Kissing The Wind

Kissing the Wind

by

Helma Pietsch

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Helma Pietsch

All Rights Reserved

*~*

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Casanova Anno 1995

Chapter 2

A Golden Cage

Chapter 3

The Kiss

Chapter 4

The Island Foehr

Chapter 5

Uninvited Visitors

Chapter 6

Surprises Galore

Chapter 7

Different Proposals

Chapter 8

Casablanca

Chapter 9

A Sexy Helicopter

Chapter 10

Cosmopolitan’s Advise

Chapter 11

Lenny

Chapter 12

An Unusual Menu

Epilogue

*~*

Introduction

Kissing the Wind

This is a romantic story by Helma Pietsch.

Acknowledgement: Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously in this work of fiction. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products, which have been mentioned by the author when referred to in this work of fiction. The author is not sponsored by any of the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is fictionalized and without any malicious intention, or coincidental.

Adult-content rating: This e-book contains content to be unsuitable for young readers 17 and under and this book may be offensive to some readers of all ages.

Chapter 1

Casanova Anno 1995

Fabian was running his hands through his hair, frustrated and angry with himself, he was looking at his face in the bathroom mirror.

You’re thirty and behaving like a stupid teenager. What is wrong with you? Get a grip on yourself.

He knew instantly she was something special, without a doubt in the category of mystique and undeniable unique.

She is not really my kind of a woman, tall and too slim, the unexciting mannequin category, without big tits or arse. My preference is more towards the Mediterranean type of curvaceous women, with the word voluptuous invented for them, having long hair, wavy and thick, exactly the opposite to the skinny figure from yesterday. Her shoulder length hair must have been treated by a super professional, nobody but nobody can be born with such a blinding shine of fine silvery ash-blond hair. I would exchange a fucking hot threesome night, for only a moment to touch and smell her hair.

He slammed the bathroom door unnecessarily harsh behind himself and looked at his latest girlfriend, stretching herself, spread eagle naked across the oversized bed.

I’m guessing, Alisha was using dope again and I hate it. Who will she be clinching to when I dump her? Sex is starting to become boring with her. There are only so many ways I can stuff a vibrator into her or fuck the bitch.

He had a long look at her. She was still keeping herself spread eagle on the bed, waiting listless for his next move. Alisha, you are turning me off, you are a lethargic slut. Get up and go to your apartment. I pay you monthly enough money to show a bit of enthusiasm. Now stop wiggling you juicy arse, no games today and I’ve noticed your generous boobs are starting slightly to droop, not a pretty sight for me. Maybe a small nip and tuck is in order to solve the problem before it’s becoming serious.

Well, thank you! With all those heavy metal nipple clamps you put on me continuously, no wonder they go saggy.

Hell, it takes some doing to get a sort of a grunting arousal out of you. Now piss off, before I terminate our relationship. You’re more phlegmatic every day since you quit your contract with the model agency, or did they sack you because you are getting too old and flabby to be an underwear model for fuller figures at your ripe old age of twenty five?

Her Italian temperament came to a boiling point and he was amazed about the agility with which she hurled at him her pair of high heel shoes, Hey Alisha, you’ve missed me! Now pack up and go!

Fabian left the bedroom, returned to the bathroom, locked the door and switched on the shower. This unknown nymph from yesterday is getting under my skin and I haven’t yet spoken to her. Give me a break and get out of my head! I even can’t make up my mind to have a boiling hot shower or an ice-cold one to clear my mind. My regular information service is better doing their best job. I want to know everything about her.

He switched the shower to medium and started singing Come fly with me, let’s fly away.....

Shit, I’m raving about her again and my whole inside is turned into turmoil. I’ve the feeling to be a lost puppy and I hate it. It is not my strong side, nor my usual image; half of Europe’s social society knows me only by my nick-name Casanova and I’m damn proud of it, to carry in modern times the title from the old Venetian charmer.

His thoughts went back to the past 24 hours, until then everything was normal. The weather – for once – was good in Hamburg for the scheduled Polo match and as the captain for his team it was a major concern for him. His 10 horses were all in good condition and survived the previous tournament in Monaco without a blemish.

