Rita Breas an Engagement

It was a pleasant surprise to run into Mrs. Morceau on the sun deck. What was even more pleasant was the way her face seemed to light up when she saw me. Not that it meant anything, of course. Even if we had anything in common there was the simple fact that she and her husband James were here on their honeymoon. And I was here with my beautiful fiance, Cary. But there was something about Rita that made me happy to see her. It was flattering to think she might feel the same.

"May I?" I asked, gesturing my plate to a place at her table.

"Of course, Eldon," she replied warmly. "I'd love some company."

"No James this morning?"

"He's making a scuba trip and left me all alone today. How about Cary?"

"The same. I really should learn how to scuba."

Rita shook her head. "Not me. I'll stick to snorkeling."

"Oh, are you snorkeling this morning? I was thinking about doing that myself."

Again, her face lit up. "Oh, it would be great to have someone I know to swim with."

"OK then, it's settled." I only nibbled at my breakfast, preferring to make small talk with my new friend. I felt guilty for being glad that our respective partners weren't there. But it didn't stop me from taking the opportunity to enjoy her company.

I was just about to excuse myself when she steered the conversation in a very unexpected turn.

"It might be my imagination, Eldon, but you don't seem to be able to keep your eyes off me. I mean, more than usual."

I was caught off guard. True, I was looking at her. But I didn't know I was being so obvious about it. Rather than deny it I went with a white lie. "It's your bathing suit. I know someone who wears that very same suit."

She was wearing a light-blue one piece that was more like a little dress than a typical bathing suit. It bared her shoulders and legs but covered her bust and hips with ruffled layers of fabric. "This someone must be much older than you. Your mother?"

"My aunt." I lied.

"The world loves the female form, but only up to a certain age. At my age we're expected to cover up."

"How old is that? Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Oh please. Try adding ten to that." She didn't believe me but I could tell she liked to hear it anyway.

"I think you're selling yourself short, Mrs. Morceau. You have a better figure than a lot of the women here." She looked doubtful so I scanned the beach and pointed out a chunky blond cavorting in a tiny string bikini. "There you go. You are much prettier than her and she has no problem wearing next to nothing."

"She's young. Youth covers many flaws." She leaned forward on her elbows and looked down at the bathers below. She pointed out a thin dark-haired woman walking with two children. "Am I prettier than her?"

"Of course."

"How about her?"

Oh yes."

"And her?" She was pointing out one of those expensive beauties you see at a resort like this, a rich man's wife or girlfriend, older but flawlessly maintained.

"Yes, prettier."

"You're fibbing."

"She's very attractive," I conceded. "But you are... differently attractive. She wants to be admired and obviously puts a lot of effort into it."

"You don't think I want to be admired?"

"Well, I suppose everyone does. But you aren't desperate about it. Modesty is attractive, I'd say."

"Hmm, so is confidence." Rita turned her gaze back to me. "I'm not as pretty as Cary, though. Am I?"

"No one is as pretty as Cary." I smiled. But looking into Rita's blue eyes, I realized I hadn't been thinking of Cary for some time.

*****

Rita had a very different look when I met her later at the boat dock. She wore a sheer white smock over a diminutive olive-green two piece.

"Oh I see you changed," I said, trying to hide the excitement in my voice.

Her oversized sunglasses rendered her expression inscrutable. "This is what I wear for sunbathing in private. Someone persuaded me that I might be seen in it."

"Oh, absolutely. You look very nice."

The boat captain and the swim guide appreciated the view and did not even try to hide their admiring glances. Rita and I climbed into the cockpit and took our places among the other passengers. My eye roved over the ladies in their swimwear and mentally I compared them to my companion. And while each had her qualities, I decided that none of them measured up.

Quarters were very close and to avoid crowding my neighbor I went ahead and put my arm around Rita. She relaxed against me and I could feel the warmth of her shoulders against my arm. The captain steered the boat along the coast and brought it up to speed. We thrilled when the craft leaped up, shouted when it crashed down. In just fifteen minutes we were at the site and began donning our fins and masks. I took off my faded t-shirt. Rita doffed her smock, fully revealing her abbreviated attire.

