Reunion Mexico City Ch 02

Ok, I admit it. As much as I like Mexican food, their breakfast fare just doesn't cut it. Huevos Rancheros are passable, but nothing in Mexican cuisine tops Fried eggs, country sausage, hash browns, and toast with plenty of butter. Fortunately the folks at the Intercontinental in Mexico City had apparently agreed, since that's what I was eating in the Atrium Cafe with Maribeth.

I was in Mexico to oversee some due diligence on a company that my firm was considering acquiring, and Maribeth was along because I had invited her to join me for the week or so I would be here. We were in the second year of what would prove to be an eleven year affair and this trip was our first opportunity to spend more than a few days together.

I had started the day as I had for many years with a morning run. Chapultepec Park was located just across the street from the hotel and it was a perfect spot to jog. I was unaccustomed to the altitude of Mexico City and I had decided to cut my normal five miles to three and I was glad I did. It has been awhile since I finished a run gasping like I'd done that morning.

Over breakfast, I outlined the plan for the day. I had reserved a small meeting room in the hotel's business suite for the week and that would be our base of operations. I told Maribeth that she was always welcome to sit in on our discussions since I had promoted her to the position of "executive assistant," the previous night. In actuality, Maribeth was a Major in the U.S. Air Force, and was one of the top phD psychologists in the VA, but she was still put out that I hadn't made her a Vice President of something.

She told me that she would play it by ear. Maribeth was fluent in Spanish and she was also worldly wise, so I wasn't going to worry if she chose to go off by herself during the day.

After breakfast, I escorted Maribeth to the meeting room on the second floor. Two men were already in the room and I introduced Maribeth to Manuel and Pepe. They were the equivalent of CPA's in the United States, but in Mexico they're known as Contador Publico Certificado, or CPC's.

I got a cup of coffee from the urn on the side table and offered some to Maribeth, but she declined and poured herself a glass of ice water. The coffee urn would be hot all day long since these kind of meetings run on caffeine.

This morning we would be going over all the public filings from our prospective acquisition. I anticipated that Maribeth might last an hour, but I overestimated her endurance. 30 minutes later she excused herself and said she might take a dip in the hotel pool. I told her we'd break for lunch about 1 pm and she could join if she wanted. She shook her head, so I gave her a peck on the cheek and said I'd see her later.

Wading through public filings is drudgery in the best of times, it became doubly so in Mexico. While business is business all over the world, the terms used to describe its various activities vary widely, and a lot of the day was taken up by educating me on how Mexico defined these terms. I had to give Manuel and Pepe credit. They stayed with it and answered every one of the gringo's idiot questions.

By 3 pm I'd had it. There's only so much new information that the human brain can process in any given period of time, and I had probably already exceeded that limit. We had only gotten a short way into the meat of the actual information, but I felt more confident that I was understanding what was being presented. I had thought we could complete this phase in a couple of days, but it now was looking like three for sure, and maybe four.

I went up to the room, but Maribeth wasn't there, so after checking for messages and making a few notes, I decided to lay down for a few minutes. The challenge of my morning run and the high degree of concentration that the rest of the day had required had me feeling exhausted. I was thinking about the wisdom of the afternoon siesta when I said to myself, "I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes."

I think I was dreaming about flowers or bees or something when I became aware of Maribeth's presence. It was probably her perfume. Early in our reunion, I had given Maribeth a vial of my favorite. It was called "Radiance," and Maribeth always wore it in my company.

I had not yet actually opened my eyes when a waif of "Radiance" entered my nose. Soon a soft pair of lips met mine, and the sensation of the perfume in my nose was augmented by the taste of Maribeth's lipstick. What a way to awaken.

When I did finally open my eyes, I was staring into Maribeth's own. I reached for her and my hand encountered her bare arm. Exploring further, I discovered the soft skin of her back. I was tempted to peek, but I was enjoying this Lewis & Clark moment.

When Maribeth felt my first touch on her skin, she had murmured a soft, "ummmm," so I was suspecting that perchance, the lady was being naughty and Santa might not approve.