There last month, it had been a good game for all participants and spectators, a draw but a good game, no injuries, perfect maintained grounds and facilities and as usually, sunny weather.

I start believing, Monaco has a constant booking with the weatherman, compared to Hamburg, which was each year a gamble. Well, next month the polo match is in Edinburgh, with its known lousy weather. I admire the Polo clubs from America, especially California’s Beverly Hills Polo Club, including its permanent sunshine, where they always know how to throw a good party afterwards, with an unlimited amount of half-dressed starlets being around, like rice in a Chinese restaurant. Not as it will be in stiff upper lip Edinburgh, black tie cocktail party after the game, endless introductions and speeches, only bearable by getting gradually drunk and then waking up in bed, next to one of the cocktail waitresses.

Fabian got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, swung another over his shoulders and walked back into the bedroom, unconcerned about his feet leaving a trail of wet marks on the beige coloured plush carpet.

There was for him a permanent apartment in this hotel and the same arrangements Fabian had in Paris, Brussels, London and Vienna, without any worries about employees who may have wanted some free time, his privacy was always assured and it did not cost him a penny, as it was part of the different family businesses.

Growing up to be the first born son did have advantages, when the father was an Egyptian self-made billionaire, Fabian being the only child and his mother was the only daughter with four brothers, with unlimited supply of wealth from her father’s side, spoiled beyond anything, thanks to her father’s opium trading and arms dealings, which was a fact but never mentioned.

The first funding step for Fabian’s father Amos, was the more than generous dowry from the father in-law, making certain the bride had a living style she was accustomed to and their home was from then on a large country estate in the south of France, part of her father’s numerous wedding gifts.

It snowballed from there and in less than two years time, Amos was already a self-made multimillionaire, by accumulating some clever investments, mainly old-fashion hotels with a good reputation but in need of some drastic money injections for an overall renovation and the same system he applied to rundown shopping centres with good locations, but ready for a modern facelift.

All his aim went into concentrating on enlarging his fortune, when his wife died after three years, taken away from him by a stupid infection.

He re-married two years later, but from the start, his new wife was jealous of his first-born son without making it known, she only manipulated every decision concerning Fabian so he was staying away from home, living permanently in a distant boarding school.

Fabian became gradually half brother over six years to three siblings, while he was growing up in exclusive English boarding schools, since he was five years old, despite the fact her own children were privately educated on the estate later on, until they were reaching high-school age.

It was probably one of the reasons, that he had no bonding to his three half brothers, when he only spent the school break at Christmas with them, which could have been at some exclusive resort anywhere in the world, with plenty of sunshine instead of snow.

Later on he studied for a while at the Cambridge University, but his student pranks were too frequent and too extreme, so he left before being dismissed.

His stepmother was legally dead since her car accident and Fabian’s father developed a complex that any man should be leading the first-born son through the first 10 years of a young life, which had always been an old traditional way in Egypt, where Amos was born and grew up with a solid family life, instead of it, he allowed his own son to grow up in English boarding schools with the elite of Europe.

Fabian milked his father’s complex to the extreme, eventually it was too obvious and finally rules were put into place when he turned 25, until then his only accomplishment was to be known as a regular gambler at most casinos in Europe, besides being a rigorous polo player.

Rule number one, work for your living. Rule number two, constantly think about to multiply your initial investment. Rule number three, always apply rule number one, which Amos by then already rigorously applied to his other children, as soon as they were finishing their fulltime education.

One thing Fabian did learn in the English boarding schools, to be competitive in sport and any other challenge. Unfortunately he also had a streak of taking unfair advantages. Any trick was good enough for him to get ahead.

Fabian knew his father was an astute business man, so he copied him in a lot of aspects, while he developed his own portfolio in buying restaurants with a liquor license but hardly any customers. He changed them into upmarket disco bars, food out and DJ with funky music in.

He recently opened the fourth club, all with the same name ‘Casanova’s Den’ in upmarket suburbs, where nobody argued about the price of a cocktail.

