Rum And Co Cah Co Lah

(This story was written for the

Pink Orchid 2022 for Women-Centric Erotica

event. All characters are at least 18 years old, and all mentioned or hinted sex acts in the past were performed by people 18 or older. Fair Winds Resort is an invention, not to be taken as any real place that may use that name. Also, all references to a certain carbonated beverage are not intended to infringe on that beverage's trademark, and with all the reformulation and zero-sugaring, does anybody really know what that beverage is anymore?)

***

Rhonda decided she was doing this for her daughter. Allison decided she was doing this for her mother. Each was aware, however, of her own excitement when the cab pulled up to the welcome center at Fair Winds Resort.

"So nice to get out of the cold," Rhonda said, thinking that this could be the excuse for her eager smile.

Allison smirked. "And

maybe

hurricane season is over."

Rhonda side-eyed her smart-alecky daughter. "The forecast said it would be fine all week."

Allison returned, "With a ninety-percent chance of middle-aged men on the prowl."

The cab's backseat doors were opened before Rhonda could respond. Allison was already stepping into the warm salt air, pleased by her exit line.

On Rhonda's side, the young man holding the door said, "Welcome to Fair Winds." His mask matched his khaki outfit, and bore the Fair Winds logo also embroidered on his polo shirt. "Guests are not required to wear masks, but you will be COVID tested each morning."

Rhonda gave him a polite smile and nodded through all this, accustomed to tuning out pandemic warnings. She was vaccinated, so was Allison, so was (she'd been told) everyone else here. Weren't they here to get away from all that?

And, perhaps, for another reason,

she admitted to herself.

Allison chatted up the bellman on her side of the cab, wishing she could see his smile, even if it existed only to satisfy a customer. "Thank you for this warm welcome!" she said, "or is that just the humidity? Whatever, I really appreciate it." He chuckled indulgently, nodding to her while rolling a luggage cart to the trunk of the cab.

Yes, put up with my lame humor,

thought Allison.

You'll get a nice tip if you help me forget that I'm thirty-seven and overweight.

Rhonda made sure that the cab driver received the tip she had phoned him. Then she squared her sun hat and looked at the bellman on her side, who was now hauling cases out of the trunk. "There's nothing fragile," she said, just to say something.

Inside the cabana-style center, the visitors were guided to a stand where a masked young woman explained that the resort's app on their phones had some free and discounted coupons for amenities. The app would receive all requests for service and record all charges. Rhonda and Allison had been to all-inclusives before, with their husbands, and knew that there could be extra billing. The women had chosen Fair Winds' 'economy' package, with lower cost but fewer inclusions.

They were familiar with how the resort was essentially a closed mini-nation, with guests in contact only with staff and other guests. This was an extra plus in the pandemic. Because new people arrived every day, testing was still necessary.

The young woman also reminded them that children under 18 were allowed to visit on Wednesdays, in clearly-marked areas of the resort, but were not permitted to stay overnight.

As they headed for their suite, Allison said to the bellmen, "That was a mistake."

"What?" said one of the men, brow furrowing.

"Sending us to a hot beach bunny for the briefing. Mom and I were doing fine with you guys tagging along, but she brought us back to reality."

"She's who was on duty," said the other bellman.

"Nobody's blaming you," said Rhonda, smiling at the men. "Including my daughter."

There was another briefing in the suite about what was stocked in the mini-fridge and who to call if there were valuables to be stored in something sturdier than the room safe. The women nodded through this.

When they were alone, Allison flopped onto a bed and said, "So begins my after-divorce excursion. With my mother."

"You didn't have to agree," said Rhonda, sliding aside the glass door to the balcony.

"No, it's fine. We need to watch each other's backs. You think I'm going to let any of the gigolos out there rob you blind?" Allison kicked off her shoes, then stood to follow Rhonda onto the balcony.

Rhonda sat in one of the wing chairs, made to look like wicker but clearly something weather-resistant. "All I have is your father's life insurance. Any gigolo would be disappointed."

And a paid-off house,

Rhonda thought,

where no gigolo would want to live.

Allison took the other chair, looking subdued, for her. "Mom, I have to ask," she said quietly. "Since Dad died...have you been with anyone?"

Rhonda looked away. She knew this would be a topic. They expected to mingle with unattached men here. At last she said, "No," neither inviting nor rejecting further discussion.

"I could help you with apps."

