Red's Scottish Trip Ch. 02

No Sandy! She whirled round on him, slapped his face hard. Enough games for now, and certainly not that one. His kilt was up and his red cock stood like a pole. She flicked his cockhead hard with her middle finger, watched it droop as the pain and surprise registered on his face. You need to learn that I am NOT some slut who will let you indulge your every fantasy!

Acute confusion, disappointment and embarrassment mingled on his face. Yes, Ms Client, whatever you say. Christ, the bitch, he thought, leading him on till he had overcome his reluctance, then slapping him down...literally. His cock still hurt.

She'd noticed a museum across the road, wanted some coffee. Strangely now, she was turned on... but as much by his humiliation as by any physical need of her own. Now that was something new, but then with this strange unpredictable Scotsman, everything was new. And she had thought she was setting the pace here!

She kissed his crestfallen face lightly, took his hand: let's go get some coffee, goof!

After coffee, they visited the City Hall. 'City Chambers', it was called: an ornate Victorian palace of conspicuous construction with more marble than she had ever seen in one place. She found it somehow too much to like, and told him so.

I agree. It was opened in 1888, at the height of the Empire, when Glasgow was one of the richest cities in the world. The entrepreneurs who ran the city wanted a civic HQ which reflected their wealth, but it also reflected their bad taste. And the immorality which had created their wealth, the slave trade in the first place. I don't like the building at all. Every great Victorian city in Britain has one: Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool, Birmingham, but Glasgow's is the most obscene display of wealth without taste.

Hey, I thought you were proud of your city?

I am, but I know its history, and there are some aspects which nobody in their right minds could be proud of. Slavery wealth for one. And cultural vandalism! The city fathers who had this pile built also acquiesced in the destruction of the old University, one of the finest ensembles of medieval and renaissance architecture in Europe...and it was replaced by a railway goods yard!

No doubt some of them were shareholders in the railway company. It was just the way things were done then I suppose. But only in Glasgow. Britain's other ancient universities; Oxford, Cambridge, St Andrews, Aberdeen, are still largely intact.

She was intrigued by his grasp of, and sensitivity to, the city's history. Living in a town whose oldest buildings were eighty years old, she was still having trouble getting her head round the centuries of built history around her. Mhm, a guide with opinions? But Sandy, I'm getting hungry, can we find some lunch?

Sorry, yes, of course I have opinions: I think I made that clear in my stuff on the site? But I hope I always make clear what are facts, and what opinions?

Lunch now, I had thought of somewhere in the Merchant City, just a couple of blocks away. In fact -- glancing at his watch -- I booked a table; knew we'd not be far away. Fifteen minutes, we can wander through the Italian Centre, let you do some window-shopping on the way. That sound OK?

Sandy, I haven't even thought about shopping, I usually do it in a mad rush at the end of a holiday. But sure, no harm in looking now. Where's this Italian place?

She was delighted by the clothes, horrified by the prices. He explained the city's recent re-invention of itself as a post-industrial visitor attraction; the gradual creation of the Merchant City as a place to live and shop, using converted eighteenth and nineteenth century warehouses.

Soon they were at the restaurant: 'Café Gondolfi'.

This was one of the first new restaurants here, Sandy said. Been open for about thirty years now, I hope it's still as good as it used to be. I don't have occasion to eat out very much, except with clients, but I thought this might be appropriate for you.

They were shown to a table and she looked at the menu: Hey, if it eats as good as it reads, this'll be swell! I like the thoughtful way you look after me, Sandy -- squeezing his hand over the table -- except when you lust after my ass. That is a no-go area.

He was embarrassed at his lust and inconsiderateness, spluttered apologies: I just don't know what came over me. I think I was back in roleplay mode from yesterday. I have to say that really turned me on. But...

It turned me on too honey, in case you didn't notice. But you only play when you know I am looking for it, and you can't have my ass, roleplay or not. Clients' rules! End of subject. Now after lunch, since we're here, I wanna see downtown on foot, OK?

OK Boss. Anything in particular?

No, just what you think might interest me, I'll tell you if I get bored.

What about this evening, Red. Want me around then, or are you happy on your own?

Hey, the contract says you are here for me from breakfast till whenever, and I want my money's worth. Unless you had other plans?

Er, no, it's just, after last night...

