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48 Hours in Glasgow

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Author's note: reaction to my first story for Literotica (Kelly's Gift) was mostly encouraging, so I have written another one - actually this idea was one which I nearly went with for my debut. As before it is a mixture of fact and fantasy, although with more of the latter this time, and I welcome constructive comments - I hope you enjoy it. Finally, compared to Kelly's Gift I have deliberated tried to build the tension more slowly in this one, so if you are looking for passionate sex in the first paragraph, you are going to be disappointed -- but I promise it is there in due course!

*

I have a pretty set routine in airports when I am travelling for work. My day has started early -- 5.15am typically -- and the lack of traffic and my relative proximity to the nearest airport means that I am parking by 6.30am. Straight through security -- well as straight through as you can when ahead of you in the queue are anarchic stag and hen parties, families with toddlers, buggies and endless bottles of milk to be tested, and elderly couples who have apparently never heard of the no liquids over 100ml, only one bag, no nail scissors and other sharp items rules -- pick up a double espresso macchiato, croissant and juice, get to a quiet area, open up the netbook and tackle the 30 emails that somehow have arrived in the 12 hours since leaving work the day before. I keep any interaction with other human beings to a minimum and head for the gate knowing that at least I have achieved something in this dead time before the plane takes off.

I was therefore in defensive mode one Monday morning last summer when I was reading said emails at the airport and a voice said "These chairs are so uncomfortable, aren't they?"

Normally I would have made some non-verbal utterance in reply and barely looked up, but something about the tone of this particular voice meant that I made a little more effort, turning away from the screen and towards its source. I was glad I had when I saw gazing back at me an attractive young woman with dark hair pulled back from her face, and from my initial rapid appraisal (come on guys, you know we all do it) a good figure encased in a well-fitting, smart and appealingly short dress. So instead of a Neanderthal grunt I said "They are, aren't they, I don't think they really want us to settle down here."

Not exactly Shakespeare, I know, but it seemed to be enough for my new brunette friend to decide that I was neither a potential axe murderer nor stupefyingly boring, and that I might even be worth talking to. And no, I don't flatter myself that it was my stunning good looks either - I am always smartly dressed, presentable and no ogre, but I reckoned that Miss Dark Stranger was approximately half my age and more likely to see me as a father figure than a potential lover.

She smiled and said "Where are you heading to today?"

"Glasgow", I replied, "how about you?"

She gave me a slightly odd look and said "But so am I, are you on Ryanair at 7.45am?"

"Yes, that's the one" I said, "I can hardly wait for that fun queuing experience."

Now at this point things could have gone either way. She could easily have decided that the last thing she wanted was to be stuck with this old guy for the walk to the gate, or worse still the whole journey, and gone for the polite goodbye, making her excuses and leaving, as the saying goes. And so, I suppose, could I, but I was already half smitten (I put it down to the lack of sleep and excess caffeine) and keen to build on this unexpected opportunity.

Luckily for me my new acquaintance chose the other option, and seemed to want to prolong our encounter. We exchanged comments about people's behaviour in budget airline queues, the futility of trying to get to the front (everyone is going to take off at the same time after all) and other remarks clearly designed to demonstrate our credentials as frequent flyers, but not, at this point, our names.

As an aside it is worth saying for American readers that we Brits are very bad at this particular nicety in social intercourse. I have American cousins and friends and have observed with a mixture of envy and amusement the ease with which they introduce themselves to strangers -- firm handshake, name immediately offered "Hi, I'm Larry, pleased to meet you" and therefore a name almost always returned, avoiding any awkwardness later in the conversation. In contrast, I have often chatted to strangers, male and female, in bars, hotels, on planes and trains and it can be an hour or more into a conversation and often at the point where the chat is about to end before the reserved British psyche allows us to say something along the lines of "I'm Alex, by the way, it's been good talking to you" in the hope, sometimes forlorn, that you might elicit a name in response.

Almost simultaneously the as yet unnamed girl and I looked at our watches and realised we needed to head to the gate, so we picked up our bags and walked there together. When we reached our destination I decided it was time to turn the conversation on to slightly more personal ground, and said "I'm Alex, by the way, and what's taking you to Glasgow of all places?"

