Isses in Paradise

I've never been comfortable in my own skin. Even when I was pregnant, I wasn't a particularly heavy woman. After my husband died, I ate nothing but pizza and rocky road ice cream for an entire year; my new curves make it even harder to love myself.

Tonight was supposed to be a night just like any other. I planned to curl up on the couch in my pajamas and watch a rerun of Days of Our Lives with a pizza. However, as I was turning on the oven, my son came into the kitchen and ordered me to get "all dolled up" because he was taking us out to a nice restaurant. I protested, of course, but he's as stubborn as his father, which is why I'm now ransacking my closet in a desperate search for something, anything, to hide my unwanted new rolls and crippling depression.

I have a lot of nice clothes, but thanks to my year of comfort-eating, none of them fit -- at least, not comfortably. I can still wiggle into my favorite dress, but it clings so tightly to my new curves that I fear it's going to pop like a balloon if I even think about sitting down. Finally, I find something that will work: a burgundy pencil dress with a wrapped belt.

The skirt is a little tight. My ass is now big enough that the skirt stretches almost to its limits. Other than that, though, I love how I look in this dress. I find myself turning from side to side to admire every single angle. The knit fabric hugs my curves, rather than flaunting them, and the deep shade of red pops against my pale skin. For once, I can feel confidence bubbling in my gut.

I do worry about the plunging neckline; it shows off enough cleavage that I might wear a camisole underneath to keep myself modest. After several minutes of debating, I decide 'screw it!' It's my first night on the town as a single woman -- even if it is as a widow -- and I'm going to look my best.

To compliment my dress, I grab a pair of black suede ankle boots with three inch heels and a few buttons lining the outside. After throwing on some nude makeup (the only exception being thick winged eyeliner and mascara), I finally feel confident enough to hit the town. Yeah, I may be well-endowed now, but I look and feel absolutely amazing.

In fact, for the first time in a year, I feel genuinely sexy. I run my hands down my sides, allowing myself to feel my body. Excitement tingles inside me. I may not be the thin bombshell I was when my husband was still alive, but damn it if I don't look hot. My hand roams to the heavy swell of my breasts, and I pretend to be adjusting the bodice of my dress so I have an excuse to be groping myself in the mirror. On a whim, I slip a hand into the plunging neckline and give my nipple a little tweak. I gasp at the sudden tingling that shoots straight to my groin. It's been so long since anyone, including myself, has touched me in this way that I completely forgot what it felt like.

It feels good.

I glance at my bedroom door through my mirror, but I don't even register whether it's closed or not. My eyes drift straight to my face. Even though I'm barely doing anything, I'm already panting with lust. My unfocused amber eyes are almost glassy. I don't see myself anymore. I see a tall, sexy woman with pouting pink lips opened in a soft 'o' of desire. I look like a plus-sized porn star.

I look fucking sexy.

I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, still gazing into my own eyes. Something about that lustful gaze staring right back at me sets me off in all the right ways. I shrug out of my dress, draping it carefully over the other side of the bed, and pause to examine my body. Somehow, my rolls don't disgust me right now. They look sensuous and filling. I alternate between each nipple, pulling and twisting gently. I whimper as a dreamy heat begins to build between my thighs. Oh god, I've needed this...

I stretch out on my bed, propping my feet up so I have unlimited access to my legs. My fingers dance along the flesh of my thighs, coming close enough to my panties to tease but never quite touching. I can feel moisture building between my lips, and I imagine that a hunk of a fireman is kissing the inside of my thighs.

I finally can't take it anymore, and turn my attention to my junction. I was planning on taking my time with this, but my pussy is demanding that I take care of it now. I push the damp clinging fabric of my black lacy panties aside and plunge my fingers into my weeping cunt, stroking my throbbing clit with my thumb. I can feel my inside walls quivering as they adjust to the sudden intrusion, and when I find my G-spot? I immediately pull my fingers away as my pussy clenches, trying to stop myself from cumming, but it's too late. Colorful lights flash in front of my eyes as I arch my back and bite my lip to keep from screaming. My thoughts vanish beneath the flooding onslaught of pleasure.

It's a small orgasm and fades quickly, but I need more. I need to have more. I glance over at my nightstand, biting my lip as I consider my options. I don't have a lot of time; I can hear my son moving around downstairs, getting ready for our night out. He only does that when he's only minutes from leaving. I don't have time for another orgasm.

