing on the bottom of the pool.
“I can’t believe how “naughty” this feels.”
“Being naked, outdoors, and with someone I hardly know…”
“So you don’t like it?” I questioned.
“Allah, no ̶ it makes me wonder why I’ve never done this before.”
Her giggle was all I needed to know Naåīmah Furqān was perfectly happy.
“Let’s just say it’s deliciously naughty.”
Naåīmah Furqān floated there in the pool for several minutes conversing with me before Naåīmah Furqān moved closer.
Naåīmah Furqān brought an arm up across her breasts, bouncing on the bottom of the pool to move forward.
As Naåīmah Furqān got into shallower water where Naåīmah Furqān didn’t have to bounce or tread water, Naåīmah Furqān folded her arms across her chest, keeping herself semi hidden from my view.
I was sitting on one of the deeper steps, leaning back, my elbows on the step head almost in the water.
At this angle I couldn’t see anything anyway, but apparently Naåīmah Furqān didn’t realize it.
Naåīmah Furqān stopped about 5 feet out, keeping her body hidden as we talked.
We just sat and talked, getting to know each other better.
I found out more about her ex and her daughter.
I stood, turned and climbed out of the pool.
Taking my towel I wiped my face and body as I began walking toward the house.
“Do you like Ahi Tuna?” I asked. “I picked some up on the way home yesterday, thought I’d have it for dinner tonight, but there’s plenty for the both of us.”
Naåīmah Furqān had turned to face me, her arms still crossed.
From here, looking down on her, crossing her arms actually was doing something to prevent me from seeing her entire body.
Naåīmah Furqān indicated Tuna sounded good, and I continued to the house, stopping to put on my shorts in the laundry room where I’d left them.
I’d just finished putting on my shorts when I heard Naåīmah Furqān call,
“Yes?” I poked my head back outside, Naåīmah Furqān was still in the pool, back at the shallower end where I’d left her.
“Uhm, I forgot a towel? Can you bring me one?”
I glanced over and saw her robe, realized for the first time her predicament.
I said nothing, just grabbed a towel and walked back up to the far end, realizing the tables were turned.
Now Naåīmah Furqān was the naked one and I the clothed one.
I walked up to the edge of the pool steps, unfolded the towel and held it open for her.
Naåīmah Furqān looked at me, and broke into a grin.
I couldn’t hold a straight face any longer, broke into one myself.
More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh
1. Bahoo Bégum
23. A secret Smile
30. Sālī, Ammījān!
44. Hell, I revolt
64. I live with him
73. Under Open Sky
87. Sixty One Eighteen in Love-13
88. Sixty One Eighteen in Love-14
89. Sixty One Eighteen in Love-15
90. The Extent
100. Ahl-Al Bayt 7
106. Ahl-Al Bayt 13
107. Ahl-Al Bayt 14
108. Ahl-Al Bayt 15
109. Ahl-Al Bayt 16
110. Ahl-Al Bayt 17
111. Ahl-Al Bayt 18
112.Ahl-Al Bayt 19
113. Ahl-Al Bayt 20
114. Ahl-Al Bayt 21
115. Ahl-Al Bayt 22
116. Ahl-Al Bayt 23
117. Ahl-Al Bayt 24
118. Ahl-Al Bayt 25
119. Ahl-Al Bayt 26
120. Ahl-Al Bayt 27
121. Ahl-Al Bayt 28
122. Ahl-Al Bayt 29
123. Ahl-Al Bayt 30
125. The women in my life
145. She protested
147. The threesome
149. The Chairman: 1
150. The Chairman: 2
More creative adult sex in Hindi/Urdu from Durgesh:
13. Eidul Fitr-1
18. Main térī dīvānī
21. Majājī Kħudā: 1
22. Majājī Kħudā: 2
23. Majājī Kħudā:3
24. Majājī Kħudā:4
25. Majājī Kħudā: 5
26. Majājī Kħudā: 6
27. Pyār na dékhé ůmr:1
Science Fictions from DSM Satyarthi:
9. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 6
10. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 7
11. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 8
12.R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 9
36. Saamved: Mantr 1