This was another pivotal moment, especially as I accompanied my words with putting my hand out towards her, but without hesitation she replied "I'm Emily, and I'm going for work, I'll explain on the plane, what about you?" taking my hand and shaking it firmly, and, I thought, holding on to it for a fleeting moment longer than one would normally expect, as well as making strong eye contact.

"I'm going for an incredibly dull conference, which I have to be at but which I am hoping to escape from tomorrow."

"How long are you there?"

"Two nights, back Wednesday evening, and you?"

"Not sure yet, depends how long my visits take, I'm fairly flexible at the moment."

We were boarding the plane by now, and headed for the back which was empty. I chivalrously offered Emily a window seat and sat down by the aisle, leaving the middle seat free, both in the hope that no-one else would join us, and also not to look too forward. Soon we were airborne and after a couple of minutes Emily said "Here, sit next to me, it'll be easier to talk."

I gladly moved into the next seat and said "So what line of work are you in?"

"Eggs," she said, "Eggs, and also chickens, turkeys, ducks -- poultry generally."
I resisted all the chicken and egg jokes and just looked bemused, so she went on: "I'm a food scientist, I visit farms, factories and distributors and check that they are meeting requirements and regulations, and do quality inspections."

It transpired that Emily worked for one of Britain's biggest supermarket chains, and she explained that she had studied food technology and dietetics at University, before going into retail rather than become a dietician or clinician.

"Very different from my line of work", I said, "I run a large charitable trust and I am going to talk about European funding rules, capacity building for the voluntary sector and cross-Government relations -- thrilling, eh?"

Emily tried valiantly to look interested and to be fair made a good job of asking intelligent questions for the next few minutes whilst I explained a bit more about my work, but then she asked "And what about family, are you married, kids, anything like that?"

I had been wondering when we might move on to personal stuff, and replied truthfully enough "I was married, divorced seven years ago, and I have a 15-year-old daughter whom I see every weekend, she's called Amy and we're still very close despite everything."

"Why did you divorce her mother?"

"I had an affair, and although it ended, the marriage was falling apart anyway, so we separated and found it worked better for Amy like that; we had been arguing a lot and it was pretty unpleasant."

Now protocol would usually have demanded that at this point I ask Emily about her life, but I was wary as I didn't want to look either pushy or creepy, given that I had worked out from what she had said about her career that she was 26 or 27 at the most, and I had recently turned 50 -- so my estimate of being double her age was not far out. Instead I told her a little more about Amy and then paused, to see if she offered any insights into her life. She looked at me and said "So, aren't you going to ask about my life, or isn't it of any interest to a high-powered man of the world like you?"

"Whoa, flattery will get you everywhere...of course I'm interested, I just didn't want to pry. Anyway, I'm sure you must have scores of handsome and debonair men falling over themselves to be with you..."

"Actually no, I had a long relationship with someone I met at Uni, but we split up a few months ago and I've been single since; I've been really busy with work, did a bit of travelling too and I just wasn't ready for another serious boyfriend."

Whilst inwardly wincing at the word 'boyfriend' -- not a term you'd use of a 50-year old man, I thought - I was simultaneously rejoicing at Emily being single. "I'm sorry to hear about your break-up, hope it wasn't too ghastly."

"No, not really, more sad than anything else, we had been together six years and either had to get married or split up, and I just knew that he wasn't 'the one'."

"So we're both footloose and fancy-free?" I ventured hopefully.

"Well, I've had the odd fling since then but nothing serious, so I suppose you could say that I am -- but you said you've been divorced seven years, I can't believe you've been on your own all that time."

"No, I haven't, but nothing has lasted and I suppose you could say I am between relationships at the moment -- at least I hope I am, not that I'm finished for good!"

I was shamelessly fishing here to see how Emily might react, and I was more than gratified, not to say a little surprised, when she took one of my hands in hers, looked me straight in the eyes again and said "I don't think you need worry about that, I'm sure you've got plenty of life and fun left in you yet."