*****

I had been on this snorkeling trip once already, with Cary. It was an amazing place to swim. The water was warm and crystal clear. The sand was fine and white and there were reefs of coral and rock to hover over and examine. There were deeps where schools of brightly-colored fish darted about and at the bottom were sunken boats and an airplane that had been placed as props to be explored.

But of the amazing sights there were to take in, I confess that nothing compared to that of Rita Morceau's body swimming under water. She looked like a blue-skinned mermaid, athletic despite her slight pot belly and the little bulges over her hips. Her heavy breasts hung weightlessly before my appreciative eyes. Her thighs flexed as they kicked and her bikini bottoms crept up her cheeks and she stopped trying to tug it back in place after the first couple times.

I contrived to let her take the lead so that I could enjoy the view. When we reached the sunken airplane, a small two-engine, she pointed down and we took a breath and dived. Peering at each other through the empty windows of the derelict, we gave the thumbs up and headed back to the surface. As we rose, I couldn't stop myself from looking up between her legs at the mound formed by her pubic hair.

At the surface we spit our snorkels out to catch our breath. We treaded water there, grinning at each other, when something came over me. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissed her softly on the neck. My other hand traced the arch of her side from hip to the swell of her breast. Surely she could feel the evidence of my arousal. At first she responded as I hoped, leaning her head and sighing with pleasure.

Then she suddenly pushed away and looked at me with an expression of shock that showed clearly through the glass of her mask. I started to speak but she turned and was swimming swiftly back to the boat. I swam too, not so swiftly, and waited until she had climbed up the ladder before I followed. Removing my gear I sat down, not next to her but across. Immediately and sincerely I apologized.

"You should be careful, Eldon. What if I told my husband? Or your fiance?"

All I could do in answer was to look sheepish. I didn't even want to think what would happen. But the way she phrased the question made me think she might not tell. And indeed, she offered me a reprieve.

"I don't have to say anything," she told me, her tone of voice softening. "But I would like to know. Why did you do that?"

"I don't know, Rita." But I did know. "There's something about you. I haven't known you long but... this morning, when I said how attractive you were, I wasn't just being polite."

"You're surrounded by attractive women here, Eldon. Young women. Your own girlfriend is one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen. Are you trying to say that I am somehow more beautiful than any of them?"

"It's not just the way you look." I shook my head and looked down at our bare feet, toe to toe on the wet fiberglass deck of the boat. "It's the sound of your voice. It's things you do and say. It's how I feel when you look at me and smile. I even... I even like the way you smell."

"You poor boy. It sounds like you have a bit of a crush. I wish there was something I could do to help you get over it."

Grateful for her sympathy I looked up and smiled weakly.

"And it doesn't help that I haven't exactly been discouraging you. I'll admit, I enjoy your attention." She offered me her own weak smile and my spirits rallied.

The other guests were returning to the boat, climbing the ladder and chattering excitedly about their experiences. Rita patted the seat next to her and said, "What if we were to act like this never happened? Do you think we can move past it?"

With great relief I changed my seat and tried to act natural, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with the others as the boat filled up. Rita took my arm and drew it around her shoulders.

"Like it never happened," she said.

*****

On our return to the hotel we ran unexpectedly into James, back from his own diving trip. He took in his wife's appearance with surprise. "I see you wore your other suit, dear."

Glancing over her shoulder he noticed me and his eyes narrowed. I gave him a nod and stepped around them on my way to the staircase, hoping he didn't notice my burning ears.

*****

"The old man was hitting on me... your friend James?" Cary had finally come out from the bathroom, looking quite delectable in a thin tight t-shirt and a wisp of panties. She really was quite the beauty.

"No, that can't be right."

"I think I know when a guy is hitting on me."

"I wasn't there, but maybe he was just being overly friendly. He's a married man, after all. Newly married."

"That doesn't always stop them, Eldon. And it wasn't just flirting. I had to flat out tell him I wasn't interested." She stretched out on the bed and the hem of her shirt rode up on her taut stomach. "I'm not asking you to fight him. Just telling you, he's not your buddy. Not if he'd pull something like that."

I lay down next to her and smoothed her wavy hair with my hand. I couldn't tell her how I had tried to pull something with the other man's wife. Or how she pretty much admitted to encouraging it. "I'm sorry that happened to you, hon. I'll keep my eye on him in the future."