Rhonda turned and snapped at her daughter, "I'm not some feeble old biddy who can't use a smartphone! I just know that this isn't the way I want to meet people."

She took a breath, but was just as firm when she continued. "When I was young, dating was just as, as

repulsive

as it is now. Before I was married, I went to a disco once, with some office friends, out of curiosity. It was terrible, the lights and sound made it so you couldn't see or hear much of the person you danced with. Years later, I thought this might have been intentional. Add in the drugs that were supposedly there, and you had people who'd let their bodies make decisions without their minds getting involved. Not for me."

Allison nodded. "Raves were like that too. Far as I know, all of these scenes were designed by men, for men to take advantage. And maybe long before then. Speakeasies and whatnot."

Rhonda looked out at the swimming pool, four floors below. Two women reclined on lounges, far apart, reading. One with a paper book, the other with a tablet. A man and a woman sat on chairs at a table, chatting, drinks already present. One man was in the water, strenuously swimming lengths. Another man, in a speedo and with a body to justify it, paced back and forth on the pool deck, talking assertively on his phone.

These people looked to be within five years of Rhonda's age.

Rhonda said, "Why do people have to work at being happy?"

Allison's tone hardened from sympathy to cynicism. "Is that why we're here? To work at it?"

Rhonda knit her brow. "Maybe it is. I never made the first move, in my love life. I encouraged your father, a little, but only once I thought he was a good man."

"And in bed?"

"Allison!" Rhonda bristled.

"

Damn

it, Mom!" said Allison, throwing out her hands in exasperation. "If you can't talk to me about sex,

your

sex, how are you going to work at happiness?"

"But I

am

happy! Well...sometimes. I have you kids, and your families. I enjoy gardening, and I'm grateful that I didn't get my father's arthritis. I can take long walks. I like some shows that are on TV. I miss Hugh, but I'm over that. Sometimes I wish I had pushed him to take better care of himself, but I didn't think that was my place."

For a moment, Allison said nothing, but looked closely at her mother. "Okay, look, that's getting us off the subject. Trust me, no kid

wants

to hear about what their parents did in private, but I think I

should

. Did you and Dad like the sex you had?"

"Yes. And I'm talking to the proof."

"Thanks for proving, but that doesn't mean you liked it. People have kids for all kinds of reasons, and they can override whether they like the activity that makes kids."

Rhonda took a breath, which calmed her a little. Then another, which helped her speak freely, but quietly. "Hugh and I were, um...we had no experience. I was a virgin on my wedding night. I never asked if he was, but he was very nervous, and fumbly. We finally did what we knew was supposed to happen in sex, but what with my, um, maidenhead, and all, it wasn't enjoyable. But that's when we found out how much we cared about each other. He was sorry that it hurt me, and asked what he could do to make it better. I had never seen him that way, so tender, worried about me and how I felt. In all the years after that, I only saw him that way with me, in private. He was fatherly with you kids, nice enough, but always strong. To everyone else, he gave a polite smile or no expression at all. With me, he showed what he truly felt.

"I told him then that I loved him, and at that moment I really did, and was thrilled to tell him so. I also said we should give each other a chance to improve, um, in the bedroom. I thought this must be what people did on honeymoons, spending days to learn how to get, um, the good feeling." Rhonda smiled at the memory. "We found out how happy we could be, kissing and hugging while we were undressed. And especially, um, up here." She waved a hand vaguely at her chest. "And in a while, we got comfortable with having the lights on, and getting out from under the covers.

"We actually pretended that we were a science fair project, each of us experimenting on the other's body. We laughed at how naughty that was, as if we were doing this in front of hundreds of people. We used our hands on our, our sexual areas, I mean his on mine, and, you know. We talked about how that felt. We found that what we'd been so scared of, about those places, wasn't scary when we talked about them, and were honest with each other. I mean, those were still private places, and because of what else they did, they could, um, smell bad, and, you know. But when I looked at him, his private places began to look, to me, like they belonged, as a part of him. My husband, the man I loved. Undressed, for me. And he was so thrilled to see me nude, and so eager to make me happy. By the end of the honeymoon, I had two, um, climaxes with him.

"And, well, as time went on, I took some steps myself. On the honeymoon, I used Vaseline, and got better at that. And then I found some lubricant that's specifically for, um, this, and there was no more pain. I asked Hugh to put that on me, while I put it on him, and this got us more excited. And...around then there were books about sex, sold in bookstores right out in the open." Rhonda took another breath. "And from what I read in a book, we started kissing...other places."

