Leise's head nestled into my shoulder as we enjoyed the Indian Ocean views. Lena asked the driver how far to our first stop as we passed rubber plantations.
The journey took us on a counter-clockwise drive around Penang Island. Parts of the road wended narrow and snaking. We viewed incredible scenery outside the main tourist areas. Amir, the driver, was a congenial chaperone. A young man, he sported a thin moustache.
We first stopped at a batik factory and enjoyed a guided tour of the garment process. The girls purchased colourful sarongs in the gift shop. They wore them for the rest of the afternoon. Lena's sarong, the colours of the sea: greens, blues, and hints of purple. Leise's batik, olive green, interlaced black and light lime, fantastic and unique marbled crackling. Their thin dresses, the girls folded into shoulder bags.
We drove on, Lena now seated in the back. I welcomed the thigh-to-thigh bumps she started. My quietness, perhaps, she thought, my enjoyment of the coastal scenery. After forty minutes, we stopped at a lookout point, providing a horizon vista of the Indian Ocean.
A roadside stall specialising in native fruits and spices welcomed us. By invitation, we sampled pieces of jackfruit, mangosteen, and rambutan. I purchased selected fruits everybody shared, sprawled at a table and enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon and the panorama view. A refreshing large slice of watermelon ended the tasty treats. The fruit juice splashed and painted the lips of Lena and Leise a glistening pink.
Farther on, we arrived at the Snake Temple. Amir let us loose unaccompanied. Lena, Leise, and I entered the tourist hype. Slithering snakes thrilled, hinting at danger. Incense dominated my nostrils, intense and heady. Apparently, the balm rendered the snakes docile. We half-listened to the information that the snakes had no venom, though their fangs were intact.
As an impatient trio, we jumped at being snake-draped. Leise's pic first. Though she wiggled and twitched.
Lena said to her girlfriend, "Frightened pet!"
Each photo whirl winded. Leise squealed; the snake tickled as she rocked on her toes. The next Polaroid revealed a wicked smile because the black snake crept under her hair and circled her neck, peeking underneath her ear.
Leise said, "It's fine; I'll remember the sneaky snake."
I held my nerve photographed as the snake meandered and slid across the front of my neck. The girls thought my expression deadpan.
Lena teased, wriggling her fingers.
"That won't do for a memory; take another."
Leise bubbled, squeezing me between the girls.
"Let's do the snakes together. Now or never!"
The final Polaroids escalated to a hubbub and a hoot as we were snake wound.
Leise called, "One, two, three, throw your arms up!"
And so we did, and each snake climbed limbs like a pole.
Any temple decorum disappeared in a whoopee of brash and disorderly laughter. Our raucous youthful behaviour escaped censure in a financial transaction. Then, we left the temple without considering the spiritual essence of the shrine.
We entered a gift shop outside the temple. First, I purchased a small pewter incense burner. A giveaway trinket on returning home. If not a personal travel souvenir. Next, I bought two pairs of snake earrings, gifts for the girls. Silver serpents placed in petite jewellery boxes, wrapped in stylish faux gold foil printed with paired black twisting vipers.
Lena and Leise accepted the gifts as a token of an afternoon shared. They opened the gift and expressed instant delight, including myself being the lucky recipient of a peck on my left and right cheek. The girls shared their memento purchases, anklets and bracelets, snake-themed.
On our return to the hotel, stalled in dense urban traffic, my thoughts shifted towards Leise in the backseat. She seemed the ideal choice to invite inside my room. However, I kept gazing at Lena's blonde hair in the sedan's front.
The girls joked, chatting about the snake temple, and Amir related funny tourist incidents from his driving experiences.
I smiled at Lena as she glanced in the rearview mirror. I aimed to slip a room invite into the conversation. As the sedan stopped in the hotel driveway, no tentative words escaped my lips. We tipped and thanked Amir and entered the foyer.
Two artworks came into my mind. I pictured Leise in Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. The elegance and dreamy desire in the artwork encapsulated Leise. A playful girl across the afternoon, Lena, I saw as the courtesan in Boucher's Lazy Afternoon. The blonde transformed into the model, Ms O'Murphy, lying on her stomach, her arms splayed. The cocotte's elongated fingers matched Lena's. I conjured the sexual clout of the painting. The French mistress is ready to bed. The image states this in the curve of her backbone, which joins the cleft between her two gorgeous butt cheeks. High Western art and base male urges streamline in complete agreement.
I contemplated a pair of delightful girls, Lena and Leise, so exuberant and happy on holiday. Sexual opportunism hovered present in three youthful bodies. At the foyer, Leise walked off, saying she needed a glass of water. I expected Lena to tell me her goodbyes. In a vacant gaze, my thoughts scuppered and blanked at the girl beside me and the young woman moving away.
A whammy heart slam of joy occurred as Lena grabbed my hand, bounced and pressed the elevator button using a high kick. Starling in its speed, her angle and view of her toned thigh. The lift opened, vacant. Lena pressed the third floor without releasing my hand, though she moved behind me, her arms around my waist, her lips pecking my earlobe. As her tongue slid down my nape and her breasts pushed into my back, I held my breath.
My head tilted onto her shoulder as the lift door opened. Hands swinging together at her initiative, we frolicked the hallway.
Upon entering the hotel room, everything happened quickly. As my body careened, instinctual pleasure reacted; my mouth stayed in speechless, tongue-tied silence. Lena skipped words; she craved tongue. She kissed lush, her tongue circulating mine whilst I cupped my hands, framing her cheeks as two mouths joined a flesh cooperative.
