This is part twelve of a serial narrative. For helpful context and maximum enjoyment, please begin with part one.
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I sit, savoring the warmth of the sun against my skin contrasted with the ice cold mojito rushing over my tongue. This is what a vacation is for. It's our last day at the Keys and I have the whole day to myself. Jen, Felix, and Jazlyn are off kayaking somewhere and then will be going to a marine park to pet some dolphins. I don't need to pet a dolphin. And why would I ever want to kayak on a day this hot when our hotel has a pool with a bar. I've never been a boat-guy. Kayaking, canoeing, motorboating, sailing- I've tried them all. Not for me. If I want to throw up and have shaky legs, I'll just get drunk, thank you.
Pools, though! I love pools. I don't even spend that much time swimming in them. My system is this: I lay out in the sun until I feel so hot I can't stand it anymore. Then I dive into the pool, swim to the other side, and hop out, feeling refreshed. I lay down again and repeat. I can do this for hours on end.
I needed this last day to myself. I'm sure the others were happy to get away from me too. For a guy on vacation, I've been nothing but stressed the last few days. After I got carried away with Jazlyn, I was furious with myself. We haven't hooked up since, haven't found any time to be alone. Which means, we haven't talked about it. I have no idea where her mind is. Is she cool now? Is she rethinking us being together? Is she scared of me? I hate not knowing.
Things with Jen haven't been so great either. I could have gotten away with being so passive when we had sex that afternoon had I followed it up that night with a good pounding. Or the next day. Or the day after. But I hadn't. I don't know why. I hardly ever say no to Jen. Why would I? Sex is the best and Jen is too. I love her. She's just... not who I want right now. That's what's really had me in a foul mood: I want to want Jen. And no other. But I can't do it. I want to grab Jazlyn, pull her into some closet somewhere and win her back over with some sweet love-making. I want to jump forward in time to next month when I'll be spending a week with Abbey Grace and shooting cum all over her tall, tight body. I want to be home so I can drive to Danae's house and choke her while she rides me like a fat-ass monster.
But there's truly only one person I want. No, she's the only person I
need
. Chloe. I keep dreaming about her. When I wake, for a moment I can still feel her smooth, pale skin on my fingertips. I can feel her cupid's bow lips on my own. I open my eyes to stare at the ceiling, but still see her massive silver-blue eyes looking down on me.
That smile she's giving me... My cock is inside her. She was right, there is something about the way my penis and her vagina fit together, it's... a perfect fit. It just feels like they were made for each other.
But the dream fades. And I get mad again.
I take a hit from my vape. I always prefer smoking weed, but this is a public space in a hotel, so I'm reduced to sucking juice while no one's watching like a fucking teenager.
"Can I get a hit?" asks a voice to my left.
I smile. If you're going to be caught, that question is the best result you could ask for.
I turn. I was mistaken. The best result can be
so much
better. It's her, the woman who winked at me a couple days ago while I smoked on my balcony. I'd seen her around a couple times since. Both times we had made eye contact and she smiled.
She's smiling now with her tall, perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Her round, brown eyes shine.
"Sure," I tell her, holding the pen out. "FYI, it's got THC."
"Why do you think I want some?" she replies, taking the pen from me with her immaculately manicured fingers.
God, the body on this woman!
Every inch of skin is tanned to a dark golden brown. A chocolate-colored bikini top strains to support her massive breasts. A white knit skirt covers her wide, dramatically curved hips. A small beaded strap crosses her body and ends in a little purse.
She takes a long pull from the pen and hands it back.
"Thanks," she says. "I really needed that. I had some stuff that got confiscated at the airport on my way here. Some guy working the restaurant bar said he'd hook me up and gave a single fucking nug! I saw you were smoking the other day and the smell was so good, I almost called up to ask if I could join you, then I saw you were busy."
"Busy?"
"Yeah, with that skinny beauty in the towel who was standing in your room."
I breathe to stop from panicking.
"Oh, her! No, that's uh- that's a friend who's part of- us on this vacation. The shower in her room was out of order, so I let her use mine."
"I see," she says and sits down on the lounger next to mine. "That makes a little more sense."
"Why's that?"
"Because I also saw you being quite friendly with a lady in the lobby the day before."
"Yes. Yes, well that's... yeah I'm with her."
"Oh, I see."
Is it just me, or does she seem a little disappointed?
"Want another hit?" I ask.
"Sure!"
This time I make sure my hand touches hers a little when I hand the pen over.
"You can have as much as you want. I plan on sitting right here all day."
"That sounds like a good plan."
"Oh, I highly recommend it."
"Yeah? Maybe I'll do it too, right here."
She lays out on her side, facing me.
"You're more than welcome," I tell her, "My vape pen is your vape pen."
"Ah, but you also have a drink. That seems essential."
"You want one? I'm about due for a refresh anyway. I'd be happy to grab you something."
"Oh my god, that's so sweet of you," removing her purse and setting it down. "Yes, please. A pina colada would be amazing."