Hey, that was then! I was annoyed at you, goof. I think tonight I want you all to myself - she patted his knee under the table - provided you behave!

Easier said than done in your case he thought . It really is complicated having sex with a client.

OK, You're the boss, madam.

They spent the afternoon walking round the city centre, with Sandy's constant commentary on history, architecture, people, shops. Window-shopping, a couple of malls, but nothing like the Eaton Centre. It was a Victorian city.

She felt she was maybe just beginning to get the feel of the place, but by 5.30 she was getting tired, and very thirsty. So was he, after talking non-stop all day. They stopped on a busy corner after visiting a very upmarket art nouveau-style mall.

Fancy a drink Red? I'm parched talking. And you can hardly visit Glasgow without sampling its pubs.

Hey, a drink sounds just right. What sorta pub -- I found a nice one last night. She described.

Uh, Oran Mor. I was thinking about somewhere more, mm, basic, just nearby, here in the city centre.

Sandy, I just have to trust you: lead on!

The Scotia Bar is not on most visitors' must-see Glasgow agenda, but, thought Sandy, it should be. OK, we're here, pushing the door open. It's one of several that claim to be Glasgow's oldest pub. She peered into a low-ceilinged barroom which was only missing the thick fug of tobacco, but she knew smoking in pubs was banned here now, same as home.

Looks interesting man, my round.

Mine's a pint of Deuchars. If you like a beer sometimes, you should try it. Proper traditional Scots ale, not widely available in Ontario I imagine.

She ordered them up, failing to tell him she had sampled one the previous evening. Mmmm, sipping hers as she passed his, it sure doesn't taste like Molson.

He briefly talked about the Scottish tradition in brewing, and his glass was empty by the time he'd finished. Sorry, I need a refill. Educating you's thirsty work. Her glass was hardly touched. Maybe you don't need more yet?

She palmed her glass and as he ordered, noticed live fiddle music from the corner. Hey, that's why you brought me here, that's Canadian music! I've been places like this on Cape Breton.

Uh, Red, with respect, a slight mistake. What you heard on Cape Breton was Scots music!

Oh yeah, New Scotland and all that, sorry. Guess I'm a bit ethnocentric.

No, less than most NAs I've met, he shrugged. One way to tell a Canadian from a US citizen; ten to one they understand that there is a world beyond their shores, and it's different and sometimes as good as their own. Not so many US citizens seem able to get their heads around that possibility - one good reason I generally find Canadians much less hard work!

Why, I'll take that as a compliment -- she raised her glass with a mischievous smile -- and accept it on behalf of all Canadians! Now, what's this evening's programme?

Well, it's around six now, the music should be picking up here if you want to hang around, then we grab a meal in maybe an hour. Then whatever you're up for. Or of course we can eat as soon as you want.

Hey, I'm fine here man, and I think I want to know more about Scots in Canadian history, if you can tell me?

An hour and a couple more drinks later she announced hunger, and a wish for Chinese food -- if you have that here?

The best place is just a couple of blocks from where we're both staying; we'll get the subway. Five minutes saw them on the smallest subway train she had ever seen, and for their three-stop journey Sandy educated her on the subject. It's the third oldest subway in the world, after London and Budapest. I think the subway's a bit like the Scotia, something every visitor to Glasgow should experience if they want to get to know this city. But here's our station.

And just round the corner was the restaurant. More like a student café really: you certainly weren't paying for furniture or decor. It was, he explained, Malay-Chinese, serving both traditional Malay dishes, and Singapore-Chinese. He nodded to the women serving tables, and to a man behind the bar. Over the generous Malay meal they discussed Red's programme in Glasgow for the next three days. She hadn't booked Sandy for any more time, and he had another client later in the week. She had intended starting her own exploration of the rest of the country anyway, she couldn't afford a guide for nearly three weeks. Right now, she was beginning to think that Sandy for three whole weeks might be fun. But she knew that wouldn't happen.

Meantime she told him, her Glasgow-based agenda included museums and galleries, the Burns country in Ayrshire, Loch Lomond, and something of the Mackintosh architecture trail in the city. For starters.

Well, clientboss, you are surely going to make me earn my fee, he laughed. And remember, tomorrow evening I have a prior commitment, so you're on your own after 6pm.