Making a wild guess, I asked Maribeth, "have you lost your clothes?" Her answer was barely above a whisper in my ear. "Oh dear, I have. Do you know where I might find them?"

I just shook my head. I was still dressed in the white polo shirt and khaki trousers that I'd put on that morning, and I was thinking that it was perhaps ungentlemanly to be so dressed if Maribeth was naked. I said as much, and unsurprisingly she agreed and offered to help.

A few minutes later we were cuddled together under the weighty comforter. We were face to face which gave me one free arm which I used to caress the soft curve of Maribeth's hip and naked butt.

"Nice day?" I asked. Maribeth nodded and told me where she'd gone while I was plowing my way through the Byzantine maze of Mexican accounting conventions. True to her word she'd taken a dip in the hotel pool. While there she'd met another lady who was similarity killing time while her husband was doing business elsewhere.

Later, she and her new found friend Valentina, Val for short, had lunch together in a little restaurant in Polanco and then decided they both needed manicures and pedicures. Apparently the pedicures also came with hot oil foot massages, and I knew from personal experience that Maribeth's feet of are an erogenous zone, so perhaps that was the cause of her naughtiness.

She showed me her fingernails which were polished with a pretty pink except for her first fingers which sported a baby blue color. Maribeth said her toenails were the same color pink, but I was too comfortable to move enough to confirm.

I told Maribeth that I thought she had gotten the better of the day so far, and I was pleased when she said she was committed to helping me catch up. We played a little bit with each other's interesting body parts, but neither of us was quite ready to proceed beyond the teasing phase.

I suggested that we take advantage of the hotel's "happy hour," and perhaps have dinner. I promised "ravishment" later. It only took me a few minutes to dress and then I fetched a Modelo from the honor bar and sat back, put my feet up on an ottoman and watched Maribeth.

I appreciated that when she went into the bathroom and began fixing her hair in front of the mirror, that she remained naked. When she raised her arms to comb, twist, wrap or do whatever she does with her hair, I was treated with a view of one breast rising and falling with her movement. From my position in the chair I could only see a half globe from the back, but Maribeth's front was fully revealed in the huge mirror. Once she caught me looking and stuck out her tongue.

When she finished with hair, she moved to makeup, eyelash liner, lipstick and perfume. Ah, perfume! Then she walked back into the bedroom and headed toward the dresser. Opening one of the small drawers she removed a crimson red bra and slipped it on. It was another half bra that was struggling to do its job. Maribeth's breasts were lifted and displayed perfectly. She spent a few seconds tugging and pulling the material into the most comfortable position, and when she was satisfied she looked in my direction and just paused.

Wayback when, Maribeth had discovered that I had somewhat of a fetish for the "bottomless" look, and ever since she had taken every opportunity to fed this obsession. Now, she placed her arm on top of the dresser, her other hand on her hip and put most of her weight on one side. This had the effect of making the opposite hip, the one her hand rested on, jut out forming a beautiful curve.

My eyes followed this feminine line from her, now, barely encaged breasts, along her hip, down her bare legs to her feet and toes, which I could see were indeed polished pink. While her pose was intended to accentuate her bottomless nudity, I had consciously avoided a direct look, but with my visual tour down her curves completed, I focused on her center.

I am, and always have been, fascinated with Maribeth's pussy. With her legs slightly parted, she treated me with not only a full frontal view of her silky delta, but the small gap between her legs which I find enticing as well. Over the years, I've described to Maribeth how this hint of "nothingness," between her legs is almost more arousing than a full display of her hidden charms.

Now, I do understand why the lady might be skeptical of this statement, since when she does open her legs to my gaze, I claim it's the most beautiful too. Somehow she can't seem to grasp that there can be many number one's.

There are probably over a dozen "bottomless" poses that have evolved when Maribeth plays this little game with me. Some are subtle and inspire imagination. Others are blatant exhibitionism that inspire nothing short of pure lust. After a few minutes, we ran through the entire repertoire.

