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What follows is a true story, recounted for friends, several years after it occurred. It had been alluded to, and hinted at, several times but never recounted anything like fully. Eventually, Thia decided she was happy to let the truth come out…

This all happened at a fascinating motel in Belgium (actually a Hotel Campanile) at which we stayed two or three times on visits to Europe.

The motel was owned and run by a middle-aged chap called Alain, who spoke English with a very Jean-Paul Gaultier, exaggerated sort of French accent. He was very greatly affected by the slightly anxious melancholy at which the French are so good. For some reason, he sort of took us under his wing and would seek me out to complain about all his clients/guests, bemoaning their litter and discarded cigarettes, their pooing doggies and their stupid demands for things like shower curtains.

Alain was like an affable, depressed Basil Fawlty and was psychologically quite unsuited to the role into which life had steered him. He offered me his own garage for our car to keep it away from the “…unceevilliced cretins!” who were our fellow guests. Lovely bloke, and very, very funny in an accidental way. So that’s Alain.

Next… (I will save Thia till last.)

It being summer, I often used to have a bit of a stroll around in the evenings, sometimes with Thia and sometimes not. I generally tried to avoid Alain as he went about the place picking up cigarette butts and counting each out loud as he did so.

On this particular evening, I had made it back to our room, but stood outside the door (on a communal, first-floor balcony), just relaxing and looking out into the night and across at the town (Liege).

Suddenly, a girl’s voice cried out from one of the ground-floor rooms below me (in a thick French accent): “Robber! ROBBER!” A few seconds later she cried out again: “ROBBER!!”

So… with heart thumping, I ran along the balcony and down the external stairs, looking for where the voice had come from. As I searched back and forth, I heard the same voice again (but now more muted), coming from the room at which I was now outside (it was directly below ours), with my adrenaline pumping and my body in full-on ‘fight or flight’ mode.

The door was unlocked, so I rushed Esenyurt escort bayan in (it led straight into the bed/sitting area) and said in the most authoritative voice I could muster, “RIGHT, THEN!!”

Two faces swivelled to look at mine, with mouths that dropped open. The faces belonged to a young couple, stark naked on the bed and going fully at it…

“Ahh. I see. You must be ‘Robert’…”

Fortunately, I don’t think we encountered them the next morning at breakfast, or indeed at all afterwards.

Now the tale about Thia. It might be a bit graphic! Don’t say you weren’t warned.

The shower in the en-suite bathroom of the Campanile was an over-bath one. There being no shower curtains (see earlier) and the walls being untiled, it was almost impossible to use it as a shower in the conventional sense. Furthermore, the water flow was very hard to regulate and the pressure was outlandishly high; I mean incredibly, dangerously high, like a jet-wash.

At some point, I suggested to Thia that she might like to er… “make use” of the very high water pressure and see what it was like. The showerhead’s spray pattern wasn’t adjustable and the full force was far too strong to use like this directly (and water would have gone absolutely everywhere), so we tried using it underwater, but really it was then too diffuse to do the job effectively.

So with a good few inches of water in the bath, I unscrewed the showerhead so that a steel-cutting, granite-smashing gush of water came straight out of the hose in a pencil-width jet, but its fury could be moderated by using it under the water and holding it at a suitable distance. Even like this, it was a pulverising, thumping force to be reckoned with: definitely able to cause a bruise if held too close to the skin, for example.

While at first a bit reluctant because of the faff involved and because she expected it to hurt, Thia changed her mind the moment she guided the shower hose’s savage torrent into position between her legs. Immediately upon contact, that water jet became her entire world and nothing could have prised it from her grasp (as was soon to become all too clear).

Now that is all very well, but it was a small bath and the incredibly powerful water Escort Etiler flow filled it really quickly. So once or twice every minute, I had to pull the plug to let water out; fortunately, the drain must have had even greater capacity than the shower hose at full force. I would then replace the plug, and the bath would fill rapidly once again. Throughout all of this, Thia was oblivious to everything except the target of the water jet which, in a fleeting moment of semi-lucidity, was described, between gasps, as “…on fire!” (a rather ironic description, I thought, given the nature of the stimulation).

She started by lying down with her legs up on the sides of the bath, but – due to the high rate at which the bath kept refilling (drowning being best avoided) – quickly moved to a sitting position with her legs down in the bath and her knees pulled right up and apart, almost by her shoulders. I hope that doesn’t sound gratuitous: it’s relevant to the subsequent events.

I will gloss over much of what followed and simply say that, almost without warning, Thia was suddenly engulfed by an apocalyptic, prolonged, whole-body orgasm. It immediately overwhelmed her, and unfortunately happened at really just the worst possible moment – when the bath was at its fullest. (I admit, I might have taken my eye off the ball for a moment or two.)

She shrieked and fell backwards, causing a huge amount of bathwater to cascade out of the bath and onto the floor. Then her legs shot out in front of her in a rigid spasm, sloshing yet more water all over the place and shoving her body backwards and up out of the water, pushing out a further tidal wave. Still not finished, she then twisted around in the quickly-refilling bath, spinning over a couple of times like someone being flailed in an alligator’s jaws, somehow managing to keep a tight grip on the shower hose, but largely losing directional control of its output and hurling water about in all directions.

I was briefly but disastrously transfixed, as the industrial-strength water jet threatened to scythe through the untiled walls while Thia struggled noisily against her body’s ongoing convulsions, desperately trying to regain control of the hose and aim it between her legs again, despite the Eyüp escort collateral damage all around her.

Eventually, she ended up writhing about on her back in the turbulent, replenishing bathwater, half-drowned, making unseemly noises through gritted teeth and with her legs tangled in the still-gushing hose, briefly raising the nightmare possibility of pulling it from its fittings.

Sorry if that’s all a bit explicit, but it does help to explain the magnitude of the chaos, the epic scale of the problem with which I was now faced, and the frightening rapidity with which it had developed.

Through the deluge, I turned off the gushing torrent as quickly as I could and pulled out the bath plug. Thia lay in the draining bath, twitching, jerking, dazed and speechless, still clutching the now lifeless shower hose as if her life depended on it.

Well! There was water EVERYWHERE: a properly biblical flood. Thia had pretty much dumped an entire bathful of water onto the floor and jet-washed the room, liberally dousing every wall. Even the ceiling had taken multiple hits! Our little bathroom had disappeared under its own indoor tsunami! Everything in the room was drenched, underwater or floating! And we were on the first floor; poor old Robert and his girlfriend were about to have the ceiling fall in on them, probably bringing me along with it…

“Hello there, you two. It’s only me again…”

I rushed out in search of Alain, not fully appreciating that I had left Thia wide-eyed, semi-conscious, smouldering, dazed and naked, in the bath behind me – I just threw a soaked towel at her as I left, subsequently hoping she would be out of there if and when I rushed in with Alain.

I found Alain and tried my best to explain we needed LOTS of towels and we needed them NOW! And a mop, and we were very sorry, it was all an accident and, no, even a shower curtain wouldn’t have helped.

“What happened? Oh, er… the shower hose detached from the head while Thia was using it…”

“Oh,” he replied, surveying the flood and clearly not buying that explanation for a second, with one eye on Thia, who was by then sitting on the bed, drenched and still shaking uncontrollably in the soaking wet towel; her eyes like saucers, unable to speak and looking as if she had just been struck by lightning.

I’m pretty certain that, as a result of this incident, Alain subsequently regarded us with the same degree of contempt in which he held all the other guests. He barely spoke to us for the remainder of our stay, and when he did, it was usually in French!

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