August 24th, 1990
Night flight from CCS – LHR
We’ll be landing in London in just over three hours, which means I’ll be walking through my front door in roughly six hours.
The Alitalia crew were out in full force at the pool today, the girls sporting designer, high cut swimsuits, and what Dolly called CFM’s.
“What’s CFM?” I asked. “Is it a swimwear line?”
She and Millie cracked up laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You really don’t know what it means?” Millie asked.
I shook my head. “Will somebody please tell me!”
“The shoes,” Millie said. “They’re not designed for walking so they’re commonly known as CFM’s.”
I gave her a questioning look.
“Come beep me,” she whispered.
“Oh,” I mouthed, the penny dropping, with an expression that sent the two of them into another fit of giggles.
I was horizontal on the sun lounger (flat makes me feel thinner!) enjoying the fashion parade, when Massimo appeared above me. It took all I had not to laugh at the sight of him in his neon speedos that I hate to admit he has the body for. I can’t believe I just said that about such a creep! He started rattling on about the, “in sea dint,” at the disco and said he was, “sorry for upset.”
From behind my shades, I allowed my lustful eyes to roam over his taught, tanned body, hating myself for imagining how he’d look naked. What is wrong with me, I thought, as he perched his slender frame on the edge of the sun lounger.
“It is un-four-chew-nit,” he said, his animated hands dangling dangerously close to my chest, “that you are going home.”
I sighed deeply and inched my way up the lounger.
“You are sad?”
“No,” I stated, feeling my cheeks flush.
“You are hot?”
“Yes,” I said, making a move to get up. “I need to go back to my room.”
“First you give me your telephone number?”
“No,” I said, quickly gathering up my belongings. “Absolutely not.”
He stood up and held out his hand. “Maybe we meet again?” He moved close enough that I could smell Drakkar Noir, the scent Ben used to use and in that split second, I wanted nothing more than to drag him to my room and surrender to an afternoon of unbridled passion.
Instead, I regained my composure and uttered something nonsensical along the lines of; “Have a nice life,” before making my hasty exit.
I can only conclude that I must be ovulating!