Shit man, what am I gonna do for a whole evening without my guide? She laughed at his playful mock-slap on her knee. Guess I'll just need to be resourceful.

I'm sure you will be lassie. There are several theatres, lots of cinemas, clubs, all sorts of entertainments. Here, they're all in The Herald, showing her the paper he'd bought earlier. I'm really sorry I can't be with you. But if you would prefer decent company, I have several friends -- she looked him in the eye quizzically -- male and female, he laughed. Would you like me to make some calls Red?

Uh, Sandy, thanks for your concern, but a quiet evening won't do me any harm. She was thinking about Alison in the bar the previous evening, but didn't mention this to him.

The pretty Malay waitress brought their sweet: fresh mangoes. Red watched as Sandy tackled the slippery fruit and followed his example, between sips of rice-wine.

Tell me about yourself, and your life at home Red, he asked gently. I'd like to know more about you -- if you don't mind telling me?

Hey, of course I don't mind telling you, goof! But, where to start?

A brief biography would be a good start: you've only told me the barest outline.

OK. Born and grew up in Toronto, nee Kowalski. Dad second generation Polish, mum first generation Irish. Extended Catholic families both sides: I've more cousins than I know. He worked on the railroad, she was an infant teacher, part-time. A brother and two sisters, now dispersed across Canada. Happy childhood, but I could never focus too hard at school so my grades were so-so all the way through. When I graduated high school I took a coupla pretty dumb jobs, still living at home in Toronto. None lasted till I started work for a property company, and I got kinda interested in my job for the first time. Stuck with it, took evening classes and got myself some professional qualifications.

Meantime I'd met my husband. He was a teacher at the college I attended, but not on my course. We found an apartment, married, our daughter was born. A few months after her birth he was offered a better post in a college in northern Ontario. North Bay, small city in the middle of the wilderness, a world away from metropolitan Toronto. Two hundred miles north, winter starts in September and ends in May.

We had a good look at the place. Different world. We both liked it, so he took the job. He was much better paid there than in Toronto, nice house, holidays in Cuba or Mexico. Once my daughter was at school my old firm in Toronto asked me if I'd open a new office for them there. I did and it worked, I was earning good money. When our son was born, I kept working, we could pay for good childcare. Years of contentment.

Canadian dream, eh? asked Sandy, pouring more rice wine for them both.

Pretty much, she said. Till around three years ago, when I found he'd been having an affair with a colleague. Apparently started not long after we moved there. I hadn't noticed a thing. Neither had anyone else. Don't know how they did it. Not so easy in a smallish community. Anyway, I was devastated. My son was seven, daughter fifteen. They loved their dad, and Joe was a very attentive father. So for while I did nothing, pretended it wasn't happening.

Except...except I had an affair. With the guy who'd told me about Joe cheating. I suspect that's why he told me, he wanted between my legs. I was so lonely, and Joe and I never had sex any more. So we started screwing. That's all it was, wasn't an affair or anything. Just sex. Didn't last, but it made me feel...uh...unmarried, in a way. Free, of Joe at least.

After that there were a coupla others. Guess I was discovering I really liked sex, but it was loneliness too. Anyways, last year Joe got offered a job in Winnipeg. By this time I'd started my own property business. So quite apart from the fact our marriage was a sham, I didn't want to move. We fought badly. I told him I knew about his affair. He took the job and moved to Manitoba, we divorced. I reverted to my maiden name. He sees the kids for holidays, Winnipeg's a long way away.

So there you are, Red Kowalska, successful parent, successful businesswoman, failed wife. Having her first ever holiday abroad alone. And - she lifted Sandy's hand, kissed it -- I go and book Sir Sandy for my tourguide.

She was looking lost, vulnerable.

Well, my dear, I am so glad you did. And thank you for telling me Red. The last few years must have knocked hell out of you, I can feel your hurt just looking at you. Now, how about we get another drink, and you can tell me what your plans are for the future?

Her eyes smiled through her drawn face: That would be lovely Sandy. Thank you for listening, I didn't quite intend to let so much out. She felt so comfortable with him.

The waitress brought another bottle, and they clinked glasses.

So where do you go now Red? he asked with concern.