All had something in common – apart from the same name – each was situated in one of the major city, close by to one of daddy’s hotels, where Fabian always occupied a suite.

The constant cash flow was comfortable supporting his expensive hobby, polo, the pastime for the people with real money, not for nothing was it called the sport designed for Kings. There were no prizes, instead, only prestige and endless bills.

It was similar to any big yacht racings events; they had two things in common, in need of a steady money supply and the unpredictable bitch of the weather.

Fabian owned a stable with its own trainer and stable-hand near Paris for his ten top class horses, which was the average for an international polo player. Each of the players was attached to unlimited money.

There was one polo player from Argentina, unfortunately not in Fabian’s team – who gradually pissed him off – not only was this guy a brilliant polo player, he also snatched often the hottest female away from under Fabian’s nose. A competitor to be reckon with!

Yes, life was not treating Fabian too badly until yesterday, when he started the second chukka of seven minutes, a ray of sunshine came out of the clouds, shining a beam onto her diamond hair clips, it was nearly blinding him, he was furious, Shit, who the hell is fucking around with a mirror?

As a result, he made a wrong move and the other team was awarded with a penalty shot. The rest of the chukka was an agonizing display of clumsiness from his side, because he tried to show off and it resulted in him falling off his horse for no reason at all.

Nearly everyone noticed it, not her, she had her back towards the playing field, just standing there, looking into the opposite direction, holding a glass of some white wine and talking to two men. One of them was Fabian’s half-brother Siggi.

I must get hold of him; we haven’t spoken for months, because there is nothing we’ve in common. Well, he plays the piano, is a sponsor of the London ballet company, watches often their training sessions and likes a good ballet performance. I don’t know what gay men are doing in their spare time, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of them.

There were still two minutes to go, but it was a blur for Fabian, he blamed it on his fall to everyone. In reality it was a slight breeze of a wind which completely confused him.

Fuck me dead, the wind was playing with her shoulder length hair, it was moving with the wind. She must be the only woman who isn’t using hairspray by the gallon. It moved, not in big clumps, no, individually, naturally. I want to touch it!

For him, the most unsexual part of a woman was coiffured hair, stiff, often hard as a lump of wood. It was a guaranteed turn off for him, when women had their hair done comparable to chicken wire, with the curls so rigid, his wrist watch was at one time caught in it and had to be cut out of the rock hard mess.

It happened only once, because he forgot half drunk, temporarily in a short time of wild passion, the first rule of the game, never to touch a woman’s coiffured hair, not only was it a turn off, in this case a complete disaster, he had to stop the interlude, instead of it searching for a pair of scissors, with the wrist watch around his hand still trapped in the hair. Not a very sexy situation, but memorable in hindsight.

Since then, each time a woman hastily announced, Don’t touch my hair. Fabian replied, Go to hell and fuck yourself.

Then there were also the ones with a short hair cut, touching it was similar to stroking a thick rubbery bathing cup, not a very inspirational sexual feeling.

It puzzles me every time, most hair dressers are gay, you think they would avoid hair spray en masse, letting me run my fingers through the feminine mane and grab hold of it, instead of being a no go zone. Maybe the bastards are doing it purposely, by trying to turn any man away from women?

*~*

For the next seven minute chukka, they all changed to fresh horses and on their return to the field, Fabian noticed with one look, she was gone.

He knew it was not necessary to search around for her amongst the spectators and he was certain that she left, disappeared, vanished.

In the morning he received his requested report from I & S Inc., hand delivered at 9am. They were known to be the best in Europe. Nothing was too difficult, not cheap but they always delivered concerning investigations and security matters, with their head-office somewhere in Germany, reachable only by phone.

Fabian was convinced that if he wanted to find out what kind of toothpaste the U.S. President was using, I & S Inc. could find it out in less than 24 hours and then presenting him discretely with the bill and the info hand delivered.

Therefore it was understandable, when he ripped the envelope open with an increased heart beat. Wow, I’m nervous, I have never been nervous, not even as a teenager, and then he stared at the blank piece of paper.

