Reunion - Mexico City

As I was running in Chapultepec Park on a warm Sunday morning, my thoughts turned to the plans for the day. This was the only weekend that Maribeth and I would be in Mexico and we were planning to go out to Teotihuacan and see the famous pyramids there. Later, we had been invited to dinner with one of Maribeth's former psych professors. It was going to be a busy Sunday.

I had been struggling with my normal morning run at Mexico City's 7,000 ft. altitude, but I must have been getting acclimated because I thought it was a wee bit easier this morning. When I returned to the Intercontinental Hotel, even the final run up 34 flights of stairs to the 17th floor seemed not so daunting. I was still winded, but I didn't think I was going to die.

Maribeth was already up and dressed when I got back to our room. She had gotten in the habit of watching me from the huge window that overlooked the park, so my arrival was no surprise. "Nice run?" She wanted to know. I nodded and walked over to give her a morning kiss. She didn't embrace me as she had done the previous morning, but the kiss was delicious.

Maribeth was polishing her nails as I took my post run shower which featured a bout of hot water followed by a minute of cold. I could see Maribeth watching from her perch by the window since the bathroom was open, enclosed by glass rather than drywall. We had become quite unabashed about our pleasure in looking at each other's nude bodies and I was enjoying Maribeth's admiring glances.

I was very conscious that, as usual, after strenuous workouts that my manhood was full and prominently displayed. Maribeth's eyes and smile were registering her apparent approval and I liked the way that was making me feel. When we were alone, it had become common for us to be naked or nearly so. My only regret at the moment was the lady's charms were not on display.

After toweling off, I walked back into the bedroom heading for the dresser, when Maribeth called me to her. She wasted no time in leaning forward and cupped my balls in her warm hand. After a quick, but sensuous kiss on my lips, she slid forward and took my now freshly scrubbed penis in her mouth. She sort of rolled my shaft around using a circular motion with her lips and tongue that I hadn't experienced before.

Maribeth seemed pleased when she felt me throb, but if I thought she planned to suck me to completion, I would have been disappointed. I saw her look up at my face and then she removed me from her mouth, kissed the tip of my penis and said, "a quick preview of coming attractions....if you're a good boy." I nodded even though I thought that Maribeth's idea of a "good boy," might strike some people as quite naughty.

It only took me a few minutes to dress. The day promised to be warm with temps in the 80's and sunny, so I made do with khakis, a purple polo shirt and the pair of Reeboks I'd just used on the run.

Because of the dinner planned later in the day, we had decided to get an early start to view the ruins at Teotihuacan. Several days earlier I had mentioned to Manuel that we planned to visit and he told me that his brother -in-law often ran guided tours to the Pyramids, so I had hired him to drive us there. We grabbed a quick breakfast at the buffet in the Atrium Cafe and we're waiting outside when Carlos drove up in his Range Rover. After quick introductions, we were soon fighting our way through the city's early morning commuter traffic.

Teotihuacan is about 25 miles northeast of Mexico City, and these are some of the most accessible and incredible pyramids in North America. The ancient metropolis was a multi-ethnic melting pot, with evidence of Otomi, Mixtec, Nahua, and Zapotec peoples. I had visited it once before a couple of years previously and was looking forward to this return visit.

We found that Carlos has an excellent command of English, but as we weaved in and out of Mexico City traffic, Maribeth wanted to know all about him and his family, so most of our trip was consumed in that conversation. As I had noted with Manuel and Pepe, Maribeth was always interested in people; where they come from, what they did, what family life they had, and generally how they view their life and the people around them. I thought to myself that this interest probably was at the core of what made Maribeth such an accomplished psychologist.

One interesting tidbit we learned from Carlos was that a number of the public guided tours are essentially scams. They sell you an 8-9 hour tour, but fully four of the hours are spent at various gift shops along the way. It seemed that Mexicans were as entrepreneurial as the rest of the planet.

The site opened at 9 a.m. and we got there about thirty minutes later. I paid 85 pesos apiece for the three of us and I noted that Carlos waved to a number of other men who were standing around the entrance. He explained they were all private guides hoping to catch a gig with some tourists.

