You are right - this my Bettina tale is not easy to believe. Is it really true, I am asked. It's already so far that it even seems to me like a dream. I'm glad Helene has the same dream, and we share memories. By the way, we don't even know where Bettina lives - from what I picked up it must be somewhere near Bonn. She has my card, however, so if it's her wish, she can make a first step.

I usually have to change names, for obvious reasons, I translate from one language to another, I try to structure in a way which makes it more readable, leaving out the unnecessary and concentrate on what strikes me as erotic enough to fit this place. Call me vain, but I'm trying to produce some kind of literature, at a very small scale, of course, but something that pleases me to write and to read. I need a reason to write, and it is still improving my written English; you will remember this is not my native language.

So if you can't believe me, you're free to leave it - and keep to the real true stories of our times, like Presidents want nothing but peace when they wage wars, or that Pope Benedikt Ratzinger is a nice guy at heart ...

Meanwhile, life plods on, my workweek, the improvement of team spirit at school, the imminent beginning of my period, which always brings me down and makes me more tearful than I am willing to admit.

What ensued now gave the term WWW a completely new meaning for me: it was my first all girls threesome, and this with a very young girl. No wonder it happened during my holidays, very far from home - considering my professional situation. At home this was close to impossible, the consequences of it just being too unpredictable.

Bettina climbed in between us, and Helene switched off the bedside lamp. There was some light from outside which provided the nightly hotel room with a faint, slightly magic illumination. And not far from us there was the eternal roar of the waves beating the rocks and leaping up the sandy beach.

Up to now, all the women I had had a sexual relationship with were quite experienced, what we did was not a first for them, so they usually did not only participate, but were active themselves or even a driving force. (Oh Tanja, oh Traudl, the Elf. Oh Maria ...) Bettina was just lying there, you could easily sense her apprehension - we would not have been surprised if she had suddenly jumped up and run out of the room. Everything was possible. Instead she was very calm, and eased her body when we took off her panties after we had removed ours; lying on her back she trembled ever so slightly - was she cold in her sudden nakedness, or afraid, or was it expectation, excitement, even arousal?

Helene's darker skin did not reflect the light much; mine, being notoriously white, could be seen much better. But Bettina's young, soft alabaster skin was almost aglow in the magic light - an appearance of exceeding beauty. Only with care we dared touch her, and feel her warmth, and the softness of her skin. We could feel that Bettina was not afraid anymore - her soft flesh yielded to our tender touches, it seemed to absorb them like a desert some long expected rain.

***
Re-reading what I have just written, I must admit it may sound pretty awkward, like some kitschy tale for I don't know who. It's certainly the never before experienced magic of the moment which produces all my threadbare metaphors. In vain, I am trying to describe something so special, so unique, so sensual it cannot be put to words. So let me just come to an end for today with one more doubtful image: Here we were, Helene and I, about to explore a region previously untouched by another woman, and we proceeded with care, and with awe, and with an overwhelming desire for what was waiting for us.

You're right, dear depotguy, it's probably not worth it - but she's a pain in the ass all the same.

As I was asked not to prolong Bettina's story eternally, here is some more. I could write a novel about it I guess, but this is the short version: Bettina knocked at our door two nights later. It was past midnight and we had just gone to bed. Helene was closer to the door so she got up and opened it just a little. We expected it was a guest who had confounded the door numbers, or whatever. But it was Bettina, who quickly entered and closed the door behind her. Then she took a deep breath. Obviously no-one was supposed to know that she was not in her own room.

Helene put on the bedside light because we didn't immediately know why she was there. As we were already dressed for bed, we were just in our panties. Bettina looked at us doubtfully first, even a little hesitant, and stayed where she was. Why don't you join us? Helene said. We watched her undress slowly, piece by piece, until she was just in her panties, too: and they were large and white and ugly - undoubtedly chosen for her by her mother. But besides this she was wonderful: there was such a stunning contrast between her black wavy hair and her alabaster skin - like Snowwhite, the adolescent fairy tale beauty, and certainly as magical.

She was perfect - if there had not been a blemish which could only be seen now as she was naked: her breasts were not of the same size. While one was full and round and just perfect, the other was a runt - like that of a very young girl who was just about to develop.