Memory and hindsight configure the experience. I picture a hotel room as an action painting. Every breath sank me deeper into the present. Contiguous, subtle touch dominated. The taste of flesh overrode touch. Then skin and smells competed. Prevailing the musty trademark of sex. The soundtrack featured unsuppressed moans of pleasure. The script — was not crafted by me.
Before I grabbed my pants down, Lena dropped them off me. Her new sarong slipped onto the floor on top of my pants. Underneath, she kept her sea-blue bikini. Her nimble fingers unstrung the pieces lightning-fast—a young woman intent on immediate satisfaction. Lena set a fast-paced schedule. Exuding energy to burn, she pushed me onto the nearest bed. The mattress bounced, and I lay horizontal, gazing at the ceiling and its broad, unhurried rotating fan blades.
A short-lived vertical view of her ripe, shapely breasts and pointed nipples ensued. Then, my vision narrowed to her lower half. Lena's intimate feminine self, her privates shared, blinkered my peripheral vision. She insisted her cleft be the entire centre of our immediate attention. Framing her lavish recess, an inverted triangle of trimmed pubic hair. Lena's crinkled external double helix spirals of flesh seduced. They twisted inward and outwards, conjoined at their starting point, her clit hood, then tapered into two slender lips. Sweet labia near matched in length and width, slim and lean.
Memory struggles to describe the delicate intricacy of these compelling twins—a woman's graceful, crafted portions. Proof God is present in the detail and fragility of a woman's sex. The pair induced in me a natural X-rated yearning. Lena centred me on her. Centre implies inside, and inside states within. My tongue tip inside, in the actual sexual sense, worked overtime against the force of Lena's body, pressing into my face.
Her thighs locked tight and enclosed my view, keeping me engaged. Utterly absorbed, fixated on Lena's snug, wet den. She cradled my head, directing my tongue's delve into her private bits.
Then, unexpectedly, I appreciated the rich moistness of a pecker kiss in a swift, unheralded manner.
Leise! — impossible to be Lena.
A series of sharp, deft licks under my rod's tip. Startling and blissful.
Leise—I assumed—flattened my penis towards my navel. Leise glazed saliva from the base of my shaft to my tip, slipping into a tempo of her own making. The siren entered the room, unbeknown to me. The girls attested to a close-knit pair exploring the island. In their room, this extended to a tandem endeavour.
Lena's snatch riveted my face, and Leise's face wrapped around my privates. Suddenly, a condom enveloped my manhood. I didn't know how to use a condom. Nonsense to break the action and inform the girls of my inexperience concerning condoms and sex. My prior intimacy, a crestfallen Coral in the boathouse. Lena and Leise provided awesome action, yet the attention remained impersonal—rapturous euphoric lust dominated — localised sensations mounted in concentration and flesh dispersal.
Leise straddled me — the energetic riding cowgirl.
She urged me to a rapid pace with, "Schnelle!"
The pleasure escalated because she varied the depth of our combined penetration. At the same time, I tried to keep Lena forefront, but my head succumbed to my loins.
She tried to keep my tongue focused with, "Achtung!"
I gulped air and shot my wad. Lena rolled off my face, issuing a satisfied sigh. Leise rode me longer until I headed flaccid, and she rolled to the other side. She removed and disposed of the condom.
Alongside my sexual euphoria, I fancied myself in a harem, recalling the most famous fleshpot painting, Ingres, The Turkish Bath. The canvas is a body feast; nude women are everywhere within the composition's circular form. For me, the naked female form lay wherever I cast my eye on a hotel bed. Leise's full breasts, Lena's taut buttocks, Lena's curving thigh, and Leise's elegant neck.
Leise broke our indolent repose. Her fingers brushed my hair. She informed me of the pair's evening engagement, a farewell pre-paid cultural dinner to attend. Tomorrow, they would board connecting flights home. Lena intimated my next step, flicking her head in the shower direction. A languid pair spread on the double bed as I grabbed my clothes scattered on the floor and beelined towards the bathroom.
I passed an open passport on the side dresser. The document belonged to Lena. Her photo did her justice; given the same hairstyle, the image was recent. I peeked at her birthdate and realised she turned twenty-one in a week. My shower composed me. More experiences flashed possible? I dressed and ran my fingers through my wet hair.
The girls ignored me, busy in the central part of the spacious hotel room. Their cute bikinis flourished on unblemished skin, restrung. The pair ferreted in suitcases. I paused because they discussed dress choices for tonight.
The least awkward exit became my aim.
However, leaving proved no problem. Like a sweet treat, Leise and Lena ran tongues over my cheeks as if I were a salted caramel slice.
They guided me out of the door.
"Thank you," Lena said, closing the door before me.
Thank you. The words echoed in my head. Thank you.
Surprise and pleasure jostled in me. I wished to return a thank you but faced a closed door. I shirked knocking and swaggered along the hotel corridor towards the lifts.
The following morning, I saw the girls at breakfast. Lena and Leise nudged one another, good-natured, at the buffet. Together, they blew me a kiss across the room. Their airport transfer minutes away and their vacation consigned to memory. I watched two daughters of Eve grab an apple each out of the bowl on the sideboard and lug matching suitcases to a waiting taxi. I saw Leise spitting a bruised piece into a trash bin. Then, they gave each other a bite of their apple. How cute!
The driver tossed suitcases in the boot, and I watched the taxi doors shut. Lena and Leise were leaving, but not forgotten. The air in the buffet suffused a tropical cocktail of smells: mangoes, frangipani, and coconut.
Over—a wonderful time concluded. I no longer graced the girl's space; I accepted Lena and Leise moving on because I savoured the afterglow.
Light-hearted, I enjoyed a wholesome, filling breakfast.
My memory stitches Mediterranean blue and black onyx. And musing; a temple, and swirling above a hotel room, a ceiling fan.