That was the right thing to say and she melted into my arms. We kissed and caressed to the sound of calypso music coming faintly through the open patio door from the nightclub below. It was a very romantic setting and I was feeling especially sexy. So in a moment of weakness I asked for something special. That was the wrong thing to say.

"Really? I can't believe this. You always ask for that."

I felt like an idiot for asking, for thinking that an engagement ring and two weeks in paradise would change her attitude. "No. I don't ask for it that often. And if you would do it once in a while I wouldn't even ask as often as I do. I don't see why it is such an imposition."

"I have explained this to you a hundred times. I don't get any pleasure from it. So why would I do it?"

"I would be glad to return the favor. Overjoyed, in fact."

Cary rolled over, turning her back to me. "That again. That's something you do for you, not for me. It really bothers me how you refuse to respect or even acknowledge my feelings on that."

I could have spoken up about my own feelings. Instead, I tamped them down for the sake of keeping the peace. I apologized and lay back on my pillow. She rolled back over and I could feel her watching me.

"Well, are we going to make love? Or are you only interested in weird sex tonight." She had a sexy tone of voice that really only irritated me after we argued.

Reluctantly I embraced her and initiated intimacy. But the mood had passed. So I did what I usually did at times like these and thought about another girl. Cathy, the night manager at the Old Mill Bakery. She was my first real girlfriend, before Cary. I looked back to the time we were together as the happiest months of my short life, romantically. Now, years later, I still thought of her when I needed help getting it up. And occasionally when I needed help to finish.

I thought of how happy Cathy was to see me when I picked her up from work, how eager she was to undress for me. I thought of how she would suck me to completion without my even having to ask. I thought about her wide hips and how they got even wider when she bent over for me. I thought about her high-pitched whine of ecstasy when I made sweet passionate love to her. I thought about this and other things as I spread Cary's long legs and pushed into her trim blond bush.

"Oh my. You really are hot for me tonight," Cary giggled in my ear.

I didn't disagree. Just fell into a tempo that hopefully would help her finish before I did. At least one of us ought to enjoy the single scoop of vanilla we were sharing.

But as I imagined my ex-girlfriend's thick body writhing beneath me, the picture of her face in my mind changed to someone else. It was Rita I was making love with, her mouth open and her eyes shut tight as I pistoned in and out of her married middle-aged pussy.

"Oh, Eldon! I can feel you get harder."

I was harder, especially when I imagined Cary's words coming out of Rita's mouth as I fucked her pussy, the tantalizing mound I had peeked under water, separated from my lips by a mere triangle of fabric and a foot or so of the Caribbean Sea. I might as well have been alone in the room, masturbating myself with Cary's passive body. Fucking Cary with my dick but making love to Rita in my mind. I savored the sensation and eventually finished stronger than I could remember in a long time.

"Wow," Cary said as we sank back in our respective pillows. "That was really good. Maybe some time I should do one of those things you want."

"That'll be nice," I said. But I wasn't going to hold my breath.

As I lay there pretending to sleep I admitted to myself that things weren't going to work out with Cary. Somewhere between here and the states I would break the news to her. Then maybe I would call Cathy and tell her I made a terrible mistake. I would ask her if she would let me try and make things up to her. And if she wouldn't? Well, I was better off alone than trying to find love with an ice princess.

*****

If Cary was offended by James' attention it didn't stop her from dancing with him after dinner. Rita positively glowed in a yellow floral halter dress. Her bare shoulders and the faintest hint of nipples attested to her being without a brassiere. I studiously kept my eyes on the dancers, contenting myself with the occasional glance down at her shapely legs.

"James and I are having a party tomorrow night. I know it's your last night here. I can expect the two of you to come?"

I took the opportunity to look her over. "I don't know if I should."

"Oh don't be like that. We made up, didn't we? We're still friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we're still friends. I just..."

"Please come. It will be my last chance to see you."

Who was I fooling? I couldn't say no to her. Not when she acted like my presence was something dear to her. "OK, I'll come."