Well, Maria, my daughter, starts university this fall. She's going to study English in Winnipeg, she's daddy's girl. So it'll just be young Joe and I then. He's a great kid, doing well at school, and we get on really well. I don't know whether to stay where I am. A small city can be a lonely place, but it's where my business is, so I'll probably stay there till Joe's finished school and ready to start his own life. But I'm quite unsettled right now, so I really don't know. She sipped her wine and looked at him: You are one really nice guy you know, Sandy. I'm glad I booked you, of all the tourguides I could find from Google.

Thank you Red. And lots more exciting places and things to show you! I have a wee suggestion.

So suggest?

I think...I mean I hope this sounds OK...what I mean is, I'd like you to stay the night with me tonight Red. If you would like to. You just seem...a bit lost and vulnerable right now. Thought you could do with a cuddle. And breakfast in bed?

Oh Sandy! You're such a sweet man. I...OK, I'd love to stay with you tonight, that's exactly what I need. A bit of looking after. But what about Mrs Docherty.

I'm sure she'll be fine with it, but we need to phone her. Make it easier for her, tell her we went to Edinburgh and we're going to miss the last train. Sorry about the proposed lie, but she is a lovely lady and I have a relationship with her, I book clients with her regularly. How does that sound?

Mmm...well, OK. Will you phone her please Sandy?

Whilst he went to the payphone at the back of the place, she quietly used her cell to call Alison and book dinner with her the following evening. She wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell Sandy. Just, she was entitled to some privacy.

They paid the bill and walked back down quiet tree-lined residential streets to Sandy's apartment. It was dry now after the day's on-and-off rain, and the streets smelled washed clean. Daffodils nodded in the evening breeze. She was tired and a bit empty, after exposing the delicacy of her life to him. He held her gently round the waist and, guessing where her head was, hardly spoke.

By the time they had climbed the stairs to his apartment -- flat, he called it -- she was exhausted.

They were standing in his living-room. Now lassie, would you prefer a bath or a shower? Or leave that till the morning, just slip into bed now?

Mm, I think a bath would be good man. We've walked a bit more than I'm used to, and -- she giggled -- I still smell of you from this morning. Come smell me, and she slipped her arms round him, drew his nose to her neckline.

Oh Red. He sniffed. I love the mixed-up scent of you lass: your skin, your scent, my spunk, your sweat. He licked and kissed down between her breasts. But now my dear -- he guided her to a leather armchair -- let me just go and draw your bath. Back in a sec. Can I get you anything, a drink, some supper?

Hey goof, I'm stuffed from that restaurant. Just a bath will be so good.

He left her to attend to the bath and she looked around the room. Mostly Victorian, she thought, rich floral wallpaper on the back wall matching the print of the curtains opposite; shining polished old bookcases and desk. Elaborate carefully-painted cornicing and centre-rose on the high ceiling. The suite was modern though, rich burgundy leather in what she imagined was a Victorian style. What looked like an old Persian carpet on polished ancient floorboards. A couple of old watercolours and two modern oils, all looking like originals, not prints. A modern computer desk with what looked like good kit on it, discreetly in a corner. Victorian fireplace with a radiant gas heater in it. No television. Red knew her property and she was impressed.

Sandy called her and she moved to the hall. He was in the bedroom: Your bath's run Red. Here's your dressing-gown. He handed her a rather old gown, but it was purest shot silk, rich green Paisley-pattern, and freshly-laundered. I keep it for my women guests, he smiled. That is, my daughters-in-law, nobody more exotic! Now go get your bath. Regrettably, it's probably not big enough for two, not that I ever tried that. But first, may I watch you undress?

Only if I can watch you, goof! He moved to kiss her lightly, then she watched as he unbuckled his kilt, hung it carefully, and removed the rest of his clothes. His cock was tumescent but not fully erect. He shucked on an ancient-looking woollen plaid dressing-gown.

When he had undressed she followed suit, carefully folding her clothes over a chairback. He moved to stroke her body as the clothes fell off, and she relished the touch of his fingers. The skin was rough but it was applied like feathers. Goosebumps followed where his fingers touched. Then he led her to the bathroom, candle-lit and heather-scented, slipped her gown off. Would you like me to bathe you Red? he murmured as he fondled her nipples, licked them so they began to engorge.

Mmm please, as she slipped into the deep old-fashioned bath.