Allison grinned. "You were pioneers! Your generation put oral sex in the mainstream!"

"Quiet!" hissed Rhonda, glancing at the neighboring, empty, balconies.

Allison got quieter, but continued. "So you were having fun in the bedroom, anyway."

Rhonda nodded. "When we were in the mood."

"Do you miss that?"

"Yes. But it's tied to how Hugh and I felt about each other."

"So you're not over it."

"I should be," said Rhonda quietly. Again she looked out at the pool. "And I guess that's why I'm here. But there's so much to deal with." She looked at her daughter. "I don't want to act like a whore. I should be respectable."

Allison looked skyward. "Wow, this is bringing up bad memories."

"And I'm not taking anything back," said Rhonda. "You're lucky things didn't go a lot worse. Do you have any idea how many nights I waited up--"

"Yeah, Mom, I do. Can we get past this? Look at the world we're in now. Who won't respect you?"

"Men! If somebody thinks I'm easy--"

"You ditch him and get somebody else. Somebody like Dad, who's decent, and learns who you really are. You're the one in charge, Mom. Be a woman who knows what she wants and won't settle for less."

"Is that what you're going to be now?"

"I sure as hell hope so. I took the faithful wife thing way past its expiration date." Then, expecting another salvo from her mother, she said, "And I won't get drunk. You know I ditched that once I got pregnant."

"You did," said Rhonda with a nod.

"And after twelve years with Dale, I'll learn from my mistakes. Here, I'll look for a man who isn't an asshole, and have fun with him. You know, the fun you complained about when I got home too late."

"I can't do anything about that anymore," Rhonda muttered.

"Dale can't either. He probably never cared, as long as I was still there to do housewife stuff. I guess that worked in my favor at the end, with him banging another woman, and me staying home thinking I could win him back somehow."

Allison was looking down at the table between them. Rhonda said nothing.

Allison went on, "I think Dale will be good with Trevor this week." Then she looked up, and smirked. "Don't tell his lawyer I said that."

Smiling, Rhonda gestured zipping her lips shut.

"So," said Allison, "while my libido would gladly have me jump the bones of Phone Boy down there, I'd only do it to scratch the itch. 'Cause I can tell that's the only use he'd have for me."

Rhonda looked again at the man pacing on the pool deck, his voice at the phone almost audible. Then she had trouble looking away. Two months earlier, she had downloaded a male dance troupe video and pleasured herself while watching. She wouldn't mention this to Allison, no matter how open this conversation was.

"What will you do back home?" Rhonda asked.

Allison shrugged. "Go back to being a divorced Mom. Poison on dating apps. Here, at least, I may get some revenge sex out of my system. Get railed good while imagining Dale being rejected by skinny bitches."

Rhonda suppressed the impulse to say I-told-you-so.

"But if I get lucky," said Allison, "I won't do it in this room. We need to get you going, Mom. For your health. Women your age shouldn't shut everything down. Uhh...you have any medical problems with that?"

Rhonda blushed, but kept herself from smiling. "I'm all right."

Her daughter leaned closer. "You can say that, seven years without sex?"

"I've seen the gynecologist. She says I'm fine."

"No complications from menopause?"

"None," said Rhonda, and resolved to say no more. She was no longer ashamed by what she did in private, and how her body responded to it. But she felt uncomfortable speaking of it.

"In that case, Mother Dear," said Allison, "We'll get you ready to make moves."

Rhonda said, "I've never tried that kind of make-up."

"Huh?"

"You know...to attract someone. I just tried to look nice, when I was out with your father. When I was single, I styled my hair now and then. I was lucky, my skin was clear."

"That's good, Mom, because getting made up is exactly what you

shouldn't

do now. Be you, otherwise you'll look desperate. When you're at the pool or the beach, you won't be made up anyway, and that's when people here will be looking at you. Your skin is still great. Thanks, for giving me those genes. Your short gray hair won't thrill anybody, but it won't turn guys off."

"Such an expert," said Rhonda, rolling her eyes.

"And you'll look great next to me, because thanks to Dad's genes, I'll make you look like a skinny bitch."

***

They changed into swimwear, both of them in one-pieces with matching lengths of fabric they could tie as skirts. Their skins, blanched by December in Ashtabula, Ohio, they slathered with sunscreen. Protected further by sunglasses and hats, they decided simply to stroll along the beach, allowing their bodies to unclench in the balmy warmth of the Florida Gulf Coast.