Inside the gates we battled through a cluster of park authorized gift and souvenir shops before we emerged at one end of the Avenue of the Dead, along which all of the major monuments were constructed. Immediately in front of us was the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, which according to Carlos was one of the many unsolved mysteries of Teotihuacan.

Over several minutes we learned that the three impressive pyramids on the site were all built around 200 A.D. but there's a great debate about who the original builders were. While most people associate the pyramids with the Aztecs, they were already in existence centuries before the ascendance of that civilization.

At its zenith, Teotihuacan was easily the largest city in North America with a population estimated to be around 150,000, but Interestingly evidence of a king or other authoritarian ruler is strikingly absent in Teotihuacan. Contemporaneous cities in the same region, including Mayan and Zapotec, as well as the earlier Olmec civilization, left ample evidence of dynastic authoritarian sovereignty in the form of royal palaces, ceremonial ball courts, and depictions of war, conquest, and humiliated captives. However, no such artifacts have been found in Teotihuacan.

In short, no one knows who to credit for building it, no one knows why it's located where it is, or how it could have supported so many inhabitants, who it's rulers were, nor why around 550 A.D. it was unceremoniously sacked and went into decline.

As we walked along the Avenue of the Dead, I found it impossible to get Carlo's words out of my mind. As a "history nut," I'm always amazed about how many open questions we have about our collective past, and Teotihuacan was adding to what was becoming a long list.

None of the pyramids had accessible interior structures, so the major attraction was to climb them to the top. I had done this in Egypt once at the Great Pyramid at Giza and the same situation was present when we arrived at the huge Pyramid of the Sun. The stones were uneven and what looked like normal stairs from a distance proved to be 2' high. To actually climb to the top was more of a scramble than a leisurely ascent.

For me 2' step is still a step, but not for Maribeth. Soon we developed a technique where I would grab her by the waist and swing her to each successive level.

The view was spectacular. We were at the heart of the site and to our left was the Temple of Quetzalcoatl where we'd entered and to our right was the Temple of the Moon, the second largest of the three pyramids. As I was taking pictures, Maribeth snuck up behind me and encircled me with her arms. "One day is more magical than the last," I heard her say. I reached around and kissed her on top of her head and agreed with the sentiment.

It was well after noon by the time we made our way to the end of the Avenue, and climbed the Pyramid of the Moon, which proved more difficult than the first one had. While not quite as high, the view from the top allowed an unobstructed view right up the wide Avenue of the Dead, and all the archeological sites along its length.

Later, on the way back to the entrance we stopped in the small museum on the site, but it was very much inferior to the anthropology museum we'd visited the previous day, so we chose not to linger. There were thousands of more facts that Carlos seemed to be able to pull up on command, so I said we didn't need a museum we were walking with one.

It was well past lunchtime when we found ourselves back at the main entrance. Breakfast was long gone, but we were mindful that we would be meeting Maribeth's professor friend and his wife in just a few hours, so we were disinclined to spoil our appetites. Fortunately there was plenty to choose from in the way of snacks, so we bought three Duvalíns, a dual-flavored, sticky pudding that comes with a tiny spoon, and three coca-cola's. Not much, but just right for us.

We got back to the hotel about 4 p.m. We thanked Carlos profusely and I slipped him a 1000 pesos. It was a little early for "hora feliz," so we just went back to our room, a situation that I did not consider a consolation prize.

When we got there, Maribeth took off her shoes and complained that her feet hurt. I guided her to the couch, sat her at one end and I sat at the other while pulling her feet into my lap.

I started an amateur foot massage with just general squeezing, which brought an immediate "aaaaah," from the recipient.

Since this seemed to be satisfactory, I kept it up, so without trying to do anything that would demonstrate that I knew what I was doing, I ended up with a satisfied customer anyway.

About the time my hands got tired, Maribeth flipped around and filled my arms with her. I was noticing a pattern that she seemed to be doing this rather frequently, but I was in no mood to complain. Apparently she'd come to thank the masseuse, and suddenly her lips were working on mine. "Is this going to be full payment for services rendered, or just a tip? I wanted to know."