"I'm glad you think so, I certainly feel like I have."

Just as this conversation was getting interesting, the tannoy sprang into life to tell us we were about to land, and I realised that if I wanted to have any chance of seeing Emily again, now was the time to act. "Did you say you were in Glasgow for a couple of days?" I asked.

"Yes", she replied, "but exactly how long depends on how my visits go, I'm booked into the hotel for tonight at least but can extend it if necessary. I'm in the Holiday Inn, where are you staying?"

"The Malmaison, I save money on the flights so that I can stay somewhere decent and it's a really nice hotel, do you know it?"

"I've heard of it," Emily said, "but I've not been there."

'It's now or never, Alex' I thought to myself as the plane had just touched down, so I said "Well, are you free this evening, 'cos if you are, you could come over for a drink in the bar there, it's a really interesting building and worth seeing?"

Pause, during which my heart skipped several beats, then jumped when Emily gave me a big smile and said "Actually I am free, I was just going to catch up with some work this evening, but that sounds a much better offer, what time would suit you?"

"How about 6.30pm, is that too early?"

"No, that's fine," Emily replied, "that gives me enough time to get back to the hotel and 'freshen up', which I promise you after a day at the egg factories is in everyone's interests!"

We were getting off the plane by now so I took my final bold step and offered her my mobile number in case of any delays. She took it, and gave me hers as well, with another winning smile as she did so.

Emily had released my hand fairly quickly after holding it but I used the fact of some previous physical contact as an excuse to touch her arm gently as we went down the steps and headed into the terminal. I had managed a proper look at her when we had been walking to the flight and had been even more impressed than I was from my initial rapid glance. Emily was not tall, probably around 5ft 4, but had very good shapely legs, which were revealed by her short black dress, whose tight fit also showed off her full breasts and flat tummy. It was a warm day and all she had on over the dress was a light jacket which she had taken off on the plane; the dress had short sleeves and her arms, like her legs, were shapely and quite tanned.

I have mentioned her smile already, and it was one which truly lit up her face; in repose, her facial expressions were placid but as soon as she smiled you could see a mischievous personality emerging. All in all she was a highly attractive young woman, and whatever else might occur, I was very much enjoying my time in her company.

"Where are you going from here?" I asked her.

"I'm being picked up by one of my suppliers and we're going out to a farm north of here."

I was getting the bus into the city and I guessed that Emily would probably rather go it alone from this point, so I said " You go ahead, I'm just getting the bus and need to pick up a couple of things first, so don't let me hold you up, but I'll see you at the Malmaison this evening."

"Definitely, I'll look forward to it, the thought of that drink will keep me going through all the checks on chicken welfare!"

"And me through the tedious conference sessions."

What to do now -- did I dare try to kiss her, or just shake hands, or a lame wave, or what? Luckily Emily took the initiative, taking my arm and pulling me towards her, kissing me warmly on both cheeks. "See you later, Alligator" she said cheerfully, and with one last flash of her lovely smile she walked off towards the airport exit.

. . .

The conference proved to be as boring as I had feared, not helped by the fact that my concentration levels were unusually poor, my mind full of possibilities and fantasies sparked by my unexpectedly interesting journey to Glasgow. Luckily I was not presenting a paper at this event, merely participating as a delegate and, on the last day, taking part in a panel discussion for which little preparation was required. I did manage to meet the key people from my sector and made sure that my presence had been noticed by the Government speakers, rousing from my dream-like state for long enough during the afternoon sessions to ask a couple of (I thought) hard-hitting questions on current policy issues.

The final session inevitably seemed to drag as all I wanted to do was to get back to the hotel (I had checked in earlier and had been very pleased to find that as a regular Malmaison customer I had been given a free upgrade to a large 'executive room' with kingsize bed and a walk-in shower), have a quick shower and get ready to meet Emily, as long as she turned up. By 5pm my mind was anywhere but on what I was supposed to be listening to, and I nearly jumped when the applause started for the last speaker.

