The flight to St. Thomas took us through Puerto Rico, and then onto a sea-plane for the trip to St. Thomas. It was exciting, very "Indiana Jones." It took off from the piers, near where the big cruise ships are docked.
As we passed by in the cab from the airport to the sea-plane, mom said, "That's what I'd like someday, kiddo. A long cruise on one of those. Do you know they have all-you-can eat buffets all day long, and an all-chocolate buffet at midnight? Stewards to pamper you..."
"OK," I said, "next year for your birthday, you can have a cruise." Mom slapped me playfully on the arm.
The sea-plane landed in the marina in St. Thomas. We could see several very long yachts, and many sailboats, and we swooped right in among them. We taxied up to the dock and there were two of the staff from the Lost Beach resort to meet us, a man and a woman, in the tropical white uniform shirt and shorts of the resort staff.
"Brenda and Jack Reynolds?" asked the man. "I am Paul, your driver. I will collect your things and place them in our van. Maria here will by your escort to the resort. Welcome to St Thomas and the Lost Beach resort." Paul was strong and muscular and moved past us to get our luggage. Maria smiled at us and welcomed us, and shook our hands.
"How was your flight? she asked. I didn't say anything – I was stunned. Maria was a knock-out. Tall, blonde, tan, very well endowed and I don't believe she was wearing anything under the short-sleeved uniform jacket.
"It was fine," my mom said, shaking her hand. "Don't mind Jack, he'll be alright in a little while. That sea-plane landing is something else."
"Yes," said Maria, "they come in pretty steep, and the marina is full of boats. It can be pretty exciting."
The road to the resort was full of hair-pin turns, almost as exciting as the sea-plane ride, and we finally arrived at the resort. It resembled a Spanish villa with red-tiled roof, archways...it was high up over looking the amazingly blue water.
As we got out of the van, Maria walked with us. "Your luggage will be brought to your room. You have plenty of time for dinner, and there will be a cocktail reception for all the guests this evening."
As we followed Maria into a central courtyard, it seemed the place was a labarinth of hallways leading in all directions. There were no signs, but she knew which direction to go at each turn. We exited a hallway onto an outdoor sidewalk with a stone wall on the beach side.
"Aren't we kind of high up and away from the beach? I thought this was a beach resort," I asked.
"It is," said Maria. Everything you see from here is part of Lost Beach resort. This path winds down to the water in that direction, and this way, " she said, pointing in the direction we were going, "leads to your villa. We have several villas on the property. They each have a slightly different décor, and, while there are no strict rules, you're in the villa usually reserved for couples."
She thinks we're a couple, I thought, as in boyfriend/girlfriend. I had to correct this – and fast – nothing against mom, but I wanted to get to know Maria (and that marvelous cleavage) and I didn't want her thinking I was spoken for...but before I could say anything, mom spoke.
"Tell me about the beaches," she said, and Maria was off into her spiel.
"There are several. The largest is usually the most enjoyed, it has the jet skis and kayaks for exploring the area. There are a few smaller beaches – wait til you see those," Maria's eyes sparkled (and I melted), "there's palm trees swaying in the breeze and the water is so blue...and there's one secluded beach, a little sandy cove, really, that's "Clothing Optional," and all of the beaches are for the exclusive use of our guests."
"Which one is the Lost Beach?" I asked.
Maria smiled - was it my imagination or did she move closer to me – and said, "Lost Beach isn't one of those beaches, it's more of a state of mind. People come here to lose themselves, get away from everything back home...the lost beach is what you make of it."
Maria led us down the sidewalk toward our villa, and I just watched those long, tanned legs, and her very fetching ass under those white shorts, all the way to our room.
Our room was fantastic. On the ground floor, on the corner, so we had two floor-to-ceiling glass walls looking out onto the ocean. There was a small grassy yard, and then the cliffs down to the water. There was a bar, a kitchenette, and the bedroom. Maria said her goodbyes after giving us the tour, and explaining the dress code (nice for dinner, or very fancy for the twice-a-week dinner and dancing party, but casual at all other times. We started settling in.
There first thing, we agreed, was to check out the beaches. I wanted to get out of my travel clothes and into some sun-worshipping clothes, but Mom was unpacking in the bedroom, and so I couldn't change. I was exploring the suite and found a door to the outside, which led to a fenced-in jungle...the area was probably no more than twenty by twenty feet, but a path wound around to a jaccuzi. The fence was high, the jungle plants were lush..I realized I could change here – lots of privacy.
I went back, grabbed my suit, and went back to the benches by the jaccuzi to change. It felt great to be standing there naked in the sun. I stretched and stood there for a bit...thinking of Maria and those tits...couldn't help but caress my cock a bit...then I heard a noise, turned around and...there stood my mom in her bathing suit. A new two-piece she'd bought just for the trip. Scoop neck top, cut high on the thigh, very nice. There was, apparently, a door from the bedroom directly to the Jacuzzi area.
And there I stood, naked with a half-hard cock.
