Last month, Mrs Jones and I escaped to the Scottish city of Edinburgh for a romantic weekend and were fortunate enough to stay in the alien surrounds of a plush, 5-star hotel. On our first full day, we trudged around the famous castle and the National Museum of Scotland before devouring a late lunch swilled down with copious quantities of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. By 4.00 pm, two enthusiastic sight-seers had transformed into chilled, mellow bohemians sitting in a city-centre pub, me nursing a pint of cask ale, Mrs Jones glugging Bulmer’s pear cider from the bottle-neck.
I thought I detected a mischievous sparkle in my wife’s eye so, emboldened by the alcohol, I leaned towards her and said, ‘Shall we go back to the hotel room and …eh … relax?’
‘What do you mean?’ she replied, the smirk on her face divulging that she knew exactly my intention.
I played along with the pretence. ‘I just wondered whether we might slink back to that luxurious room with its king-size bed and indulge in a bit of afternoon delight?’
‘But I’ve already eaten dessert,’ she said, her laughter indicating that the charade was over.
Even for an intimate partnership spanning in excess of 30 years, there is something excitingly illicit about the prospect of rumpy-pumpy in an unfamiliar hotel room. We were tearing at each other’s clothes before we had crossed the threshold.
Minutes later – I’d like to say hours, but that would be fibbing - Mrs Jones was riding the crest of a wave, in the superior position, with us both accelerating to the point of no return, when there was an intrusive rat-a-tat-tat on the door. We both froze. After a few seconds Mrs Jones dismounted, covered her dignity with the complimentary hotel dressing gown and strode to answer the door, leaving me on my back, hands behind my head, with the smug look so characteristic of a bloke who knows that his manhood will stand to attention for the foreseeable future. Mrs Jones opened the door a few inches, and I listened to their conversation.
‘Would you like me to turn down your bed?’ asked the young hotel maid, in her east-European accent.
‘You’d have more than the bed to turn down if you went in there.’
‘Sorry? I’m here to turn the bed down.’
‘It will go down in its own good time.’
‘Nothing – we’ll be ok thanks; we’ll turn it down ourselves.’
I will never forget the huge grin on my beautiful wife’s face as she shut the door and turned back towards me.
A lovely post. For a brief moment I wondered if the maid was going to bee invited to join you.ReplyDelete
The maid join in? We are not that bohemian!Delete
Poor, stupid maid ;)ReplyDelete
But, you turned down the chance for a mint on your pillow!ReplyDelete
Not sure I'd have got a mint if she had entered our room - a summons to appear in Court most likely!Delete
That sounds a tad harsh, Lizzi. She, no doubt, was only following instructions. I'm sure we weren't the first couple she'd encountered where her timing was a bit off.ReplyDelete
Should've left a Do Not Disturb on your door - but honestly, what did she THINK was going on at that time of afternoon?!Delete
I enjoyed your selection of euphemisms.ReplyDelete
Yes, you can't beat a good euphemism.Delete
Classic awkward hotel encounters.ReplyDelete
We once stayed at a hotel in Vietnam. We were relaxing in our room, having just come back from a long sightseeing trip. My girlfriend (now wife) had just taken shower and wasn't wearing any clothes. Suddenly, a key turned in the lock, the door flew open, and a maid with towels and sheets in tow barged in. And then she saw us...
The look on the maid's face was priceless. She backed away, closed the door behind her, then, some seconds later, she knocked on it, timidly (which she could have done to begin with). I'm pretty sure the whole experience was far more stressful to her than to us.
I imagine the poor maid is still traumatized!Delete
Go on with your badself playa. I hope to one day last minutes, but for now my girl gets some hot loving seconds out of this beast.ReplyDelete
You know what they say Mike: it's the quality (not quantity) that counts. I'm sure your performance in those seconds is masterful.Delete
Alas, the poor maid only wanted to join in! lol Perhaps I'm getting too old. My idea of afternoon delight is a nice nap while the wife is at work. No interruptions, no complaining, and no nagging. Ahhh, the bliss it presents! Then again, you haven't seen my wife! :) Well done, sir! Just one question ... "Have you recovered, yet?"ReplyDelete
I would usually concur with the quiet life, Rich. But the swanky hotel, strange city and buckets of white wine must have stirred me!Delete
Rumpy Pumpy---best word I have EVER heard for describing the sex act. Funny and adorable all at the same time. Love it!ReplyDelete
Thanks for taking the time to drop in and for leaving such generous comments. Let's go forth and advertise the joyfulness of menopausal rumpy-pumpy.Delete
Had to look up the definition of "turning down a bed." Before discovering its meaning, I thought you guys were going wild on a vibrating bed. I thought to myself, "Was the vibration too loud or something?" Don't mind me.ReplyDelete
Vibrating bed, hey. that sounds fun. I've always said that your mind operates in weird and wonderful ways!ReplyDelete
Ahahahaha! Hilarious! So fitting with my blog topic today.ReplyDelete
I had actually included two of your songs in this post: afternoon delight and relax. Great minds think alike, Kate!Delete
HAHAHA!!!! A good reminder for the "do not disturb"sign next time!!!!ReplyDelete
Yes, fair point. Although the converse concern is that a 'do not disturb' sign in the afternoon virtually announces what's going on to the whole hotel!ReplyDelete
So I guess a threesome was out of the question? Well, did she at least leave a chocolate on the pillow?ReplyDelete
At 55 I suspect I no longer can summon the stamina for two ladies!Delete
Good thing the maid didn't offer to fluff your wife's pillows.ReplyDelete
Yes, we were spared that, Linda. And besides, my wife's pillows don't need fluffing!ReplyDelete