Reunion - Mexico City

For the four days Maribeth and I had been in Mexico City, my time with her had been limited to before and after work, which was not an ideal situation from my viewpoint. Since our unexpected "reunion" two years previously our subsequent affair had mostly consisted of only one or two days together. My trip to Mexico City was our first opportunity for a longer experience.

I had first met Maribeth in my last semester of college. When I first asked her for a date, I was only three months from graduation, at which time I would not only receive a diploma but a commission in the U.S. Army through the ROTC program.

The war in Vietnam was escalating and to say that my immediate future was uncertain would be an understatement. But God works in mysterious ways and he found opportunities to keep bringing Maribeth and I back together.

I was now a 49 year old executive for a fortune100 company, and Maribeth, 46 was a Major in the U.S. Air Force, assigned to the VA, and one it's top psychologists.

My internal alarm, as usual, went off in my head a few minutes after 6 a.m. The first thing I noticed was the faint aroma of "Radiance," the perfume I'd first given to Maribeth, and which she now always wore.

The second thing was the feeling of her warm body pressed against mine under the heavy comforter on the bed. She was lying on her side with her head pillowed on my shoulder, one leg across mine, her hand in the hair on my chest and was breathing in a soft regular rhythm.

For at least 25 years, my mind had awakened me at this time so that I could start my day with a 5 mile run before breakfast. I admit that I had become a little bit compulsive about this and I had forced myself to do it even when conditions were atrocious. But this morning I was conflicted.

Perhaps I was conscious of Maribeth's liquid soft breast pressed against my side, or the fact that her warm pussy was wedged against my leg that was the source of my hesitation.

In an attempt to resolve this quandary, I began to rationalize.

I had one down day every week, and it had always been on Sunday, but what difference did it make? Saturday was close to Sunday. Would my body object to a slight change?

The kicker, of course, was the fact that Maribeth and I never had enough time together. The whole purpose of inviting her to come along was to share the very moments I was debating how to spend.

Maribeth, in her sleep, was oblivious to the debate that was raging in my head, but had she been aware, I'm sure she would have been perplexed by the whole thing.

By lifting the shoulder on which her head was lying, I brought her close enough to be able to place a kiss on her sleeping forehead. Then, I just pursed my lips and pressed them against the same spot. I could smell her hair as well as the "radiance" and the warm, slightly acidic taste of her skin was moving me to a very pleasant place.

My free hand reached across my body and grasped Maribeth's upper arm. For some reason, I find this extremely arousing. Like most women, Maribeth's shoulders are narrow and her arms are slim and appear almost fragile. My hand can encircle them completely, and I find this rarely discussed aspect of her femininity to be terribly exciting.

With the decision made, my eyes closed and sleep returned faster than I anticipated. Perhaps an hour later I was reawakened by Maribeth's hand on my cock. Like many men, I'm usually aroused in the morning. This condition, called "morning wood," is usually temporary and passes rather quickly.

Whether by design or accident she had made this discovery and was happily squeezing and caressing my cock almost with a "what's this" kind of attitude.

When she saw that I was awake, she lifted her lips to mine but didn't release her grip below. "Back already?" she asked. For just an instance, I considered the smart ass answer to her understandable question, but the angel on my right shoulder kicked me in the neck and said "don't you dare." So I played it straight.

"I didn't go, I wanted to spend the time with you." I said. The little devil gave me a high five. The little angel just shook her head.

"You feel good," Maribeth whispered, giving me a nice squeeze. "I hope you were dreaming about me and not one of your other women."

The "other women '' to whom she was referring were a few ladies that agreed to share my bed on long trips from home and two with whom I had extended affairs. Maribeth had encouraged me to tell her about these adventures. Initially I was reluctant, but Maribeth had assured me that she found these titillating tales just part of the open and honest relationship she wanted to build.

"No, little minx, during this trip even my wet dreams are reserved for you." For this comment Maribeth squeezed me hard. Almost painful, I thought, until my groin responded with pleasure. For not the first time, I wondered about that strange boundary between these supposedly opposite sensations.

