My Holiday Romance

Day 1. Malaga

I had to wait until we landed at Malaga before I could get an idea of the potential. There are so many different tour parties on an Easy Jet Charter flight that you have no idea who will be in your party until you get on the coach to the hotel.

            I was first on the coach and got a seat near the back so that I could clock everyone getting on and identify likely prospects. There was the usual mix of middle-aged and elderly couples, but I thought that there were at least three lone females who might be looking for action. The problem is that lone females usually cluster together for safety and it’s difficult to prise them apart once they’ve bonded.

            I cruised the hotel pool and the bars after dinner. As I’d anticipated, the three singles had teamed up and a fourth, a pale undernourished forty-something, was in the company of a bad-tempered elderly couple, the frustrated spinster daughter, thirsting for romance and excitement in foreign parts. Spinster daughters are always a good bet for the practising lounge-lizard, not usually over blessed with beauty, but at that stage in life where natural inhibitions are in daily conflict with increasing sexual desperation. I sat near her in the bar, smiled wanly, nodded respectfully, and raised my glass. She made meaningful eye-contact, but Mother frowned and tutted and Daddy glared with intent, so I left it there and went to bed.

Day 2. Ronda

            The three lone females were now joined at the hip and I realised that ingratiating myself would be difficult. The eldest, fiftyish, looked very much lived-in and was doggy even by my standards, but might do as a last resort. The younger women, although not spring chickens, would pass as half-decent in a poor light and the blonde one had decent legs, so I decided to try and cut her out from the flock.

            I tagged along with the guided tour of the bullring, lurking near the trio and injecting witty if uninvited comments in to their conversation; comments which they surprisingly, and I thought rudely, ignored. My big chance came after the tour when the one with the legs decided she wanted to visit a particular shop and arranged to rejoin the others later, at a Tapas bar.

            I skulked inconspicuously for a while, giving Legs a start, then followed her, staying out of sight until she entered a shop. Spying my chance I followed her in, expressed joyful surprise at meeting her, and hadn’t the Bullring tour been interesting? She smiled nervously and muttered a reply that I couldn’t quite understand, so I loitered while she made her purchases, then followed her out of the shop. I laughingly suggested that we take lunch together, somewhere quiet, where we could perhaps discuss how we would spend the rest of the holiday. She stopped, turned to me with a radiant smile and said that she would rather amputate her left foot with a rusty bread saw than be seen dead in my company, and why was there always a creep like me on every tour she went on?

            I interpreted her reaction as a ‘no’, apologised for the temerity of my suggestion and for failing to recognise her true sexual orientation, and wished her joy and fulfilment with her new lesbian friends.

Day 3. Seville

            I have conceded that my failure with Miss Legs has adversely affected my chances with her associates. Consequently, I turned my attentions towards the desperate spinster, corralling her  in an alcove near the ladies toilets in the hotel bar, and whispering lewd nothings in her welcoming ear until violently interrupted by her parasol-wielding mother. This good lady informed me, between blows, that her naive, immature, and vulnerable daughter was plagued by men of my ilk, and that her husband, a retired police superintendent and judo black belt, was watching me closely.

Day 4.  Seville

A free day, intended for sight-seeing, but which I utilised to treat the worst of my parasol bruising in the privacy of my own room.

After dinner I chatted with Mr and Mrs Felix in a discrete corner of the hotel bar.

Days 5 and 6. Cordoba and Granada

            Mr and Mrs Felix are accompanied by her sister Delores, a loud, large lady of uncertain vintage, whose true identity is disguised under many layers of trowelled-on make-up. She is not a pretty sight.

            But she likes me, and she is very rich.

            I’ve always been a pragmatist