‘Do you mind if I join you?’

She is tall and blond, but that is the most one can say of her. She is fat beyond caring, broad shoulders, thick arms white and freckled, the flesh hard and compact. Small flat breasts, big round belly stretching the cloth of her one-piece bathing suit. Impossible to tell her age, it could be anywhere between thirty and fifty.

‘This sun is killing me. You’re a smart boy to keep out of it.’

I have found a place under the palm trees on the beach, just off the ruins. The lady lowers her broad behind into the sand right next to me, using my shoulder for support. Although on a first impression she seems to be of some standing, she is not sitting exactly ladylike. One fat hairless leg stretched out to one side, almost burying my own skinny hairy leg in the sand, the other leg upright, doubled at the knee and pointing outwards to the other side, leaving me a full view of her bulging crotch delving into the sand beneath her.

‘Incredible, isn’t it? How they built their temples right here on the beach. Never seen anything like it.’

She points with her thumb to the weather and time beaten buildings behind us. We are at the Mayan ruins of Tulum, on the Yucatan peninsula south of Cancun.

‘Well, they may not compare to the grandeur of Chichen Itza or Tikal, but it’s the setting that makes this place magical.’

‘Chi-chi what?’

Her face is red and puffy, expensive looking sunglasses on a thin nose, small mouth with thin lips, painted a bright red. She’s wiping sand off her chest with a heavily ringed hand, lifting the top of her bathing suit and reaching inside. She looks up suddenly and catches me staring.

‘I’m sorry, how impolite of me. Sara is the name.’

She holds out her hand, the one that has just been wiping her breast inside the bathing suit. I take it and shake it.

‘Frank. Nice to meet you, Sara.’

‘You look like you’ve been around, Frank. Do you travel a lot?’

‘Every chance I get. I like traveling. See different countries. Meet people.’

‘Meet people. Isn’t that just the most wonderful part about traveling? I have met so many people, I don’t even remember who they all are.’

‘I guess one only remembers the really interesting ones.’

‘Isn’t that right though? Where are you staying, Frank?’

She has her hand on my forearm and looks at me over the rim of her sunglasses. She has green cat-like eyes.

‘Playa del Carmen.’

‘I thought I recognized you. At the Royal Plaza, right? I saw you in the lobby yesterday.’

So it was her in the lobby yesterday. She had walked in with a train of bellboys in her wake, each loaded with a colorful array of bags and boxes from all the major fashion stores along the main street in Playa del Carmen. It could have been a sketch from Monty Python’s Flying Circus. To my perverted mind, it was the introductory scene of a porno flick. Billionaire widow on the loose in the Caribbean, making three bellboys earn their tips the hard way. As a closing shot, my imagination had the three sprawled out naked all across the room (one draped over the balcony), fucked to unconsciousness by the man-devouring monster who was now sitting at the make-up table brushing her hair and humming a ranchero tune.

‘The Royal Plaza, yes. I checked in yesterday morning.’

‘I know. I saw you. I was looking for you in the bar last night, but you didn’t come down.’

She’s wiping the roundness of her belly now, although I see no traces of sand.

‘I was down at the beach. There was a beautiful moon out.’

‘How long will you be staying?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I never travel with a plan. Depends on the place.’

‘I’m just like that. I was in Cancun last week, now there’s a nice place. The shops, the night clubs, and all the nice people you meet. There was this couple from Miami, oh my, if I told you…’

There is a strange glow in her eyes while her gaze gets lost somewhere between the ocean and the horizon.

‘Anyway, I think you will find Playa del Carmen quite boring. The stores are really quite ordinary, and there’s not much of a nightlife.’

‘Boring? After Cancun, I find Playa del Carmen refreshing. More of the local flavor, you know.’

‘Local flavor? Ha, I like that. Local flavor, huh?’

She slaps my knee and throws her head back in laughter. Her breasts shudder.

‘You like the local flavor?’