I rolled Maribeth on her back and crawled on top but suspended myself just above her body with my arms. I could easily kiss her in this position and I extended myself to do so. Her hands reached for my arms in much the same way I had done with hers earlier and felt my slightly straining muscles, so much different than her own.

Maribeth moaned "ummmm" into my mouth and it seemed that a bout of morning delight could be in the offing. I was still ramrod hard, Maribeth was moaning, and the bottom of my cock was rubbing across Maribeth's silky mound. If she was aroused enough, entry would be easy. If not.....well?

Most of the time, I think Maribeth appreciates my consideration for her in the bedroom, but once in a while I suppose I take it a little too far. I became suspicious this might be the case when I felt one of her legs wrap around me and a hand left its job caressing my bicep and grasped my penis.

Then, lifting her hips, she rubbed the tip of my cock along her moist crease and brought me to the entrance of her opening. Final confirmation occured when she broke our kiss, laser locked her eyes with mine and said...

"Fuck me."

We pushed together and I slid into her easily but not totally. It would take a couple of more attempts before I achieved complete penetration. Maribeth arched her back and brought her knees up to her shoulders. This opened her cunt to the maximum extent possible.

She doesn't use the phrase often, but when Maribeth tells me to "fuck her," she's not requesting a long slow coupling with much kissing and caressing. She's telling me to pound my hard cock relentlessly into her yielding pussy. The first time this had occured it took me awhile to understand, but by now, we both had the hang of it.

Maribeth had two quick mini's almost back to back and was thrashing underneath me. At one point both of her hands were running through my hair. Later the fingernails were starting to draw blood on my back. I was still supporting my weight with my arms and there was enough space between our bodies that I could glance down and see my shaft pistoning in and out of her clenching pussy.

It seemed that Maribeth derived some pleasure from vaginal intercourse as her two quick mini's proved, but to really rock her world requires direct clitoral stimulation. Unless I've accidentally found exactly the right angle where my shaft is rubbing directly across it, Maribeth's fingers slip between us and apply the pressure where it's so badly needed.

Maribeth grunted as if I've knocked the wind out of her each time I pounded into her and as the pace quickened so did her guttural "ugh's." We were both in a race to the finish line, but unlike the Olympics, I was trying hard not to finish first.

When Maribeth balled her fist and brought the back of her hand to her mouth, it's the signal that a big wave is about to break, and it did a few seconds later. Good thing, since I'd lost control of my own spasming body which began to shoot warm semen into her.

These semi-violent sessions are a decided change from our normal lovemaking and while they don't occur often, when they do, it seems we both achieve strong orgasms.

So why are they rare? I think it's totally dependent on Maribeth and the mood she's in. She lets me know and we go from there. For some reason, this morning triggered one of those moods.

A few minutes later, Maribeth had snuggled up and was laying with her back against my chest, we were both gently caressing each other but not saying very much. We'd long gone past the "how was it for you," stage and we were always comfortable with whatever was the outcome of our lovemaking. Not all ended with fireworks or Viking maidens singing the hallelujah chorus but they were always mutually satisfying.

Just before we decided to get up, I turned to Maribeth with a question...

"Babe..."

"Umm"

"If I quit running, is that on the menu every morning?"

I had thought a lot about how we should spend our only weekend in Mexico City. Since I had been here before, I had a nodding acquaintance with what might interest Maribeth, but of course, the lady had a say in the decision.

Over a light breakfast, I told her that the two most impressive things I'd seen were the pyramids at Teotihuacan which were about 25 miles north of the city and the Anthropology Museum which was in walking distance from the hotel. Of course we ought to visit the Zocalo, the city's central square, but I thought we could fit that in during the upcoming week.

Since the pyramids were outside and the Anthropology Museum was inside, we agreed the order we saw them in was weather dependent. Neither of us had seen a weather forecast, but as in most top tier international hotels, if you have a question about almost anything, the person to ask is the consigner.

Since we were only a few yards away, rather than call, we just walked over. On this shift it turned out to be a blond lady named Dorita. Weather was a pretty common question, so Dorita had the answer already memorized. Both days would be clear, but Sunday would be warmer than today. I turned to Maribeth, and said, "Museum?"

She quickly glanced toward the windows and nodded.