Maribeth took my hand and placed it on her breast, and whispered, "just a tip for now, but full payment later." I squeezed her tit and despite the fact that there were two layers of cloth between my hand and her bare skin, I could feel the softness of her globe yield in a spongy kind of way. We settled into about a fifteen minute make out session reminiscent of the early days when we first met. Lots of moaning and open mouth kisses with tongue duels just as I remembered.

It had now been five days since my last shave and I was beginning to sport what might become a nice looking beard if the couple of bare spots grew in. Maribeth seemed fascinated with this tangle of facial hair and kept running her fingers across my. Blossoming cheeks. One she kissed me and said, "I like you this way, you look so manly." I'd never tried to grow a beard before, so this was new to me. It would not survive this trip, but if Maribeth liked it, it was hers for the duration.

We were scheduled to meet Maribeth's professor friend at six o'clock, so once more, a change of clothes was in order, plus I wanted to buy a nice bottle of wine to take as a hospitality gift.

No sooner that I expressed that thought, than the phone rang. I walked over to the bed stand and answered. It was a man's voice who introduced himself as Frank Davis. I immediately recognized the name as Maribeth's professor friend who we were scheduled to meet in an hour. Frank asked if Maribeth was available and I said yes and handed her the phone.

She and Frank spoke for about five minutes, but it became immediately apparent to me just listening to Maribeth's side of the conversation that there was going to be a change of plans. When she hung up she walked over and put her arm around me and said. "Frank isn't feeling well and he apologizes, but they can't do dinner tonight."

I should have been conflicted, but I wasn't. Both Frank and his wife Maria were Psychologist's just like Maribeth, and somehow I had a feeling that I just avoided a night of conversation reminiscent of Friday, when I happened upon Maribeth talking with two of her riding buddies. Three people with a deep shared interest, and....me!

Of course I feigned great disappointment, and took it upon myself to try to console poor Maribeth. I said I knew a great restaurant and that I would follow that up with a night of debauchery. At the word 'debauchery,' the lady's eyes lit up and she began digging for details. I told her she'd just have to wait to be surprised. Maribeth pouted and told me, "You don't love me anymore." So I kissed her faux tears and assured her that I did.

Pujol's was a restaurant that I'd dined at a couple of years before and is listed in the Michelin Guide as one of the ten best restaurants in the world! It was about a fifteen minute walk from the hotel on the outskirts of the Polanco District. If this had been a Friday or Saturday night, I knew my chances of getting a reservation would have been south of zero, but for some reason, Sunday night isn't busy for most restaurants, and indeed the consigner was able to get us a 7:30 slot.

Some high end restaurants, especially if they have chef's with massive ego's (and who doesn't?) Have what's called a 'tasting menu,' which is essentially three or four small portions of their regular entrees, all served on one plate. I was especially keen to try theirs.

While waiting for the entree I ordered a bottle of Sterling Chardonnay and we talked about our day and what a wonderful guide Carlos had been.

When the plates appeared, I was not disappointed, and by the look on Maribeth's face, neither was she. Good food elegantly prepared is a big turn on for me and I could immediately see why the folks at Michelin had been impressed. There were three entrees and a soup.

The soup was a traditional sopa de fideos, fideos being the tiny little noodles in this tomato soup.

On a separate plate were a half of an empanada filled with venison and beans. A Carnitas

(woo hoo!) taco with avocado mousse, and shrimp marinated in lime, chili, and garlic. Each was more delicious than the last. Once I looked at Maribeth who had her eyes closed and was obviously savoring whatever morsel she just tasted.

We finished off the meal with a chocolate and peanut cream mousse and Irish Coffee. In my mind I didn't think dinner with Frank and Maria would have matched up, but of course, had we gone, I wouldn't have had a comparison.

By the time we left the restaurant we were full and very satisfied. It was a beautiful night so we walked slowly enjoying the evening and looking in the store windows as we passed. One of them happened to be a small bookstore and I happened to notice a display of three hardbound books in the corner of the window. It was obvious that they were old, but in pretty good shape. When I saw them I started to laugh and Maribeth looked at me quizzically.