Rain, rain, rain - even the birds better open their umbrellas when they want to sing their spring songs outside. My mood is pretty similar to the weather - it's this workweek at school which gets me down. A colleague of mine asked me yesterday during a break why I was always staring at Rosie, our Head of Language Department, with clenched teeth, as if I wanted to murder her - which sums up my feelings towards her quite accurately. She wanted to know if I was still sour because I had been ignored and Rosie had got the job which had been promised to me.

Yes, I probably am, and even more so because she is such a xxxxx. Take all the soaps and telenovelas you have ever seen and scan them for female baddies, and that's her, the way she dazzles, the way she schemes and the way she gets what she wants. Everybody is convinced that she fucks Old Shithead, our headmaster, and that this is the reason why she is where she is, because up to now she has not shown any sign of professional skills besides a great talent for making people feel bad and inferior.

"Why didn't you fuck old Shitty; you'd be where she is now. I mean, you always accorded your favors quite liberally, so one more would not have mattered that much, would it?" my colleague added gleefully. Why didn't I smash her expensively manufactured nose there and then? With such friends, you don't need enemies.

I kept calm because I am basically a peaceful person. Because such meanness makes me rather sad than aggressive. Because she is maybe right. It's past full moon anyway, which is a time I always feel awkward and lose my emotional control before the blood comes, which hasn't so far.

Back in school, but without kids yet - it's some kind of further education week, which is also supposed to enhance team spirit (Good morning, Rosie, what's on your mind today?) Fortunately there is also time to do some private work, which is what I am doing right now.

Although my holidays have been over for a week and are history meanwhile, I have not told you all sexy anecdotes which might interest, and what I have been told, even excite you. I have, for example, not told you all about the German financier, who had paid such nice compliments about our breasts, and his family, with who we sometimes had breakfast or a drink before dinner.

I have already mentioned that the man was quite good-looking and very funny and charming, but it seems that towards his family he showed a completely different face. Although his wife was extremely well and expensively dressed, she appeared rather quiet and subdued, and she didn't speak much in her husband's presence. Their daughter, who will be 19 in autumn, did not appear to be very happy, either. She was by far the youngest person among the guests and certainly only there because of her father's wish. She looked very sullen all the time, and answered back quite aggressively when her parents addressed her, although she finally always did what they expected from her.

Bettina is very pretty by all standards. Black, wavy, almost curly hair, quite tall and slim, fairly white-skinned like me, and with naturally red, full, pouting lips, she is quite dazzling. It was certainly her father's wish, that she always wore a pretty inelegant one-piece bathing suit, and she spent her days at the pool with her parents or walking along the beach like we did. When she saw us come, she ogled us with interest and some slight contempt, like all adults.

Once, when we met her alone on the way from the pool to our room, she suddenly started to speak and pertly asked:"Are you really lesbians?", and added, like an afterthought and perhaps to soften her question a little, "because I think I might be one, too." While I must have looked rather taken aback, Helen's reaction was faster, when she said: "Why don't you find out? You know where our room is." And off we went, in different directions.

Browsing through the WWW, I have found a link to a webcam which shows part of our beach in Fuerteventura. Sou you could have seen me here, as a little ant only, but still:

[url]http://www.restaurantecoronado.com/webcams/index.html[/url]

This week has been pretty quiet: some cleaning, cooking, working for school and the finals. I told Phillip all our holiday adventures and he reacted with as much excitement as I had expected. So I am still a little raw from him entering anything enterable. Once Helene came over and we told him the tale you don't know yet, and eventually we rolled over the floor all three of us. There was no Jacuzzi this week as my friends are on holidays.

Tonight we will see some friends of my parents and their meanwhile adult children. We still meet once in a while and have not broken off contact even though it's soon 15 years since my parents' sudden death. And although they love to rehash old stories which I have heard many times, it is always nice and special. Besides my own memories, old friends are the last link to the departed, which I would not like to miss.

A cactus on Fuerteventura - Nature will always keep to some successful forms.

One good friend surmised in his PM this morning that most sex I must have had during my holidays was with Helene, with who I shared my hotel room. Actually, this is only partly true. We were always together when we had sex, and we shared everything and everybody, but when we were alone, for example at night or during siesta, not so much happened. We had pushed our beds next to each other, and we both slept in our panties and often in each others arms, but it was not often that we fell into each other to give us orgasms. Much more often we lay side by side, or I lay with my head resting on her pussy or her tummy, and we told each other about ourselves, or about our deepest wishes and dreams. Or we planned how to spend the next day and what to do with whom.