The National Museum of Anthropology or as the sign in front says; Museo Nacional de Antropologia contains the world's largest collection of ancient Mesoamerican art and has exhibits featuring Mexico's present-day indigenous groups.

The museum is literally next door to the hotel and it didn't take more than five minutes to walk there. Tickets cost about $3 a piece, so I paid in pesos and we walked into the large entrance hall.

The exhibits were built around the various civilizations that have inhabited Mexico over its history. One side was devoted to those that arose in central Mexico such as the Toltecs and the Aztecs. The other side featured those in other parts of the country, mainly the Maya.

The museum was built around a large courtyard, which looked like a nice place to sit and take a break.

We spent most of the morning walking through the exhibits devoted to central Mexico. Most people know about the Aztecs, but it turns out that they were late to the party and their civilization only thrived for about three hundred years. While they were the dominant civilization at the time, their primary claim to fame was they were devotees of human sacrifice and they ended up being defeated by a couple of hundred Spaniards Conquistadors.

Just about when we were ready to take a break for lunch we came upon what is considered the gem of the exhibition. A eight foot high intricately carved stone disk known as the Aztec calendar or the sun stone. The Aztecs took another hit when we learned that they stole their famous calendar from the Maya.

The only lunch option in the museum was the cafeteria which served some surprisingly good chicken enchiladas and sold cold cervezas to wash it down with. We opted to sit at a table outside on the plaza and talked about what we'd seen.

I thanked Maribeth for doing a yeoman's job of translating a lot of the information panels since everything was in Spanish, and she said, no problem since she knew I had plenty of money to pay her fee.

We worked out way through most of the rest of the exhibits after lunch and I was impressed with Maribeth's stamina. I admitted to being a "history nut," so I was fine looking until they kicked me out, but I knew that wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but Maribeth was keeping pace.

One interesting item we ran across was a huge extremely detailed diorama of Teotihuacan and the pyramids which we would be visiting the next day. However what we'd be seeing can best be described as architectural ruins, while the diorama showed Teotihuacan at the height of it's glory. I thought it was a good orientation.

At 5 pm the public address announced that "el museo esta cerrado." I didn't need Maribeth's translation to know what that meant. As we made the short walk back to the hotel hand in hand, Maribeth seemed to be in excellent spirits, while I was walking, she was sort of skipping. Just before we got to the entrance she turned and asked me if I knew what "hora feliz" meant. "Well, I think hora is hour, but what does feliz mean?"

"Happy," she said over her shoulder, skipping ahead.

It was nice to sit down and I was in the mood for a cold Modelo. Maribeth had gotten off at the 17th floor to, as she said, freshen up. I assumed that I knew what that meant so I left her to her duties and got us a nice table in the bar. A few minutes later, Maribeth appeared. She had fixed her hair and I could smell that she'd refreshed with a touch of "Radiance," and I had to lean close and take a whiff. She leaned forward too, so we had a very public kiss on her neck.

Since Maribeth is not a beer aficionado, she ordered a white wine and told me that we had gotten a message from her former professor and we'd apparently been invited for Sunday dinner with the couple tomorrow night. She seemed excited at the news and so I was too.

As most people have experienced, just walking around in a museum all day can be very tiring, and it seemed that both Maribeth and I were feeling fatigued, but I thought a nice dinner would improve our moods. I was really hoping so, because it was Saturday night!

I had made a call to the consigner while I was waiting for Maribeth to see if it was possible to get a reservation at the El Balcon del Zocalo. I knew the restaurant had a fantastic view of the historical district, but I suspected that getting a Saturday night reservation so late would require more pull than I had. That's why God created consigner's. We had just finished our drinks when the bartender motioned that I had a call. A table for two had been reserved for 8:30. I figured a 500 peso tip was appropriate.

When I told Maribeth where we were going and the status of the restaurant, of course she said she had to change. So before we left, I had the pleasure of watching a naked Maribeth fuss over which dress to wear, a process that saw her try on three before she made a final selection. It turned out to be a black cocktail dress that ended just above her knees, but what I found striking about it was one shoulder was left bare and I loved the way it drew your gaze to her slim feminine arm.