I quickly said goodbye to the people I needed to and headed back to the hotel. In the shower I allowed myself to imagine Emily in it with me, and very soon had a raging hard-on, but I didn't do anything about it, instead quickly rinsing off, avoiding too much contact with my sensitive cock. Not having anticipated much in the way of social activity other than at the conference, I had not brought any casual clothes with me, so I settled for the suit trousers, an open-necked shirt and no jacket.

I was about to head down to the bar, ridiculously early, when my phone's message tone beeped. Immediately I thought it was Emily, cancelling, and opened the message with trepidation. Instead I was thrilled to read "Running early, hope that's o.k., will be in bar by 6.15pm". It was already 6.10pm so I quickly grabbed the key card and headed down to the bar.

The Glasgow Malmaison is built into a refurbished and extended Victorian church, and the bar is in what would have been the main part of the original building, the Nave of the church. It is below street level and when you are in it you cannot see people coming into Reception, so I wasn't sure whether to wait at Reception or the bar, but decided on the latter, not wanting to look over eager, and had just sat down when I saw someone I thought was Emily coming down the short flight of stairs towards me.

I say 'thought was Emily' because this young woman looked very different from the one I had flown with that morning. Her hair was loose, hanging prettily down to just below her shoulders, and instead of a smart black dress she was wearing very revealing skin-tight black leggings set off by low-heeled ankle boots. The only common ground with her work outfit was the same light jacket, covering what looked like a t-shirt with an appetising amount of cleavage on show.

I jumped up and waved, and she came over. Determined to take the lead this time I put my hand on Emily's shoulder and pulled her gently towards me so we could kiss. My attempts to take charge were floored though when Emily moved her head slightly as I leant in towards her, deliberately ensuring that our lips met instead of my kissing her on the cheek. We ended up kissing each other firmly on the mouth but with no hint of tongue contact -- but it still felt good to me.

"Hello, it's great to see you, you look..." I began, almost babbling in my excitement and relief at seeing her.

"Different?" Emily interrupted, trying to finish my sentence for me.

"No, well yes, you do, but actually I was going to say 'amazing'." I replied, and went on "and it's not often I'm sitting in a bar waiting for such a gorgeous young woman as you."

I know I was laying it on a bit thick here, but I was feeling surprisingly nervous for someone of my age (Emily had called me a 'man of the world' that morning but I was feeling more like a gauche teenager) and I also wanted her to know that I genuinely did think she looked great.

"You really are sweet, and you don't look so bad yourself."

"Thanks, sorry I'm still in work stuff, I hadn't counted on having much of a social life on this trip. How was your day -- factories all up to scratch?"

"Not too bad, no real disasters, and the best thing was that I got more visits in than I expected so my time is a bit more flexible now than I thought it was going to be." Emily said,

In all the excitement of seeing and greeting her, I realised that I had failed to do what was expected in a bar -- offer her a drink. I quickly remedied this and got a wine list, noticing as I was walking back that Emily seemed to be taking the chance to look me up and down appraisingly.

"What do you fancy?" I said, "the Merlot sounds good if you want red, full-bodied, vibrant and enticing, according to this." And yes, I had deliberately chosen a wine description which echoed what I was thinking about Emily herself (apart from the 'red' that is). I wasn't sure whether she had picked up the hint, but she agreed with the recommendation and I ordered a bottle.

The next half an hour or so passed very agreeably as we chatted about our days, and each gradually gave away a little more about our lives and personalities. I was feeling a lot more relaxed, a combination of the wine and Emily's easy company, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. There were also encouraging hints of physical intimacy, Emily taking my hand a couple of times when talking about something personal, and deliberately touching my shoulder as she went to the bar to get us a packet of crisps (that's 'chips' for our American readers). I returned the contact by stroking her forearm at one point when she was telling me a bit more about the break-up of her relationship, and she appeared happy for me to do so.

I was still not sure where all this was taking us, and whether Emily was interested in something more than a quiet drink and a pleasant chat. My young companion had obviously decided that I was too chivalrous to take the lead, however, and that she needed to move things on, because she suddenly said: "So, I've seen the lovely bar here at the Malmaison, but what are the bedrooms like?"

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