Free Cabin Fever: The sizzling secrets of a Virgin air hostess… by Mandy Smith Page B

digital clock on the TV screen indicated it was now 2am – 7am in the UK.
He’ll definitely be up by now
, I thought.
    Back in the bathroom I was greeted with a blanket of steam and a giant foam soufflé emerging from the tub. I giggled as the stiff peaks rose higher and higher. “Mmm, maybe too much bubble bath,” I said out loud.
    I turned off the taps and eased myself into the bath, enjoying the silky sensation of the water against my skin, caressing my aching feet, legs and back. I lay there for a while, relishing the moment of pure relaxation, then I reached up for the phone, grabbed my card resting on the lip of the bath and tapped in the ten-digit code followed by Jonathan’s number.
    He picked up on the third ring, his voice sounding a little deeper than usual. “Hello?”
    I didn’t hold back; phone sex is all about language – using sexy words and being downright filthy. “Hello gorgeous,” I said in my best husky sex-goddess voice. “I’m naked, I want you …”
    “Is that you, Mandy?” Fuck, fuck and triple fuck. Bloody fuck, shit and bugger, it was Jonathan’s dad, Stan.
    I felt my face colouring, reaching a temperature greatly exceeding that of the bath water. I sat up sharply in the bath. What the fuck was I going to say? Blame jet lag for my mucky ramble? I couldn’t exactly hang up – he knew it was me. I cleared my throat. “Yes, yes it’s me,” I said meekly. “I’m so sorry … is Jonathan there?”
    Stan laughed. “I’ll get him for you, love.”
    At that point Jonathan picked up from the other extension in his bedroom. “Is it for me?”
    “It’s Mandy for you,” Stan replied, then hung up.
    Jonathan’s opening line wasn’t the most imaginative for an international sex call: “Got there okay, then?”
    “Oh my God,” I said, “I just started having phone sex with your dad. You said they were away.”
    Jonathan laughed. “You’ve probably made his day. Yeah, dad had to return early for work.”
    Embarrassed though I was, I decided to let it go – my minutes were precious.
    “What are you up to?”
    I’m naked,” I said, “I’m all wet, bubbles everywhere. My pussy is aching for your throbbing Viking cock.”
    “Touch yourself and tell me how it feels,” he ordered. Thank the Lord,
now
he was getting it.
    Our smutty rapport went on for at least ten minutes, culminating in simultaneous orgasms on both sides of the pond. I writhed and convulsed as I touched myself beneath the foam, water heaving from the tub. And just after we’d expelled our final groans of ecstasy, my minutes ran out and the phone slipped from my hand and sprang against the wall with a crack. Definitely ten dollars well spent.
    Later that morning I was woken by a phone call from Laura. “Ready to hit the mean streets of Manhattan?”
    I lifted my head from the pillow. My hair was still damp from my raunchy bubble bath debut. “What time is it?” I asked.
    “Nearly nine. Three S’s and see you in thirty?”
    “They don’t call this the city that never sleeps for nothing, do they. I’d better get my arse in gear then.”
    Laura was the perfect tour guide – she left no stone unturned. After a much-needed feast of sesame bagels, cream cheese and tomato along with bottomless cups of coffee at the deli on Lexington, we headed up Forty-Second Street to Fifth Avenue and the Empire State Building. I was like a typical tourist, snapping away with my disposable camera (we didn’t have camera phones in those days). The view from the observation deck was mesmerising – miles upon miles of silver buildings stretching into the mouth of the Hudson River, surrounding the huge green idyll of Central Park, so vast yet so miniature from such a height. I could imagine scooping the whole of Manhattan up into my palms.
    From the Empire State we headed to Times Square, where Iwas introduced to the beauty mecca, Sephora, a huge store dedicated entirely to make-up and cosmetics.
    “This is where we stock