“Student loans? I’ll get those cleared first thing Monday. Jeez Gemma. I just assumed you’d travelled a bit, most students do” He put his laptop down next to him on the bed.
“Rich ones do yes,” I rebutted. “Why the interest in passports?”
“I was planning a weekend away, actually next weekend. A bit of a break for both of us,” he smiled as my joyous expression lit up. “I’m going to have to do some rearranging though.”
“A romantic weekend away?” I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
“Perhaps,” he replied enigmatically. “The rest is going to be a surprise.”
Chapter 21
The anticipation over the week was unbearable. He told me to pack clothes suitable for cold weather plus formal evening wear. I found it difficult to concentrate on my job. The week was centred on work. Jason worked his long hours with two nights away in Frankfurt while I concentrated on building up my confidence.
Friday arrived and Jason picked me up at Piedmont, having left work early at three o’clock. We were driven to the city airport. I was overwhelmed with excitement as we pulled up by his private jet.
“Where are we going Jason? Please where?” I was that over the top school girl again.
“Scotland. We’re flying to Inverness and then to a rather luxurious hotel.”
I clapped my hands in delight and then remembered to be appreciative and gave him a big hug.
“Glad you’re happy, babe,” he sounded excited too, I thought.
The flight was quick and efficient. For my first flight, I was spoilt rotten with leather seats and personal service from the flight attendant. Jason looked completely at ease, as if this flight was a routine journey. I was jittery and childlike, staring out of the window watching the moonrise.
My family holidays had never involved exotic locations. Devon primarily, occasionally North Wales or Cornwall. My parents had been content to return to the same static caravan park for years. We had even booked the same caravan if it was available. Our estate car would be packed to the brim with clothes, toys, games and countless other just in case items that were never unpacked. My mother had been content to do what she did at home while on holiday. She had cooked, cleaned and pottered, whether in the local gift shops or seeking a bargain from the boutiques.
My brother John and I had been satisfied to spend our days on the beach if the weather permitted. Building sandcastles, seashell hunting, finding the most disgusting piece of seaweed or splashing water over our shivering bodies. Our four year age gap for several years had been of no significance. During spells of bad weather, we had visited the local towns, picturesque villages, coastal ruins or craft shops. The latter mum and I had loved, while my dad and brother had kicked the ground in bored frustration.
What I had enjoyed was going to Dartmoor and being out on the vast moorlands. Bleak and grey landscapes did not put me off and the coolness of the air had been invigorating. Climbing the rocky tors and letting the wind rush through my hair had been thrilling. I loved open spaces, losing my mind and imagination to emptiness. Views as far as the eye could see took a suburban child to places in her mind that rows of identical houses never could. I would have to be shouted down and practically dragged back to the car when the day was finished. Only the wettest, coldest winds drove me homeward.
As my brother and I grew up, the age gap had become apparent. He had been bored by the beach, the routine trips and same old locations. Preferring to hang out in the amusement arcades and chatting to the local teenagers, my brother took off on his own. As I hit my adolescence, we both tried to separate ourselves from our parents clutches. John had been far more successful at independence than me. My parents had insisted I had his company if we had caught the bus into town. I had resented the implication that I could not be trusted.
Generally, my brother and I got on well. He had looked out for me and had not let the local boys finger or ogle me. If I had been tempted to enter a pub - it was easy as I looked older than my actual years - he had shaken his head and steered me to an ice-cream parlour instead. We had become accustomed to each other and when we returned to the caravan park, he would tell mum I had been well behaved, like a school report. He never had to account for his actions. An observation that had been lost on me until he left home.
John had resisted family holidays by then. He had his college friends and being with the family was not cool or trendy. He made excuses to be elsewhere. I had hated knowing my friends went to Spain or Greece. Upon their return, they would regale me with stories of hot climates, topless sunbathing, blue seas and sexy foreigners with bronze tans and lilting accents. What to do but rebel a little.
By the time I was in my late teens, my virginity gone and my reputation as boy magnet increasing, I had attempted to find
my own distractions from the tedium of static caravan parks. I had lied a great deal and sometimes I was caught out, other times I got away with entertaining my desires. My last holiday with mum and dad, when I was already eighteen with no John to whisk me away, I had attracted the attention of a young man. His name I could not remember as I sat on the jet recollecting, infuriating me. Irish, red headed with a soft accent, he had made me feel like I was abroad in Devon. I would pretend I was visiting Ireland and he was my rebellious Irish upstart planning to elope with me. I did sneak off for a handful of clandestine trysts. I had told my parents that I was going to buy milk and bread from the park shop or I was going for a refreshing walk along the coastline.
“Do be careful, Gemma,” had said mum. “I don't want to have to call the coastguard to rescue you off a ledge.” Not necessary because I was only a few caravans away with my Irish god tonguing my mouth on a tobacco stinking settee. His family had taken the dog for a walk while we had snogged with hands all over each other. The inevitable happened. He told me he had condoms.
Sure, I said.
I like it rough, he warned.
I'll try it, I said eagerly, If I say stop you will?
Of course, he said with a serious face.
I had to trust him. My first adventure in trust and hard fucks.
The caravan was privately owned, not hired and in his parents’ overly ornate and tacky bedroom he had asked me to strip, which I did enthusiastically. Condom on, he had lowered himself into me gently. Jeans on with a hairy bare chest, he was sexy and keen.
Ready? He said in his lovely accent.
I was wet every time he spoke to me.