But I need it...

Fuck it, I decide as I grab the closest thing I can find and shove it inside me. I am immediately rewarded with a wave of pleasure that forces a whimper from my lips. I have to be quiet -- my son is still shuffling around the house. I can't let him hear me, but I feel so good that I can't keep my sounds trapped inside. I press one hand over my mouth, determined to make sure I don't get caught. How exactly would I explain that to my son?

But the fireman in my imagination loves my sounds.

"I love it when you whimper," he growls in my ear as he slides into me with no resistance. He doesn't waste time with teasing or being slow. He simply slams into me, his cockhead forcing itself against that special spot inside me. "Tell me how good I'm making you feel."

"Your cock feels so good inside me," I moan, reaching down to swirl my finger around my clit. "Deeper, please -- I need you so deep!"

His hips pump with ever-growing speed, forcing himself deeper into my pulsating insides. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that you won't be able to walk afterward. God, your pussy is so tight!"

My back arches as he hits my G-spot again. "Oh fuck! Just like that!"

"You like that?" He punches forward again, harder this time, and I shriek in delight. "Oh yeah, you do like that, don't you? You like it when I fuck you rough!" He keeps talking, but the pleasure is so great that I can't hear him. I can't see him panting on top of me, his hairy chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. All I know is that I feel really fucking good, and that I'm about to -

"Mom? You ready yet?"

I'm so close that when he knocks on my door, the sudden shock drives me over the edge. I clamp my hand over my mouth as my hips buck and a scream of pure ecstasy rips from my throat. Mindless bliss washes over me. For a moment I forget that I'm not writhing under the hunky fireman, that I'm trying to keep quiet to hide my naughtiness from my son. My grip on my mouth loosens until my wails aren't muffled at all.

Finally, after several seconds, my body relaxes from the orgasm. Intense shame washes over me. If he didn't know what I was doing earlier, he certainly knows now. I take a few deep breaths to calm my trembling body before dragging one of the abandoned dresses over my shameful nudity. "I'll -- I'll be ready in a few minutes."

"Take your time," he replies. I can hear him chuckling as he walks away. My face burns with shame as I walk to the bathroom on shaking legs. I am utterly humiliated. Why did I think that playing with myself while getting dressed was a good idea? God... I hope I haven't ruined the entire night.

⸳⸳⸳⸳⸳

"Honestly, honey, this is amazing." I twirl some noodles around my fork. "I don't usually like cream-based sauces with my pasta, but this carbonara is divine."

"Glad you like it." My son spears a shrimp and pops it into his mouth. "Are you having a good time? Besides the food, I mean."

I chew my food slowly, giving myself time to consider my answer. I am having a good time, that isn't in question, but I know there's deeper implications with his question. I haven't been the same since my husband's death, so going to a restaurant and acting like it's a normal night out with my son still evokes feelings of guilt and depression. Plus, after what I did earlier, the general air between us has been filled with an awkward tension. We both try to ignore it and act as though nothing happened, but neither of us can deny that something did indeed happen.

"I'm having a lovely time, Landon," I finally reply with a smile. "Everything about tonight is wonderful. Thank you so much for taking me out tonight."

He acknowledges my thanks with a wave of his hand as he gulps down some soda. "It's my pleasure, mom. Anything to put a smile back on your face." Those words alone make me smile even harder. This is how I know that my husband and I raised a wonderful young man.

Landon opens his mouth to speak again but shuts it with a tight-lipped smile as the waitress returns "Oh, clean plates! You must have enjoyed your food," she gushes as she sets down our refills of soda and red wine. She leans over to grab our plates. I can't help but notice that the buttons on her black blouse are straining against her full bosom. "Are we hungry for some dessert?"

My son's eyes remained locked on me. "No, thank you. Just the check, please."

"Of course!" Annoyance flickers across her face but to her credit, she doesn't let it affect her work. She rushes away; I can't help but watch her blonde curls bounce on her shoulders and her hips sway with each step. I return my attention to Landon, who is digging in his inside jacket pocket. "Did you forget your wallet?" I tease, reaching for my clutch. I love my son, but he has a tendency to 'forget' his wallet when he dines with friends or family. If I go out with him, I always make sure I'm ready to catch the bill.