He looked furious at the courier from I & S Inc., Are you fucking kidding me?

Sorry Sir, we have reached our limit, well there is a first time for everything.

Is this a bad joke?

No Sir and there won’t be any charge.

Are you bloody joking?

No Sir, it would not cross my mind.

A simple inquiry and your company is drawing a blank? The next thing you tell me she was a figment of my imagination?

No Sir not completely, we secured from the surveillance cameras on the polo ground a few snippets from the person based on your description. She does exist alright, only there is nothing available to go on, no registered licence of any kind, no photo identification, nothing at all. We think her name could be maybe Jasmine.

So you think? It could be? Maybe? Are you out of your mind? What am I supposed to do? Send balloons up into the air with banners, Jasmine where are you? You don’t understand, I have to find her for my own sanity.

Sir, you only have seen her from behind, she could be pot-ugly with pimples all over her face. Try to forget her.

I know you are intending to help, but you’re going the wrong way doing it, go quickly before I kill you.

Fabian slammed the apartment door, crunched the empty piece of paper, then unfolded it, straightened it out and started ripping it in thin, long strips with a sadistical grin on his face. I will find you, I will break you and then I will fuck you until you pass out, you bitch.

The feeling of love was as far away from him as the Sahara from an Iceberg; even the notion of liking someone seemed repulsive to him. He absolutely respected his father, but accepted his siblings only as a fact of life without any feeling of like or dislike, similar to the fact that summer always comes after spring.

He liked things, objects, his Ferrari, Glayva and he only bought a painting when he had a connection to it, with an aim to own it, so he was able to look at it in private again and again. Ignoring each time any negative comments from so called art experts, which ranged from ‘Not a good investment’ to ‘It is not in fashion’, or this good one, ‘The flow of colours gives the wrong meaning’.

An impressive collection was spread across the five different hotel suites he permanently occupied, the only personal items he owned to give the salon or bedroom a personal touch.

His pet hate was to receive a present of any kind, because it never hit the right spot. Each time he went and bought a similar item which was then to his liking and gave the original gift to one of the hotel staff.

Me liking any woman I had an affair with? Hell no, I enjoy observing them, bending and twisting them mentally and physically.

The most resisting ones were always an invigorating challenge for him.

Champagne by moonlight on daddy’s luxurious yacht, while I’m putting an exquisite diamond necklace around her neck, it never fails to impress and she is by then starting to melt like ice-cream in the hot sun. Yes, it is an old trick, but a good one to reach my goal.

Deep down in a securely locked trunk – which he only opened on rare occasions before he was falling asleep – there was this vision of him walking under a colourful rainbow, blowing gentle kisses to beautiful butterflies, all dancing in abundance around him.

He only yearned for this feeling occasionally when he was on his own, not after kinky sex, which was the normal rule for him and to top it all, he had to go to sleep more or less sober, no booze, no sex, no woman, but it was the most wonderful serene feeling for him, blowing kisses to butterflies.

Now to the battle plan, I have to contact Siggi, but first getting hold of the surveillance cameras from the polo ground, I need a photo from her face, maybe details about the car. Bloody hell, there is no way of coming or going anywhere for me, as long as I don’t know her! Maybe, if I call Alisha and fuck her real hard, I can get this annoying picture from an unknown bitch out of my mind? Why was I & S Inc. guessing that her name was Jasmine? What a strange name, it’s a flower, a fragrance, not a name.

Early afternoon he was in the management office of the polo ground, trying to be patient with a stubborn board member who explained in details the requirements to watch a security tape.

Fabian’s explanation was a corny story about a long lost girlfriend from years ago, which the board member swallowed hook, line and sinker, confirming yesterday’s investigation from two men was on the same wave lengths and Fabian admitted immediately in a fabricated gloomy way, I engaged them, but I would like to see the details myself.

The time frame on the tape from the entrance monitor showed ten minutes before the start of the game, a stretched limousine with black windows stopping at the entrance, a giant of a chauffeur