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Chapter 4

 

 

This is a really great location for a hotel.  It's long and low, five or six stories, with spectacular views to the falls. A wilderness of jungle, that starts immediately below the manicured gardens, extends all the way to the mists rising off the falling waters, down there, in the middle distance.

A Premier Suite!  It’s a lot better than I’m used to. Just as Geraldo described, the double room space is open plan, partially divided by a central timber console unit on which stands a huge flat-screen TV, separating the bed/bath and a huge sitting area. 

There is a square glass topped dining table on which stands an expensive looking bronze semi-nude: a Gypsy dancer, with castanets held high.  In front of a black leather three seat sofa is a low coffee table, with a huge vase of flowers at its centre.  The suite is ideal for my present purpose, the nicest I've ever seen. But I suppose to Diana, with all her millions, this is the bottom of the range - slumming. 

There on the central console unit is the clock. The clock that is really a camera. Geraldo certainly went to a lot of trouble to show it to me yesterday and watch me remove and replace the memory card to be sure I can get it quickly: "perhaps while she's in the loo after you finish". 

The 'drop', that's spy talk, for leaving the memory card for him is a locker at the airport, on my way out. He's made an extra key for the locker so we have one each. 

The clock is very clever. It starts filming as soon as there's movement in its field of view. It has face recognition software and pans and zooms to keep figures and movement in frame. 

***

Diana's wasting no time.

“Unzip me darling, and we’ll see if you can put me in hospital.” 

Her dress slips from her shoulders, falling to the floor. With a rippling half-shell about her feet, she reminds me of the poster of Botticelli's Birth of Venus, that decorated my mother's room back in the Barrio.

She's undoing the buckle on my belt and loosening my pants. Her hand is slipping down to check me out. Damn she’s a good kisser. She smells hot. And her body is so sexy. I've become very hard down there. She's pulled it free from my pants.

But I’m really uneasy now. Something doesn’t add up.

I realise. It's my prints! Geraldo wanted my fingerprints on the clock inside and out! 

I am being set-up as the fall guy for something and Geraldo can be evil. Back in the barrio he once stabbed and killed a homeless man, just to see what it felt like.

But I’m committed now. If I pull out now Geraldo will want his first money back; and there's another five thousand at stake.

"Just wait a minute," I say and rush to the bathroom to have a pee - and a think.

What can I do? I've already spent most of the first thousand and to get the next instalment I have to leave him a memory card in a locker at the airport, complete with a video of me fucking his wife. But I need to get my prints off that clock. I could go back in there and pretend to admire the camera-clock and give it a nice little polish with this hand towel. But that will be very obvious and my prints are still inside it. I'll just have to hope that I get a chance to wipe it, inside and out, later. 

Oh hell! Now that I’ve peed I've lost interest in putting on this show. And it shows. I'll just have to get back into the mood.

Diana's standing, almost naked, by the bed. She must be in full view of the camera. She's beckoning me over to her. She wants me to unclip her bra.

"You know I said I have a fantasy," she's saying, as I fiddle with the hook things. "Would you like to hear it now?"

"Yes," I reply. I'm James Bond again, Mr Cool.

"I'm in an expensive restaurant with my husband - we have a private room. Unbeknown to Geraldo, I have a secret lover, who's hiding under out table. Do you know why?"

"No," I say - I've no idea what she's talking about.

"He's a handsome stud, just like you. And as I eat, so does he. Now do you understand? My husband doesn't know and mustn't find out. The stud's job is to make this as difficult for me as possible. Do you think you could do something like that?" 

"Like what?"

"You're being a bit thick. For me some oral sex is essential at the start of my little flings." 

As her meaning is clear now I'm cold with horror. ¡Ay dios mio, that's revolting.

I've heard of it of course, but always mocked it. No macho man would never do that. It's unhygienic. A woman taking a man in her mouth is normal and expected. A man does it to dominate her, when he demands it, whether she likes it or not. Grab her by the hair or the back of her head.

I'm certainly not going to do that for her! If it wasn't for the money I'd be out of here, right now. 

She's been smiling seductively, undoing my shirt as she speaks. No, she's unzipped my pants. I feel them drop to my ankles. She has her arms around my neck kissing me. Now she's pushing down on my shoulders as if she wants me to get down there. I'm panicking in front of that camera. I've lost my erection completely and I can't get it up!

I must look like a maricón; limp while being pushed down by this beautiful, naked woman. And it's all being recorded by that damn camera. There's no way I'm going down there. This is a disaster. Yet, I'm thinking of the money.

Suddenly I'm on my back.

 

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Travel

Ireland

 

 

 

 

In October 2018 we travelled to Ireland. Later we would go on to England (the south coast and London) before travelling overland (and underwater) by rail to Belgium and then on to Berlin to visit our grandchildren there. 

The island of Ireland is not very big, about a quarter as large again as Tasmania, with a population not much bigger than Sydney (4.75 million in the Republic of Ireland with another 1.85 million in Northern Ireland).  So it's mainly rural and not very densely populated. 

It was unusually warm for October in Europe, including Germany, and Ireland is a very pleasant part of the world, not unlike Tasmania, and in many ways familiar, due to a shared language and culture.

Read more: Ireland

Fiction, Recollections & News

Now I am seventy

 On the occasion of an afternoon tea to mark this significant milestone...

 

When I was one, I was just begun;
When I was two, I was nearly new;
When I was Three, I was hardly me;
*
*
*

But then I was sixty, and as clever as clever;
Wouldn't it be nice to stay sixty for ever and ever?

(With apologies to AA Milne)

 

Hang on!  Now I'm seventy?  How did that happen? 

Read more: Now I am seventy

Opinions and Philosophy

Electric Cars revisited (again)

  

Electric vehicles like: trams; trains; and electric: cars; vans; and busses; all assist in achieving better air quality in our cities. Yet, to the extent that the energy they consume is derived from our oldest energy source, fire: the potential toxic emissions and greenhouse gasses simply enter the atmosphere somewhere else.

Back in 2005 I calculated that in Australia, due to our burning coal, oil and sometimes rural waste and garbage, to generate electricity, grid-charged all-electric electric cars had a higher carbon footprint than conventional cars.

In 2019, with a lot of water under the bridge; more renewables in the mix; and much improved batteries; I thought it was worth a revisit. I ran the numbers, using more real-world data, including those published by car companies themselves. Yet I got the same result: In Australia, grid-charged all-electric cars produce more greenhouse gasses than many conventional cars for the same distance travelled.

Now, in the wake of COP26, (November 2021), with even more water under the bridge, the promotion of electric cars is back on the political agenda.  Has anything changed?

 

Read more: Electric Cars revisited (again)

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