After a deep inhalation of the salt air, Rhonda said, "This is more than the weather, and even the idea of, um, dating. It's escaping the routine."

"You got that right," said Allison, watching their shadows from the westering sun drift along the palms and sawgrass up the bank. "My life was pretty much the same after the settlement. Dale was already gone, so there wasn't even obligation sex. Every day I have to figure out what to do for Trevor, and cook, and clean house. And stare out at the gray sky over Lake Erie and worry about what it would do next." She glanced at her mother. "This temporary freedom generates the happens-in-Vegas mentality."

Their ensuing talk was mainly about the families of Rhonda's other children, and what the grandkids, including Trevor, were doing in school.

They had to drop this subject a few times, and pick it up again later, because there were, indeed, middle-aged men on the prowl.

"Well hello, ladies!" said a mustachioed silver fox in a Hawaiian shirt and cargoes, as he strolled towards them. "Welcome to Fair Winds!" He grinned most of his teeth, and spread his arms.

"Hi," said Allison flatly, with a mouth-only smile. She and her mother didn't slow down.

"There's karaoke tonight," he said as he stopped. Sun glinted off his aviators. "Lots of fun!"

By this time the women were past him.

A few steps later Allison said quietly, "Don't guys like that ever learn about the vibe they give off?"

"Maybe it works for him sometimes."

"If so, I lament the state of our gender."

Amused, Rhonda glanced at her daughter. Allie was good with a quip, and this reflected a mind which could have accomplished much in the world. Unfortunately, partying and drinking quickly ended her stay in college, and after marriage her talents were focused on trying to lose weight and satisfy her husband, and then on raising a child.

Such a pleasant face, no fat in it, and that wavy chestnut hair,

thought Rhonda.

But she must be right about what Hugh's genes did to her.

Rhonda felt vaguely guilty about how easily she had regained her figure after all three pregnancies.

They enjoyed a dramatic, pink-streaked sunset from the beach, stopping to watch with a mixed group. There was a little chatting with some of them, amiable enough, without formal introductions. Just a few people appreciating a natural phenomenon, and not minding that they had paid to see it from this place.

Allison and Rhonda then worked their way to one of the resort's eateries, this one a beachside bar and grill. They had never been more than ankle-deep in the water, and the open shower's spigot was enough to get rid of the sand. The bar and grill clearly catered to people in swimwear. There was an ocean-view terrace, but the women were now ready to be indoors, sit at a round table, and peruse laminated menus.

There were fishnets nailed loosely to the ceiling, holding starfish and driftwood and other nautical flotsam. On the walls, there were sports memorabilia, concert posters, and road signs. Allison remarked that it was a one-stop shop for someone who wanted a theme in casual dining.

Rhonda was thinking about trying a parasol drink, but before she could say anything, Allison told the waitress, "Two rum-and-cokes."

"Well...all right," said Rhonda, "but why that, exactly?"

Allison sang, "Both mother

and

daughter." To Rhonda's blank look she said, "That old song by the Andrews Sisters." She sang again: "Drinkin' rum and co-

cah,

co-lah."

"Oh, that. I had no idea you'd ever heard it."

"It was campy for a while. Maybe racist and sexist, but mostly just weird."

"It sounded very risqué to me. Working for the Yankee dollar? Doing what?"

"I suspect some of the verses were censored. That's okay, I don't expect us to sell our bodies. We don't have a lot of Yankee dollars, but maybe enough."

Rhonda said, "My grandmother Jill used to play that record. Do you remember her at all?"

"Not much. In a wheelchair, right? At Thanksgiving?"

"By then, she was pretty far gone. She died when you were six. When I was young, she was still on her own. Full of, um, vinegar, as they used to say. My father believed that we kids should know and appreciate her, but when we were taken over to her place for a visit, it never went well. She had no problem speaking ill of the dead, especially her late husband Theo. The last straw for my mother was, Jill once said Theo went to smokers, which was like going to a lodge meeting, but with none of the respectability of a lodge. Dad and Mom couldn't stop Grandma from ranting that Theo would get drunk, watch, um, stag films, and then come home and expect Jill to do what the women in the films did. On our trip home, Dad insisted to us that his father Theo was a hero, who died in the Korean War."