‘Uhm, yes, that’s why I travel. Nothing like a bit of local flavor.’

She slaps me on the back like we were old buddies.

‘Oh my, you crack me up, Frank.’

I can’t say I quite get the joke, but I join her in the mirth. She’s probably just a bit eccentric.

‘I take it you travel a lot, then?’

Her hand is right between her legs now, wiping the front of her pubis and the inside of her legs which she has spread even wider. After a while I realize that although her head is inclined downwards, she is watching me from the corner of her eyes and has caught me staring at her lap.

‘Uhm, yes, well, I guess I’ve been around.’

My face feels flushed as I try to hide my embarrassment. Sara huffs and puffs while she leans heavily on my shoulder to push herself up to her feet. I reach behind me to gather my things. Something about this woman has stirred my hormones, and I’m afraid that if I don’t hang on to her, I’ll miss out on something good. God knows it’s been a while since I last had something good.

When I turn around to jump up and run after her, I suddenly have her broad ass in my face. It is moving left to right as she slaps it around with both hands. Sand is raining all over me. I dodge the shuddering mountain of flesh and jump to my feet.

‘Tell me about this place. All I see is a heap of stones.’

She grabs my arm and locks it into hers. We walk past the Temple of the Frescoes towards the castle. I tell her what I remember reading in my guide book. She doesn’t seem really interested, though.

‘I’m starving. Do you need a ride back? I have a limo waiting. We can have dinner together.’

I had come on one of the local buses, which had taken a noisy, hot and bumpy two and a half hours to make it down here, stopping at every village market on the way down to take on another load of fat sweaty housewives laden with baskets – which they bumped against every head and shoulder they found on the way to the back of the bus – and live chicken that were audibly outraged by the inclemencies of public transport. Hardly a match for an air-conditioned limousine.

The Mexican driver smiles knowingly but doesn’t say a word as he holds the door of the limo for us. I sink into the cool leather seat beside Sara, who is cracking a can of Coke from the little fridge. The driver lowers the smoked glass divider.

‘De regreso al hotel, señora?’

‘Yes, Armando, straight back to the hotel.’

The divider goes up again and we are alone. The car hums as we take off.

‘Soda? Or would you like something stronger?’

‘No, a Coke is fine, thank you.’

‘My, this sun is downright dangerous. I was hardly out for a moment and look at what it did to my poor skin.’

Sara has lowered both straps of her bathing suit, exposing the top of her chest. The skin around her neck and shoulders is a freckled reddish brown, which contrasts with the pale white where the weight of her breasts stretches and wrinkles the skin.

She passes a hand over her chest, then dips it into the bathing suit and pulls out her right breast. It is soft and flat, thin blue veins crisscrossing the white skin, the nipple a broad brown patch pointing downward. I can’t help but stare in fascination.

‘You like that?’

But I’m too stunned to talk. I cannot take my eyes off her breast. It is especially the nipple that mesmerizes me. It seems to be staring back at me.

‘Go on, touch it. Don’t be shy.’

She reaches out and grabbing me by the neck, pulls my head down into her breast. The nipple feels warm and soft as it presses against my lips. From the corner of my eyes I see Sara’s left hand pulling the top of her suit further down until her other breast pops out. The hand comes back up and rubs the nipple until it is hard and erect. Then she scoops the breast up from beneath and turning her torso, pops the stiff nipple into my mouth.

‘Hmm, suck it, baby. Suck it good.’

I suckle on her breast for a while, then she stuffs the other one into my mouth again. All the while she is squirming and twisting. I’m almost on top of her, and she has pulled up her right leg onto the seat. She prods me between the ribs with her foot and I slide off the seat onto my knees, between her spread legs. She hunches forward, still pulling my head into her, feeding me her breasts. My chin rests on her soft round belly. I can feel her legs circle my body until her feet lock behind my back. She is pushing my head down now, away from her sagging breasts. I can feel how she pushes her pelvis forward against my chest as I slide down between her legs. I know where this is going and although performing oral sex on a woman – especially one of Sara’s size – is not one of my favorite activities, I concede because this is going way easier than I had hoped for.