At the same moment that I needed to adjust for some uncomfortable tightness in my trousers, Maribeth turned and walked across the bedroom to the closet. Opening the door, she paused for a second before removing a long dress. From where I sat it looked red, but after she slipped it over her head and came closer, I could see the dress was slit to above the knee and there were tiny blue and gold threads woven into the fabric. When she moved, there were infinitesimal flashes of light. I thought to myself that this had to be one of the surprises that Maribeth had said she'd recently bought.

Rewinding the scene, I remembered that when she had donned the dress, I marveled how she had avoided mussing her hair. I also noted that she was still pantyless. God...I love this woman!

Red 3" stilettos and pretty gold earrings, necklace and bracelet completed the picture. When she was finished, I couldn't help but take Maribeth in my arms to tell her how beautiful she looked. Next to her, I could have been wearing a tux and would still have felt like a bum. I kissed her lightly, being aware not to smudge lipstick, she picked up a small red purse and we headed toward the elevators.

The main bar of the hotel is located on, and occupies most of the 25th floor. It goes by the rather grandiose name of the "El Centro gin & tonic mixology bar."

While it has something less than a full 360 degree view of the city, it's still spectacular. Since it was nearing sundown, the sky was coming alive with oranges and reds topping dusky bottomed clouds. We took a seat at a small table, ordered his and hers Margaritas, of course made with Herradora tequila, and marveled at the sunset taking place before our eyes.

After a brief toast to "perfect days," I just had to ask Maribeth about what she'd been thinking earlier when she watched me watch her getting dressed.

She dropped her eyes and didn't say anything for what seemed to be a long time. I assumed she was thinking about it, so I didn't push. When she looked up, she said something I definitely didn't expect.

"I wanted you to feel like you were the only man alive....and that I was the perfect woman for you."

"You know I love it when you look at me. The way you look at me. The hunger in your eyes."

"No woman can honestly say she doesn't want that. I feel like when I'm with you, I'm on a pedestal. The feeling of freedom and acceptance you give me is so intoxicating that it just overloads my senses, and I just want to give you all of me."

The sun slipped beneath the horizon, the sky exploded, and I was lost for words. We had been in Mexico for only about 30 hours, but it seemed like an eternity. I leaned across the table and taking Maribeth's slim fingers in my hand, I brought them to my lips and kissed the pale skin. "You are unbelievable," I said truthfully. "I could probably echo everything you just said, but nowhere near as eloquently." Maribeth smiled and then her grin broke into a laugh. We both raised our half-empty glasses and toasted "eloquence."

Maribeth told me about the little restaurant in Polanco that she and Val.had found that afternoon and suggested that we might go there for dinner. I asked if it was good enough for her to eat there twice in one day, and she just raised her eyebrows like she always does when I ask "preguntas tontas," or as we say in the US of A; stupid questions

The restaurant was called the Cuerno Masaryk, and it was less than a block away from the hotel. It was wedged in between two upscale stores and it's entranceway was less than impressive. Maribeth took my hand and dragged me inside.

I should have known that outward appearances can be deceiving. I had learned this lesson many times when I had visited Mexican acquaintances in their homes, which often looked dilapidated behind drab walls, but revealed rich furnishings and tasteful acrutriments once inside.

Cuerno Masaryk was an establishment in this tradition. The lighting was subdued, but revealed a modern decor that somehow was reminiscent of "Old Mexico."

I learned that the house specialities were aguachile and tomahawk steak. The table next to us had ordered the steak and we observed that it was a serious piece of meat. I doubt that both of us together could have consumed it, so we settled on the aguachile which is various pieces of filets of fish and shrimp sauteed in a homemade chile sauce. It was delicious and we topped off with a nice Cabernet. I was pleased that when we walked back to the hotel, we were feeling satisfied rather than stuffed.

I asked Maribeth if she wanted a nitecap in the bar, but she said she'd had enough food and alcohol and what she desired couldn't be found there. Maribeth has a way of lowering her head and looking up with her eyes when she absolutely, positively desires me to do what she wants, but wants me to think it's my idea. I'm on to her game, but this time I was in agreement.

As I watched Maribeth undress and reverse the tasks that had so aroused me just a few hours before, I was becoming aware that the day had taken a toll. While her nudity was more than attractive and wild horses wouldn't have successfully altered my gaze upon Maribeth's feminine charms, I was becoming painfully aware that at 49 my stud days were probably over.

