An Arse To Die For

And did this thing have an arse! It was gleaming brown, like a lovely block of chocolate and I'd have given anything to have leaned over and planted a kiss on it right there and then.

Then she turned round, slipped off her high heels and sat down, presenting me with a great view of her tits. They weren't massive, but they were more than adequate, I can tell you. The lovely smooth satin of the bra cups shone on her lovely globes.

"Hey," she said, reaching over with her right hand and shaking mine. "My name's Dolita and I take it you're Australian?"

I nodded. "You've got it, mate," I replied. "The name's Shayne and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. You ever been to Australia?"

She shook her head, making the glimmering black hair shimmy. "No, but I'd like to go there one day," she said. "What I'd really like to do is see Kylie Minogue's bum – I wonder if it's as good as they say."

Now call me a traitor, but as far as I'm concerned Kylie's bum isn't a touch on say, the fantastic buttocks that Vida Guerra lady shows off.

And this bird wasn't unlike Guerra, in my books. Perhaps not as pretty, but she had a similarly superb arse. Not that I'd turn down a face-sitting from Kylie if she ever offered it – and I'm at odds of a million-to-one against there and drifting.

So I grinned what I hoped was one of my winning smiles and told her: "Mate, Kylie's not a touch on Vida Guerra and if you ask me your bum's just as beautiful. Dolita – you're not Cuban, by any chance?"

The lovely brown, bronzed bird smiled. "No, Shayne," she replied, rolling over onto one side to give me a great sight of her breasts fighting to burst out of her bikini top. "My mother was Spanish, my father Italian, so that's where I get my looks, I guess," she told me.

"And what's a Spanish-Italian sheila doing in Waikiki?" I asked her.

She frowned: "Sheila, what's with this sheila thing?"