For me a quick change of polo shirts, a navy blazer and a splash of after shave and I was ready. Maribeth put on a black & white Pashmina Shawl. A hundred peso tip to the bellman for hailing a cab and we were on our way.

The restaurant was located on the roof of the Hotel Zocalo Centro and as advertised had a magnificent view of what people call, the center of Mexico.

El Zócalo is the main public square and one of the most recognizable places in Mexico City. It contains a giant Mexican flag at its center and has been the centerpiece of public gatherings since the days of the Aztecs. Several historic buildings also border the square, including the city's national cathedral, the National Palace and federal buildings. At night, the entire plaza and the surrounding buildings are illuminated and it presents a romantic scene to say the least.

We were seated at a small table by the side rail of the patio. Not the best seat in the house, but very acceptable. Maribeth's eyes were wide as she gazed out at the magical scene that was laid out before us from our sixth story perch. "Amazing, it's so beautiful," she said as she squeezed my hand and finally smiled in my direction.

I had to agree, but I was looking at Maribeth when I said it, not the insignificant plaza. Maribeth laughed and I noted that I liked that too. I liked it a lot.

Given our long tradition with Sangria, I considered ordering it, but when the waiter appeared I asked if the bartender knew how to make a Sangria Mexican Mule. The waiter nodded and Maribeth cocked her head. I ordered two.

When the drinks came, Maribeth looked at the ruby red liquid on the rocks garnished with blackberries and a fresh lime slice and raised her eyebrows with a silent question. I lifted my glass and we toasted "us," then Maribeth took a sip. "Oooh, this is good, what's in it?"

I explained it was basically a mix of ginger beer, sangria, tequila and lime juice. It was a variation on the more famous Moscow Mule, but the Mexicans had substituted Sangria and Tequila for the Cabernet and Vodka. Maribeth raised her glass and said, "mexicanos astutos." I didn't understand the "astutos" part, but I agreed as if I did.

In addition to the view, the El Balcon del Zocalo was noted for its specialty, Chili Lime Salmon topped with creamy esquites, which I explained to Maribeth was a Mexican creamy corn salsa. As usual I ordered for both of us.

The Salmon was as advertised and after a full day of museum immersion we dug in like starving sailor's. As we ate we could hear battling mariachi bands from somewhere in the Zocalo. The night was warm and I, for one, was enjoying the food and drink, the music, the view of the plaza, but most of all Maribeth and her wonderful naked arm.

After dinner we took a short walk around part of the plaza. Several bars looked inviting, but neither of us was much in the mood for more alcohol on top of what we'd already consumed, so we looked for a cab to take us back to the hotel. As we did, Maribeth spotted a small crowd and upon looking closer it appeared that people were grasping two metal handles and then jumping and tossing them away.

Maribeth looked at me quizzically and I started laughing. I knew she was looking at " Sres. eléctrico," who were street vendors. Their gig was you paid them to let you hold on to the handles attached to a car battery, while they dialed up the voltage until you dropped the handles. Whoever held on the longest was the "winner."

Maribeth looked at me like I was crazy. "Why on earth would anyone pay to be electrocuted?" She wanted to know. I laughed and told her that it was a "guy thing," unique, I thought, to Mexico and it was best played when drunk. Maribeth looked unconvinced, but asked, "did you ever?" When I sheepishly nodded, we both cracked up.

A few minutes later a cab was headed back to the Intercontinental Hotel with two gringo's who were still laughing their asses off.

When we got back to the hotel, I did notice that Maribeth gave a furtive glance at the camera in the elevator and when she caught me looking, she gave a nervous laugh and blushed. I assumed, correctly, that there would be no more elevator affection for the rest of our visit.

Back in our room we wasted little time tossing our clothes on chairs and snuggling under the welcome weight of the comforter. I took one last look outside before hitting the switch that closed the blinds and the dial that dimmed the lights. The radio was still dialed to the station I'd selected the previous night and Lionel Richie was singing "endless love." Maribeth snuggled close and after a long sensuous kiss, turned and said, "I've never been happier in my life, I love you so much." I assured her that the feeling was mutual and I caressed her arm.