He was young, about 18 or 19, sun-bronzed with blue eyes and boyish good looks. She was 37 (must be twice his age, she thought to herself), a good figure (the wolf-whistles told her) and old enough to know better, but still young enough to know better still. He worked the pool in the hotel - she was not too sure what he did exactly; he did not seem to be a life-guard, though he may well have been trained; pool-attendant perhaps; he was certainly not a waiter, but if she asked him, he would get her drinks from the bar. She was widowed and financially secure; to keep herself busy she did various bits of work for charities. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. He seemed lonely to her and there she stopped her idle thoughts, aware that she was creating some fantasy existence for the boy based on very little real evidence. Her name was Jean.
But the roots of the fantasy were there and as the days passed she developed and modified it by observation. There was a girlfriend - young (much younger than him), blonde and (she thought) too thin; she giggled a lot and the relationship seemed rather one way: although he was always very attentive, the girl seemed to play one or two others similarly. This boosted the fantasy significantly, having a girlfriend so transparently superficial and fickle was better than none at all - the poor boy. His name, she learnt, was Mark. But it was still only a fantasy.
Then fate lent a hand. Jean was sunbathing, as usual, by the pool and Mark had gone to the bar to get her a martini. Over the other side of the pool some children were playing with a large inflatable shark. As Mark returned walking beside the pool towards Jean, two of the children tumbled into the pool with the shark, probably pushed by the third. Momentarily distracted, Mark turned to see what was happening and caught his foot on the leg of the sunbed next to Jean's and stumbled. Although he managed to keep a grip on the glass, most of the contents shot out over Jeans body, the heavier ice not quite making the distance. The initial coldness did not last long in the heat of the sun and the expression on the boy's face when he realised he had soaked one of the women guests was worth the minor discomfort she felt.
'Ooooh!' thought Jean, to herself, 'You naughty boy, you've made me all wet!'
Instinctively, after his initial horror at what he had down, Mark reached for a towel to mop up the spilt drink. Then, realising that most of it was over Jean's body, he hesitated again, unsure of the right thing to do. Jean saw an opportunity to take control of the situation: the last thing she wanted him to do was give her the towel; her preference was to get him to lick it off, but that would be pushing it too far; she would settle for his hands with the towel.
'It's ok,' she said 'accidents happen. If you could mop it up here, over my stomach and legs, I'm sure I'll be fine.'
With clear instructions what to do, Mark seemed much happier and started to use the towel on Jean, apologising as he did so.
'You're very sweet' said Jean, 'and I really dont mind! Here, there's some more between my legs.'
Without thinking, Mark moved the towel over Jean's pubic mound between her legs. 'Ooooh!' said Jean. Mark suddenly reddened. 'Oh dear' thought Jean, 'I've gone too far.'
Mark moved away. Jean put her hand on his arm to stop him getting up and then realised that although he had pulled back, he was in no hurry to get to his feet. Mark normally wore shorts around the pool and Jean suspected that he was concerned that they wouldn't conceal what was happening inside. 'I bet he's got an erection', she thought.
'I'm sorry,' she said to him, 'I took advantage. That was naughty of me. Please forgive me.'
The boy relaxed, in fact he seemed to be far more at ease.
'That's ok,' he said, 'I rather liked it.', he admitted.
'Me too!' said Jean, 'did that make you stiff?'
