We hadn’t been able to bear being apart and out of touch, sotrue to the story she’d related to me, I made sure I was at Cardiff Airport,complete with a bunch of flowers, to meet her off the plane on her return.
We had spent every weekend together throughout the latesummer, having more sex than I’d ever had in my life. We barely got out of bedsome weekends, getting takeaway pizzas and watching the Brooksideomnibus on Channel 4 after the racing on Saturday afternoons.
I’d participated very enthusiastically, knowing that it wasgoing to result in her getting pregnant. It was on the last weekend ofSeptember when she’d excitedly shown me the pregnancy kit with two blue linesshowing in the box.
Potentially any weekend before that could have been themoment that we hit the jackpot. I got very excited every time at the thought ofa microscopic mini-Stacey (or half of her anyway) swimming up Sarah’s cervix,ready to hit the target.
When we worked out the dates, we came to the conclusion thatshe must have got pregnant either on, or very shortly after, the holiday.Presumably I hadn’t used condoms when we’d slept together in Ibiza, despite allthe general advice to do so.
I had never been very keen on the things, and although Iknew I’d had them with me on the holiday (I found an unused pack in my suitcasewhen I unpacked), clearly I hadn’t been asked to use them, so hadn’t bothered.
Irresponsible it may have been, but since it had led to thecreation of my beloved Stacey, I wasn’t going to worry about it.
The final week before I got to Ibiza dragged by, especiallywith Sarah already over there and out of contact. Finally the day arrived, andI awoke to find myself with her, on two twin beds we had pushed together in anextremely basic hotel room.
Nick and I had been sharing a room, but he’d generouslyagreed to take one for the team and paired up with Sarah’s rather lessattractive friend, Sam.
He didn’t seem too fussy. He hadn’t had a lot of actionsince his divorce, or on the first week of the holiday, so he wasn’t going tolook a gift horse in the mouth. I knew he was going to drop her like a ton ofbricks when we got back to the UK.
I savoured every single moment of that final glorious weektogether, knowing it was to be our last. When we had sex, I was moreenthusiastic than I’d ever been, willing my little swimmers on towards theirtarget.
I even turned down her offers of blow jobs, wanting to makesure I kept her topped up as much as possible. As I’d suspected, the subject ofcondoms was never mentioned.
We dined out, went clubbing, and in the daytimes eitherchilled at the beach or took part in some of the outrageous activities the clubreps had organised.
Beach parties with highly dubious games that involvedlicking cream off people, huge amounts of alcohol, and organised trips out tovarious nightspots in and around San Antonio made the week go by extremelyquickly.
It was full-on in every sense, or “having it large”, as thereps liked to call it.
Inevitably the final day arrived, the one when I would meetSarah for the first time. It was the middle Saturday of a two-week holiday forme, but she was only due to fly in that afternoon.
Expecting to wake up alone, I was extremely surprised to bewoken up that morning by a red-headed Scottish girl, of whose existence I hadbeen previously unaware. She was extremely pretty and very lively, having wokenme up by reaching down beneath the sheets and grabbing hold of me, herintentions abundantly clear.
This didn’t feel right at all. Here I was, preparing to meetthe love of my life for the last time, and I was being very vigorously and veryenthusiastically stirred into action by someone else. It felt rather likecheating, a term I wasn’t particularly keen on, but it fitted the scenario.
Technically it wasn’t cheating, after all, I hadn’t actuallymet Sarah yet, but even so, I felt pretty uncomfortable with the wholesituation.
My body had no such qualms, though, responding proudly toher attentions, and when she leapt on top of me, I just let nature take itscourse.
Her name was Cathy, and I didn’t have much time to get toknow her. It had been a one-night thing, and she was due to get on a plane backto Glasgow that very afternoon.
We may have exchanged bodily fluids, but we didn’t exchangenumbers. She wasn’t that sort of girl. By 11am she was safely on her way to theairport, and I was safe in the knowledge that I’d never see or hear from heragain because I hadn’t, other than on the previous evening, obviously, whenwe’d somehow ended up in bed together.
Every Saturday night, the reps arranged a welcome tour ofSan Antonio’s bars for the latest batch of holidaymakers. Although Nick and Ihad already been there a week, he suggested we went along to check out the newrecruits.
He was not in the best of moods at the midway point of theholiday. Not only had he failed miserably to pull after a week, he’d also hadto sleep on one of the sunbeds by the pool the previous night, after I’d takenCathy back to the room.
“Some holiday this is turning out to be,” he grumbled, as wegot ready to go out for the evening. “I’ve been here a week and I haven’t evenhad a sniff of a shag yet. Remember what Pizza Dave said to us in The Duke lastweek? If you can’t get a shag in Ibiza, you won’t get one anywhere. Well, itdoesn’t bode well for my future sex life, does it?”
“Don’t panic,” I said, adding confidently, “I’m pretty sureyour luck is about to change. There’s a whole new batch of girls down therethat have flown in today looking for sun, sea and sex. We’ve been here a weeknow, we’re old hands. Tonight’s the night, I reckon.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” he replied, making no attemptto hide his jealousy. “You got it last night.