"Nope," he grunts, clearly distracted.

Now, I'm not a fan of surprises. Never have been. But for once, I find my curiosity piqued. Landon is like me; he doesn't like surprises either. So what is his game here? He clearly has something planned.

"So," he begins as he pulls an envelope from his pocket, "I may have had an ulterior motive for bringing you here."

I chuckle, my eyes locked on the mysterious sheath. I can't see any writing on it, making me even more curious. "I knew it. You always have a reason for going above and beyond. What do you want, Landon?"

Before he can reply, the waitress returns, balancing a tray of entrees on the palm of her hand. She sets the waiter wallet beside Landon before hurrying away. He waits until she's gone before sliding his envelope across the table. "Open it," he orders before grabbing the wallet and flipping it open to access the bill.

I examine the envelope for several long seconds before picking it up with a thumb and forefinger, the way I would a sweaty sock. I use my untouched knife to slice open the seal, and two small thick pieces of paper flutter out. I ignore them for now though, because there's a bright blue laminated brochure still inside. I tug it out, excitement and confusion twisting in my gut.

An idyllic photo of beautiful waves and sandy beaches sprawls the front page of the brochure. Swirling white letters declare that BEACHES AND RESORTS VOTED THE WORLD'S LEADING ALL-INCLUSIVE FAMILY RESORTS in sunny Jamaica. I flip through the brochure, not registering the information typed in small letters. My heart has lodged itself in my throat, and I'm pretty sure I'm not even breathing at this point. "You...you didn't."

He hands the waiter wallet back to the waitress and turns back to me with an ear-splitting grin. "Took a bit of scrimping and saving, but yes, I did. Two tickets to a six-day, all-inclusive luxury vacation in paradise." He grabs one of the tickets and thrusts it into my hands. "I know it's last minute, but I couldn't get a single ticket for that particular package. Maybe you could get Angela to go with you? Or," he adds with a teasing twinkle in his eye, "you could invite Mark the Mailman. He's had a thing for you since I was a kid."

I chuckle distractedly as I turn the ticket over and over in my hand. "Angela needs to request time off three weeks in advance, and I'm not interested in Mike -- or anyone, for that matter. I'm...I'm not ready for anything serious yet. I'm still not..." Tears threaten to spill, and I clear my throat before clarifying, "I'm not ready."

"Oh." His voice is flat and emotionless, almost as if he's trying to control his emotions. "Well... construction at Shamrock won't finish for a few more weeks. I could go -- if you're okay with taking your son on a romantic getaway."

"Would you come with me?" I raise my eyes to his. "I'd be more than happy to take you, but I think that I'm a little too boring for your liking. I'll probably just lay in a beach chair or a hot tub the entire time..."

"You're already enrolled in a bunch of activities, so you don't get to be lazy. I signed you up for swimming with the dolphins, horseback riding on the beach, and the - " He pauses to skim the brochure - "Luminous Lagoon Glistening Water Nocturnal Tour."

Even though the tears are spilling onto the tablecloth now, I can't stop the wide smile from spreading across my cheeks. "You are an absolute treasure, Landon -- just like your father."

He reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Yeah, mom. I know."

⸳⸳⸳⸳⸳

I've watched television -- hell, for the past year, I've done nothing else -- but even the most expensive television set can't capture the reality of how beautiful Jamaica is. Ivory beaches stretch as far as the eye can see. The little shacks built off the spiraling piers are the cutest little things! The air is pleasantly warm, not hot like I was expecting. The turquoise waves are cool; their gentle rhythmic splashing is so relaxing that I find myself dozing off in a comfortable bamboo beach chair.

We've been here for three of our six days already, and today was the first day without any scheduled activities. Today is about sitting at the beach sipping mimosas and relaxing in the sun. I am stretched out on one of the beach chairs listening to a raunchy romance audio book and sipping a Jamaican rum punch. I've been here for four hours, and I'm almost certainly going to get a sunburn in my swimsuit. It's one of those open-midriff one-pieces, but instead of mere fabric over my breasts, it has several embroidered flowers sewn together so that I am showing off my voluptious curves in a classy way. Landon bought it for me years ago, when my husband and I first began discussing the idea of a second honeymoon. I'm still not confident enough to rock it, so I keep my lower half covered in a pink floral print sarong.