"Wonderful. I'll make SURE you have a good time." She reached out and rested her hand on mine for a moment, making my heart pound. Did she mean what I thought she meant? If not, couldn't she see how I might take it that way? I turned my gaze back to the dance floor where Cary and James were doing a samba.

*****

Cary didn't want to go to the party. It was going to be an opera watch party. James and Rita had ordered the pay-per-view for a live performance of Wagner's "Tristan and Isolde". I was enthused but Cary said she wasn't interested in old people's music. Just one more reason I found to despise her. So to her surprise, I went by myself.

James seemed disappointed at her absence. But Rita didn't seem to notice me that much at all, at least not any more than their other guests. Could I have overestimated how into me she might be? Had I only imagined what might happen between us tonight? I couldn't decide if I was disappointed or relieved. I helped myself to a near beer from the fridge and made myself sociable.

About a dozen of us filled the spacious suite. Seating had been arranged in a semi-circle around the large-screen television. A nice selection of hors d'oeuvres was laid out in the kitchenette. Before the performance I busied myself talking to a couple from my home town, catching up on the news and some mutual acquaintances.

At show time the lights were dimmed and we took our seats. For the next four hours we watched and listened to the romance unfold between a knight and the princess he was escorting. She was to be married to a king but plans went awry, as they often do in stories. To be honest, I only know the story because an announcer would whisper a synopsis during pauses. Really, being a fan of Wagner's works I was just enjoying the music.

It's a long work, though, and several people made their excuses in the first intermission. The hosts thanked them warmly for coming and wished them sweet dreams. They saw most of the rest off in the second intermission. About this time Rita suddenly took an interest in me, giving me some lingering looks that got me wondering again. By the time the opera was coming to conclusion, I realized that it was only me and James and Rita remaining. James sat between us and watched the show through increasingly drooping eyelids. Rita watched him, watched me. I watched her, watched him.

We watched the show and gave each other curious looks. Each time her husband blinked, his eyes stayed closed a little longer. Finally his chin went down to his chest and he began snoring softly. Rita and I rose together and, unable to conceal our excitement anymore, we hurried into the bedroom.

Rita pushed me onto the bed and ripped open my shirt. With a yank she pulled my pants down to my ankles. I sat up on my elbows and watched her pull her dress over her head. Her underwear was nearly transparent and I could see her nipples and bush through the flimsy black material. She held her fingertips to the seam that ran up the center of her panties and they parted at her touch to reveal her dark red pubic hair. Then she climbed on me like a cat, her breasts grazing my thighs, my rock-hard dick, my chest. Looking me in the eyes, she positioned herself at the end of my cock and with a quiet "unhhhh" she sat on me until I was inside her up to the hilt.

Her pussy was so hot and wet and tight. And as it enveloped me her eyes closed tight and her mouth opened wide, just like in my fantasy. My hands wandered up her thighs and hips and back, touching her gingerly as if she were an illusion that might be dispelled if I tested her solidity. But she didn't disappear. Instead she started riding me, relentlessly, desperately. I watched her face as she fucked me, fascinated with every nuance of her expression, memorizing every little detail. Her heavy breasts, still held in the transparent cups, pressed and rubbed against my bare chest.

It was a good thing that I was getting laid recently. Because if I had been in a dry spell I might have lasted a minute, this sex was so unbelievably hot. A sexy older woman, a married woman, was riding my dick like a racehorse while her husband slept in the next room. We didn't moan or groan or speak. The only sound was the soft slap of our bodies and the faint wet slurp of my cock plunging her dripping wet pussy. My hands barely touched her back and shoulders and arms. I ran a hand through her bronze-red hair and she lowered her head and laid it on my shoulder.

I felt her breath on my neck get shorter and she suddenly stopped and screwed herself down on my lap. She shuddered and went still. I held her dearly and ran my hand down to her soft smooth ass. I started to make shallow thrusts and she responded with motion of her own.

Pushing up on her arms, she tugged my shoulder and guided me in rolling over on top of her. Without pulling out, I pulled her toward the edge of the bed and stood up, holding her ankles over my shoulders. It was a magnificent view, my cock piercing her between her spread legs. Her tanned stomach, her tits straining the fabric of her bra. Her lovely face looking up at me with a smug expression and her arms stretched out on the bed over her head.