I'm not really due for a refresh, my glass is still half full and my plan was to slowly sip my way to the bottom. But now I knock it back in one big gulp. My stomach and brain both protest, but I don't listen. I get up and head for the bar. I look behind me. She pulls sunglasses from her purse and rolls onto her back, stretching out. This is a lady who spends a lot of time tanning on lounge chairs, I can tell.
I order her pina colada and another mojito for myself. As I head back, I realize I'm walking stupidly fast, eager to be near those big titties once more. I slow down. I calm down.
Take it easy. Play it cool. There's no stakes here. Nothing's going to come of it. You're just going to enjoy an afternoon of flirting and enjoying the view. A perfect vacation activity.
She's pulled out her phone and is taking a selfie.
Wait, she's talking to the camera. Is she chatting with someone? Recording a video?
As soon as she sees me approaching, she stops and puts her phone in her purse.
"Ah! You're an angel!" she exclaims as I hand her drink over. She gives back the pen saying, "hold onto this. If I've got it, I'll do too much too fast and then do something stupid. I'm sure of it."
"Ha! I hear ya. Well, any time you do want it, just ask."
We lay back for a few minutes, quietly sipping our drinks. There is an awkward tension to the silence.
"So," I come around to asking, "where's home?"
"Oh, god," she says disappointed. "Could you ask any other question? I'm here to escape all that, I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough. Let's talk here, now. What brings you to the Keys?"
"Sun, sun, sun, baby. I can never get enough sun."
"And what does the sun do for you?"
"Oh, it tans my skin, it soothes my muscles. Most importantly, it gives me a reason to wear as little clothing as possible."
"I love it for all those reasons as well."
She holds up her drink.
"Well," she says with a smile, "yet another thing we agree on. Here's to the sun."
"To the sun."
We clink glasses and drink, then sit back and return to silence. This time the vibe is far more comfortable. After a while, she sits up, opens her purse and pulls out a small bottle of tanning oil. I vape as I watch her rub the oil into her skin, leaving a glistening sheen wherever her hand goes- her thighs, her belly, her breasts.
As she moves on to her neck, she says, "it's a little rude to stare, you know."
I realized I've been looking at her straight on with my mouth slightly agape for ages.
"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm a— just more stoned than I thought."
"It's ok. I honestly appreciate a man who doesn't try to hide the fact that he's looking. So much better than those cowards who think they're so clever sneaking their little glances. They think they've gotten away with something, but I see them. I know their game. Most women do. Besides, being seen and appreciated is one of the reasons it's so fun to wear so little."
"Well, you certainly have my attention," I reply and then laugh. I'm not sure why I'm laughing.
"You certainly are stoned," she says with a smile. "Hand over that pen. I have some catching up to do."
I hand it over.
"So, we're not talking about life outside of this resort, but would it be too much to ask what your name is?"
She pulls the pen away from her plump lips and blows out a stream of vapor.
"It's Marissa."
Marissa and I spend the next hour vaping, drinking, and chatting. Though she really doesn't vape much. When I hand the pen over, she holds onto it for a while before taking a tiny hit and handing it back. One time she hands it back without even using it.
It's amazing how long two people can talk without really saying much of anything. She doesn't say much about herself directly, but from context clues I surmise that she has money, self-employed, and that she comes to resorts like this on a regular basis.
Eventually, the heat becomes too much and I have to take a dive in the pool. I do my best to make it seem a flawless effort. As I come up out of the water, I see her phone is out again.
Was she filming me?
She puts it down as I walk back to her.
"I gotta flip over," she tells, "before my front side ends up to shades darker than my back."
She adjusts the lounge chair to make it flat. She unties her little mesh skirt to reveal her brown bikini bottoms, then lies down on her belly.
Goddamn, that's an ass!
It balloons up into the air. Her back isn't just plump, it's smooth. This girl takes care of her skin, every inch.
"Hey," she says to me, casually, "would you mind putting some oil on my back? I hope that's not asking too much."
"Oh, no. I'd be happy too."
Holy shit, I don't even know this woman but if lather-me-with-oil isn't a sign she's down to fuck, I don't know what would be.
I take the oil and dribble some on her back. The second my hand touches her lower back, she lets out a satisfied, "hmmm."
Oh yeah, this is just the beginning of something and she and I both know how it's going to end.
"Be sure to get my calves and thighs," she tells me. Her timbre has changed. Now she has almost a baby-voice quality to her speaking. "And the feet, if you would be so sweet."
"Not a problem," I assure her.
Marissa's feet are as perfectly pedicured as I expected. Soft, dainty little feet with fleshy toes. I take great pleasure in rubbing her calves and thighs up and down, feeling the creaminess of her skin, the jiggle of the fat beneath, and the density of the muscle farther below.
"Boy, you got gooood hands," she says with delight. "You a masseuse or something?"
"No, I'm a pianist," I answer and move up to her shoulders.
"Professionally?"
"Yeah."
"You in a band? What's the name?"
"No. I'm a classical pianist."
"So that's like...?"
"I play classical music. Mozart, Bach, Rachmaninoff."
"What the fuck was that last word?"
"He was a composer. Rachmaninoff."
"Crazy name. That feels soooo good! Thank you so much for this. Could you do me one more favor?"
"Anything."
