In The Breeze

On the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, about halfway between Nicaragua and Panama, is a wonderful stretch of white-sand beaches. And just inland from these beaches is a string of wonderful towns, from Quepos up north to Manuel Antonio Park in the south. The pale gringos come to the beaches for the sun and surfing, and the towns provide them with breezy hotels, restaurants full of fresh seafood, and bars overflowing with rum and guaro. These towns are strung like pearls along Highway 618; and among them is a hostel called In the Breeze.

The little hostels are where the gringos go when cash is short; the usual clientele is young backpackers who are spending a summer in Latin America before going back to university in Europe or America. They're crowded, simple, and above all, cheap. And In the Breeze is one of the best, if it's even still there. It's run by a young French-Canadian woman named Roxanne, a sexy and rather intimidating salsa instructor who speaks four languages. She liked the country and just decided to buy a building and turn it into a hostel. That's the kind of woman she is.

And I wanted to spend as much time in-country as I could before returning to the freezing and drizzly town of Albany for the new semester. That meant I had to go cheaply, which led me to In the Breeze. I did have a private room instead of the cheaper dorms, because that's all that was left by the time I showed up, but it was still a third of the price of the local hotels. The place was quaintly run-down, with used furniture and Indian rugs covering threadbare sofas, but it had a helluva lot of character. It housed a lot of characters, too -- surfers and students at the local language school and scuba divers from all over the world. They came and went almost as frequently as the tides, heading to the next destination.

The dining room had a handpainted sign on the wall: "The Three Biggest Lies of Central America Travelers: 1. 'I'll never drink again!' 2. 'I'll leave tomorrow!' 3. 'I love you!'" And Claudia was sitting under the sign, drinking an Imperial.

She was about my height, with short blonde hair against deeply-tanned skin and hazel eyes. I struck up a conversation and she told me that she was in town for the surfing. She had a thick Australian accent. She asked where I was from and I told her.

"I take it you're Australian," I said.

"No, I'm German."

"Really? Oh, wait -- you learned your English in Australia, right?"

"Yes, I lived there for five years."

"That's why. Because you sound exactly like an Aussie girl."

"Thank you!"

She was staying another week, so when she wasn't surfing, we went into one of the towns for dinner, riding the rickety bus that lurched up the highway much too fast for the road, packed with drunk, laughing young gringos. We went shopping together in Quepos, wandering the market, and brought back bottles of wine and drank them on the back deck where you could watch the sun set over the Pacific. It was like all hostel friendships, light and breezy, with no time for dramas; you were in and out of each other's lives in days, so how could it get difficult?

Finally came the night before I had to leave for San Jose -- I'd decided on an afternoon bus because I knew I'd be out drinking late. A bunch of us, including Claudia, went bar-hopping up and down 618 until about two in the morning. Then we managed for find our way back to In the Breeze. I collapsed into my bunk.

I got up at about three to use the one bathroom which serviced the entire floor. When I was finished and opened the door, Claudia was standing there with her bedsheet wrapped around her like a toga. I guess it was easier than finding her clothes in the dark. She was just waiting her turn.

I smiled and said, "After you." She just smiled and walked past me in the dim light.

I went back to my room. No sex in this hostel, I figured. That was alright; there was always the next one.

A few minutes later I heard fingernails tapping on the door.

I opened it and Claudia was there in her toga. She looked at me a little dreamily.

"Want some company?" she asked, just like an Aussie girl might.

For a moment, I just stood there looking at her. She was a disheveled and adorable mess.

"Yes," I said quietly. I couldn't think of anything clever. I couldn't think at all.

She stepped in and I pulled the door shut behind her. She shrugged off the bedsheet. She had very pronounced tan lines around her curves. Sweet blonde surfer girl with a little smile. I took her in my arms and kissed her slowly. And she showed me how much she liked it without saying anything.

I kissed up her neck to her ear and she tasted like sea salt and smelled like suntan lotion. I nibbled her ear a little and she giggled, pulling my shirt over my head. I laid her back on the bed and kissed her shoulders and collarbone, down over her heart to her small breasts. Somehow, she'd managed to pull my boxer briefs off. I teased her nipples slowly, lightly, flicking with my tongue, slowly kissing, tonguing in slow circles, and finally sucking gently. She ran her fingers through my hair and all over my arms and neck, feathering with the lightest fingertips.

As I switched to her other breast, I let one hand lightly caress her waist and flat tummy, then her hips and the tops of her legs, gently settling on the soft skin on the insides of her thighs. Now she let out a little sigh. Her nipples were hard and I slowly licked and sucked them, teased them on my teeth, went back to slowly sucking again...

Then I kissed down her tummy, crossing the tan lines, to her mound and slowly spread her legs, lightly kissing over her outer lips, barely touching, then licking over them just with the tip of my tongue. Her lips were swelling and her skin was very warm and soft. I parted her lips and the inner petals were small and delicate and pink, and I gently licked all over them, kissed and sucked them, tasted her juices, and she felt warm on my tongue. I could hear her breathing harder, and looked up to see her breasts rising and falling faster, her eyes tightly closed. She was rhythmically lifting her hips against my mouth.

I licked long and slow between the lips, all the way up to her clit, then played with the stem of her clit with the tip of my tongue, flicking back and forth, and licked right over the tip, eliciting a little gasp. I wrapped my arms under her legs, pulling her hips to my mouth, lapping without a pause. I dipped my tongue inside her, pulled it out, then slipped two fingers in. She was wet and her body was opening easily. I held my fingers all the way in as I massaged her clit with my tongue, then started thrusting in and out. She let out a long, sweet moan and pushed back against my fingers.

Then she slowly sat up with a grin, pulled me down onto the bed with her, rolled over on top, took my cock in her warm hands and took complete control of me. After licking up and down the shaft, she concentrated on the head, slowly sucking, before taking the entire shaft into her mouth and throat. I lifted my hips to meet her and just lay there grunting a little, squirming, as she tongued me with one hand tightly around the base of my cock.

And just as suddenly, she sat up, straddled me, and lowered herself onto the shaft. She was wet and ready, and put her hands on my chest as she rode me eagerly. She ground down on her clit, then lifted her hips to ride up and back on my cock, eyes tightly closed, panting with the effort. Finally, she arched her back, and I felt her tighten around my cock as she came, whining a little as she finally got her release.

She leaned on my chest with her hair in her eyes, still grinding her hip in circles on my cock, letting her breathing slow. But I rolled her over on her back with my cock still in her, put one of her legs over my shoulder, and started thrusting into her, pulling her tightly against me.

She let out a little gasp of surprise, and I leaned in and rode her hard, fucking her deeply, our bodies banging together and she reached behind me and dug her short nails into my ass. Then I exploded inside her with a grunt, pumping wave after delicious wave into her, still riding like I never wanted to stop.

But then I did stop, slowly easing up, and I lay down beside her and she rolled on top of me. Our arms and legs and the sheets were all tangled together. I felt her breathing slow and her body relax against mine, and before long she was asleep, breathing rhythmically. I wondered what she dreamed of, and if she dreamed in German or English. I forgot to ask her in the morning.

Since then, I have, fortunately, made myself a fine career such that cheap hostels are no longer necessary. I can stay in the fine hotels I saw from the bus. But now I rather miss the hostel life. Not the cold-water showers or eight people to a bathroom; but there was a certain bohemian charm that was worth it. I'll have to re-visit that world someday.