Happy Birthday, Stranger (in a Strange and Happy Land) [CAW Entry] - Sex Stories

Happy Birthday, Stranger (in a Strange and Happy Land) [CAW Entry]

... Miata, when a girl walked up to me and exclaimed, "Hey George, Nice wheels." She looked like she'd stepped out of an eighties music video, comically large shades and big hair, blond of course. It was quite fetching, laying in ringlets over her shoulders. Then I got distracted by the plunging neckline of her eighties costume, a blouse in red and black, and a red skirt to her knees. "Thank you," I said reflexively, "But I'm not George." "Quit with the stupid accent, and take me to lunch already." I thought I was getting used to Americans and their forward manners, but she was quite out there even for the strange land of America. "I can assure you I'm not George, I'm a visitor from Britain." That might have been that, but I thought I'd try this the American way. "I would however be delighted to take you to lunch. I can offer you the exotic delights of Denny's finest fare." Then I offered her my elbow. I'm not sure I got the American attitude right, but that's about as forward as you'll find for an Englishman. Technically I was wrong there, I was a visitor from The Netherlands/Holland/whatever you called it, but I'd only lived there for a little over a year and still thought of myself as a visitor even at home. She accepted my elbow and I escorted her into Denny's. Another hot Santa Barbarian babe showed us to our table, and we looked over the menu while waiting for our waitress. The menu was crawling with Flintstones characters for some reason. I noticed she had a big rock on ...

... one of her fingers, engagement ring I presumed. Well that put her off the menu. I always had this fantasy whenever I went abroad that I’d meet a woman and we’d have hot monkey sex before parting, never to be seen again. Needless to say in multiple trips, it had never happened. I wasn’t one to disrupt a happy marriage, or engagement, so it wasn’t going to happen now. "So George, what are you thinking?" Again, direct and to the point, quite American. "Well, my name's Stephen really, but don't let me stop you calling me George if that's what you want." She didn't react to that, "No, about the menu, what are you thinking to eat?" The menu had many exotic wonders I wanted to try, but, "Moons Over My Hammy looks tasty, I was thinking of that." That seemed to satisfy that question. The waitress appeared, another babe and took our order in a very efficient and friendly manner. I again made a valiant effort to get served tea. I tried "hot with milk" this time. Tea was something Americans were surprising unfamiliar with, trying to get a decent cup had almost become my life's mission. My companion ordered pancakes. I didn't even know her name, that seemed like a reasonable opener for conversation. "So, do you make a habit of picking up British tourists in Denny's car park? Not that I'm complaining about it or anything, though I don't even know your name." She looked at me, slightly quizzically, "You're really not George?" "No." "Oh." Maybe I should have been more inquisitive about who she ...