Now as we know each other so well, I think Helene is a very open and direct person - a really good friend, maybe one of the best I ever had. Not as exciting and irresponsible as Tanja, or as deep and unfathomable as Elsie, who I have known so long, and not as strong and irresistible as Maria, who was always more a lover than a friend - but cheerful, reliable, imaginative, and curious. Someone to steal horses with, if we felt like horses, but most of the time we just felt like being close, exchanging thoughts or tender touches, and, yes, when desire became too strong, feeling a knowing tongue exactly on the right spots.

The Island of Fuerteventura has about 80'000 inhabitants (and the same number of goats), but 1'400'000 tourists a year, of who not all are couples or families like in our hotel. There are quite a number of single women here, and what they are after is some skin contact and black cock. This is not unlike the Caribbeans or some African states, but the flights here are shorter and cheaper and so are some of the huge eyesores of hotels, which you find here rather too often.

So in the evening you can see many awkward couples consisting of a young colored guy and a withered and shriveled, middle-aged European woman. Once when we were in town, one of the guys called after us and we turned and started to talk to him. He was one of these taxi-boys and he was pleasant enough, and he even spoke quite good German, so we had a drink and a cheery chat.

Now Helene had told me that she had never had sex with a black guy, and wondered if is was true what people said about the size of their cocks - so I decided to treat her to one. We could not take him to our hotel, but he had a little two room flat on the outskirts of the town, and that's where we finally landed: Helene and I, and my few emergency condoms, which had also found room in the pockets of my shorts. We only went with him after he had allowed us to peek inside his Bermuda-shorts, so Helene had eagerly pulled his elastic and we had had a good look at what was there, without underpants and already half alert. And we saw that it was good.

In his room we were soon naked and he showed us that he understood his business. He was very funny, but determined and so he was soon lying on top of Helene, while I was sitting close to her head and tousling her hair in my lap. The guy was bigger than anything (living) Helene had ever had inside her, and she soon sobbed and yelped with pleasure and got so loud that the guy looked round a few times with a slightly worried look. Helene came ever so quickly, and then it was my turn, while she was lying beside me still hot and excited, and I relaxed and enjoyed what I felt and let myself go, and before long my mind exploded as much as hers before. And then it was her turn again, this time she was more controlled and could enjoy it much better, and her orgasm was, as she maintained later, "one of her five all-time best."

The guy himself only came when a little later I sucked him off. I felt him splatter into the condom in my mouth violently, and I regretted that I hadn't taken along some with strawberry flavor, which I usually used for this purpose. I had to drink more than one cocktail to finally get the rubbery taste from my tongue.

Before we parted, we gave our pleasant taxi-boy "a little present", which is an euphemism for a sum of money in exchange for his physical services. Taking the bills out of my pocket, I was aware that for the first time in my life I had paid some money for sex.

"As always you have been missed. You obviously had a good time and I hope you will tell all", is how a very good NN-friend welcomed me back in his PM. And thank you, OldGeezer and depotguy, for your kind responses. Form these I deduce bravely that there is a general interest in me telling about some events of the last few days, so that's what I am planning to do. Stop me, if you get bored.

This is the beach which we walked along every day, barefoot in the sand and in the water, for about two hours. We did it to make room for more food from the buffet, but also because we felt pretty good doing it. Like many other women, we walked topless, only in some little shorts, mine black and Helene's white, just big enough for the key, the mobile and a 20 Euro bill.

I admit we enjoyed the stir our appearance made, particularly when we held hands, what we did now and then. There were so many eyes on us, and we just loved it - because there were also a lot younger women in just their bikini pants walking, a few times we even met a group of five Spanish girls who worked at the hotel doing the rooms, and they were topless, too.

One of the guests of our hotel told us at the bar that he really loved our appearance at the beach because he thought it had style. If he hadn't been with his wife and his 19-year-old daughter, he added, he would certainly have made us an indecent offer. He was German and in the finance business. While most topless women reminded him that the stock market was still on a downwards trend, he said with a big smile, he thought that our breasts were rather like a silver lining on the financial market's horizon and inspired some hope that things would go upwards again soon.

What a nice compliment from an elderly, but still very attractive guy we would possibly have accepted an indecent offer from, provided there had been one. So instead of his, we were finally accepted an offer which was even more tempting: his daughter's.