I stripped off my clothes and finished about the same time as Maribeth completed removing the last of her makeup. When she jumped into bed beside me we pulled the comforter over our naked bodies and snuggled. There was a radio on the bed stand and I dialed in a soft music station. For a long time we talked about a lot of long ago memories and I took the opportunity to remind Maribeth of something she had said to me at Ft. Meade during our last time together before I deployed to Vietnam.

I had just picked Maribeth up at the Greyhound Bus Terminal in D.C. after her trip from her home in Dayton, Ohio. We were going to spend my last week of leave together and I was anxious to make her visit memorable, so I had innocently asked if there was anything she wanted to see while she was here.

Her response was burned into the deep cells of my memory. "Yes," she said, "I want to see if you last the week."

When I recounted this story, Maribeth remembered it too. She said that it just "came out," in response to my question. She told me it was the Maribeth that had been buried deep inside and was just starting to get her "sea legs," around this mysterious man/woman thing.

"Well, little sailor," I said, "I think I survived that week, but I'm not so sure about this one."

Maribeth smiled and nodded. There was no need for us to do or be anything other than who we were.

I was surprised when it was Maribeth who drifted off to sleep first. I had settled into that never-never land that exists somewhere between sleep and wakefulness and was feeling content just holding her in my arms. One of her breasts had sagged against my chest and even with my mind elsewhere, my hand raised to cup her soft flesh. My gentile squeezes weren't enough to awaken her, but they were enough for me to confirm what wonderful creatures women were.

My conscious thoughts kept bouncing from images of Maribeth to agendas of things to do in the coming days. I dreaded where this might lead, and I have learned from experience that when the squirrel's start running around in your head it's best to kill them off early.

Maribeth was still laying against me on her side, but I gently pushed her over onto her back. When I pulled the comforter aside I noted that while one leg lay straight the other was bent at the knee. This had the effect of opening her pussy, and I gazed at it lustfully. The comforter had captured not only our body heat but our bodily aromas as well, so when it was pushed aside they assaulted my senses all at once.

None were the familiar scent of sexual arousal, but what hit me had the same effect. I may not have been physically aroused but the mental side was going crazy. I had intended to sneak up and sample Maribeth's cunt with stealthily maneuvers, but with this sensory overload taking place in my brain, I went for the gold!

My lips touched, and my tongue penetrated her nether lips in what amounted to a frontal assault. I was as subtle as a train wreck and of course Maribeth was instantly awake.

Bless her heart, as a psychologist, she immediately recognized the signs of manic behavior and she began to try to talk me down gently. I had slid into a comfortable position between her legs where I could wrap my arms around them and still reach her pussy with my fingertips, where I used them to pull her labia apart. I'm sure Maribeth's long "ummmmmm," were designed to calm me, but if that was her intention, it wasn't working.

Maribeth is never "dry." Even unaroused she maintains some moisture in that interesting crease between her legs, and my tongue was playing "bloodhound," seeking the source of her female nectar. Other than the therapeutic "ummmms and ahhhhs," Maribeth had been passive until my tongue made a slashing move over the area where I assumed her clit was hiding.

There's something to be said for that moment when a woman pushes her cunt hard against your face and begins pulling your hair out by its roots. I had eaten Maribeth too many times not to read her signs. Hair pulling especially is a signal to forge ahead.

In these moments, a flattened tongue pressing and stroking in just the right place is the instrument of choice. When I feel her skin begin to tremble and her "ummmms" evolve to "ughhhhs," I know the wave is about to break.

Maribeth lifted her bottom completely off the bed when her orgasm struck, and for a few seconds it seemed that she couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away from her spasming pussy, but as always, when the sensation became too much to bear, pushing me away won out.

Usually I like to just lay back and watch as Maribeth is swept by her pleasure waves. I like the way her vagina clenches and her body flushes in those moments and I feel pride in my ability to give her this. This time however, I sidled up and took her in my arms. Her eyes were tightly shut, but she couldn't fool me. I knew she wasn't sleeping.