I pointed to the middle book in the display which was entitled "My Secret Life," by Walter. No last name, just Walter. I put my arm around Maribeth and told her it was the first erotic novel I ever read. I was sixteen at the time and was living in France. Such books were still banned in the U.S. but were available in Europe. It, like a number of others that I subsequently read, were all written around the height of the Victorian Era. For some reason, in my social group these books were known as "TC's." I didn't know then, nor ever learned later, why they were called that, but they were.

For the rest of the walk, I explained that Victorian Society in England was very stratified and regimented and a woman's place was limited to domestic and parental responsibilities. Victorian Erotica was a reaction to this repression and it was as explicit as the general Era was circumspect. It was particularly focused on women's sexuality, but its heroines were always "fallen women," prostitutes, peasants, wayward wives etc.

Interestingly, while women were clearly treated as sexual objects, they invariably transcended that and achieved a certain level of emancipation, abet in a sub strata of society. They discovered that they could employ their sexuality and achieve fulfillment that was denied to their more respectable sisters, but also outsized influence over men.

Nothing was off limits in Victorian Erotica although it was handled much more tastefully than modern day porn, which is much more in your face.

As you would expect, to me and my school mates, the books provided vivid images that played out in many a late night stroke session and influenced my own erotic writing years later when on long trips away from home, I used some of those to craft my own erotic versions.

As we entered the elevator, Maribeth hugged my arm and whispered in my ear, "let's trade some fantasies," she then kissed my cheek and took a quick look at the elevator surveillance camera and gave it a big smile.

Fantasies should always be shared naked, and Maribeth and I spent a sensuous fifteen minutes in the act of disrobing. It might have gone faster, except I needed to roll her exposed nipples around in my mouth for a few minutes, and she needed to encircle and squeeze my manhood when she discovered my semi erect condition. I was finding the warmth of her small hand and the musky taste of her kisses to be more than arousing, so soon I guided her to the bed and we slipped into our usual "pillow talk" position.

"So tell me about your favorite fantasy," Maribeth asked as she snuggled into my shoulder. With me laying on my back it was easy for Maribeth to fondle me, but it appeared that she was doing it more for her own pleasure than mine, but obviously I was enjoying the attention too.

I said it would be hard to identify any one fantasy as my absolute favorite, but one that stuck out was a story that I'd written on a three week trip to Australia. I commented that there's nothing like an 18 hour plane ride to get your creative juices flowing. The story was called "The Freyja Club."

In Norse paganism, Freyja is a goddess associated with love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, gold, and seiðr (magic for seeing and influencing the future).

The Freyja Club was an exclusive Men's Club located in major economic hub cities including New York, Los Angeles, Tokyo, London and Paris. Its founding dated back to the Victorian Era, but in its modern incarnation there was one major difference. Ladies could be members, but even female members had to adhere to the one iron clad rule of the Club; At all times women must be completely naked except for a sheer white wrap that could never be closed and shoes with a three inch heel.

"Oh that's interesting," Maribeth said. "So only women, never men?" I continued that the Club had both public and private spaces as you might suspect. But in the public spaces, men were equally regimented to an extent. Business attire at all times, except ties, which were optional. There were both male and female staff, but just as for members, men in uniforms, women naked, except female staff were not permitted the white wrap and wore silver tiaras with their name engraved.

"Did men bring their wives or other guests to the Club?" Maribeth wanted to know.

"Yes, if they signed the mandatory non-disclosure agreement which had a draconian penalty for violation. In the 90 year history of the Club it had never needed to be enforced.

"So it was a sex club."

"Well, yes. But a very exclusive and stylish one." It maintained a lot of its Victorian roots. Even though all ladies were nude, they retained the final say over any sexual favors asked of them. By agreeing to attend, women were implicitly stating that they might be available."

Maribeth was fidgeting in my arms as I was explaining the premise of the story and she looked up at me and said, "this is making me so wet." A second later her hand appeared covered by her own moisture and held it to my face as if to confirm her statement.