I squirm a little as the smooth deep voice of the narrator guides me deeper into the depravity of our heroine Roxanne Colvin and her determined lover Alwyn Stodge.

She is so wet that he glides into her with one simple move. He goes slowly, thrusting in time with the grandfather clock, until she feels that she will go mad with lust. Every time he gets close to finishing, he removes himself from her completely and buries his face between her lips to allow himself time to calm down. Then he'll begin again, pushing into her as though he's afraid to injure her. She jerks her hips upward, crying out for more -- please, god, more!

He pulls free again, standing over her like a god as his member drips her own juices onto her stomach. Her fingers trail down to stimulate herself, but he slaps her hand away. "A lady must never pleasure herself," he scolds as though she is a child. "Not when she has a man to satisfy her."

"But if he will not?"

"Then," Alwyn replies with a low growl, "he is no real man at all."

One of my earbuds suddenly flies from my ear, and a deep voice grumbles, "Having fun, mother dear?"

I shriek and leap to my feet, my phone flying into the sand. "Landon Harvey Knight! Don't do that to me! You know I can't handle surprises! Are you trying to send me to an early grave?!"

He is laughing so hard that I don't think he heard a word I said. "You should've -- gasp -- seen the look on your -- wheeze -- face! You went from lusting to shitting yourself so fast - " He doubles over now, choking on his own uncontrollable guffaws.

My face is crimson with embarrassment. "I did not have a lustful expression on my face. And watch your language! I raised you better than this!"

His laughter dies down, and he straightens back up to wipe a tear from his eye. I am always a little unnerved when he stands at full height beside me. Neither his father nor I are particularly tall, and he towers over me by a full head and shoulders. He did grow up to be a fine man, though. My eyes drift unbidden down the length of his body. His chest is firm and tight, with a light dusting of dark hair adding shadows to swollen pecs and rippling abs. His plain black swim trunks hang loosely over his hips; I can see a distinct happy trail leading to parts of him I haven't seen since he grew out of diapers. I can definitely see why he was such a player in high school and college -- any woman that can convince him to shed his clothes is getting a worthy prize.

What are you thinking? He's your son!

I shake my unintentional dirty thoughts and glare up at him. "What prompted you to be an ass on my vacation, hmm?"

"Well, mom," he drawls lazily, folding his arms over his perfect pecs, "I noticed that your hands were doing a little wandering, and I figured I'd snap you out of your horny haze before you did something naughty in front of all these strangers."

I wrap my sarong more tightly around my waist, aware that my face is now so red that hopefully the passersby think I'm just severely sunburned. "I was not. I was dozing off while listening to an audiobook."

"Oh? And what book is that? The Housewife's Guide to Exhibitionism?" Landon swoops past me and snatches my phone before I can move. I shriek in protest and try to snatch it back, but he holds it far above my reach and unlocks it with a simple swipe. I regret not putting a pass-code on it now! "Knights & Sweethearts: Forbidden Romance on the High Seas? Wow, mom. This is...this is porn. You're reading porn."

"I am not!" I jump again, trying and failing to rescue my poor phone. "I was listening to it!"

His eyebrows shoot up into the black curls that tickle his forehead. "So you admit that you were listening to porn?"

"It's not porn!" Several people glance over as my shriek echoes across the beach. I lower my voice and hiss, "I'll have you know that I'm a grown woman, and I can listen to whatever I want! But it's not porn!"

"You're being awfully defensive about it," he teases as he returns the phone to my grasping hands. I glower at him as I plug my headphones back in and clutch it to my chest. His face sobers, and he reaches out to brush his fingertips against my jaw. "Mom, did you put on sunscreen?"

"I did earlier." Self-conscious again, I rub my face. "Why? Am I burning?"

"Not yet, but you will if you don't put more on." He grabs my hand and guides me back to my beach chair. He flattens it from its reclining position with a light kick. "Lay down, mom. I'll help you with it."

I sit but don't recline, grabbing the sunscreen and squirting a small amount on my hands. I quickly smear it all over my face. I've never liked the oily feeling of the lotion, and I avoid putting it on as often as possible. The problem here is that I also despise sunburns, and I'll do anything to keep from getting one -- including covering myself in clumpy white goop. I grimace as I apply more to my arms and my collar bone. Ick...