It’s a long way down over the mound of her belly into the valley between her legs. I have to squeeze my shoulders between the fat-packed legs, until I face the bulge of her cunt clearly outlined in the cloth of her swimsuit. In fact, it seems the cloth has been sucked into the crack, so what I’m looking at is a giant fat blue peach. There is a wet stain spreading from the slit outwards. No time to ponder whether I should peel this strange fruit. Sara slides down in her seat, pushing her cunt into my face. Even through the thick cloth I can smell the sour-sweet cunt odor. My nose sinks into the soft moist slit, which starts sliding up and down my face in a slow lazy rhythm. I have to synchronize my breathing with her strokes, as her rich folds cover my face chin to brow and the only chance I get is by tilting my head back when my nose slides out over the top of her cunt on a down stroke.

It is clear she is quickly entering in heat, but the movements of her hips are hindered as she is sitting and her weight is on her ass. Wriggle as she might, she is not achieving the friction she needs. So she grabs my head instead with both hands and yanking it back and forth, slams my face into her hungry cunt.

No need to say I’m starting to feel utterly ridiculous being used as a dildo. But before I have time to make up my mind and put a stop to this, her body stiffens and her legs cramp around my head. My nose and mouth are flooded by a sudden gush of her cunt juices that seep through the cloth of her swimsuit. I struggle to release myself, but the pressure of her legs on my head is so great I fear she’ll crack my skull. I gasp for air when she finally relaxes.

‘Oh my, that was nice.’

The wet patch on her crotch has spread to the size of a soccer ball. She ties a bath towel around her waist to hide it. I crawl back onto the seat next to her. Her chest with the sagging breasts is heaving as she struggles for air herself. She soon calms down though and wipes the sweat from her face with a hand towel. Then she hands it to me, signaling me to wipe her juices from mine.

‘Was it as good for you as it was for me, baby?’

She extends her arm and gropes into the front of my shorts, where she finds nothing but softness.

‘Did you not enjoy yourself, darling? Oh my, we must do something about that.’

She pulls the front of my shorts down and the tip of my limp cock pops out.

‘Take the shorts off.’

I marvel at her easy command. I am not one to be ordered around easily, but there is a superior air about her that leaves no room for protest nor hesitation. So leaning back into the seat, I lift my butt and pull my shorts down to my ankles. The prospect of the woman lowering her head into my lap to blow me, makes my dick come alive.

‘Ah, that’s better. You got me worried there for a minute.’

She’s looking down at my cock as it lies on my belly, growing slowly in anticipation. But she doesn’t budge.

‘Is that as big as it gets?’

‘Uhm, no, it gets bigger.’

‘Get it as big as you can.’

She still isn’t budging. That’s supposed to be her job, especially after I have gone down on her. I decide to gather my wits and ask.

‘Why don’t you, uh… you know.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you could… you know, take it in your, uh… mouth, you know, that would make it… ‘

‘What? Oh no, I don’t do that. Yikes. No no, buddy, I don’t know you well enough for that.’

Yikes? After submerging me into her wet marshlands and spraying me with her juices, she yikes me? Who does she think she is?

‘But I went down on you. I’d think…’

‘So what? Did I force you to? You were down there before I had a chance to stop you.’

No use arguing with this lady. I move to pull my shorts back up, but she places her hand on my thigh to stop me.

‘OK, I’m sorry. That was rude. You have to forgive me. I’m just a poor little old widow who hasn’t been with a man since her husband passed away.’

Her conciliatory tone assuages me. The woman really turns me on. I just don’t like to be treated that way.

‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll make it up to you after dinner, OK? It’s just so uncomfortable here in the car. It’s not as if I were a skinny little cheerleader crawling all around the back seat on her prom night, is it?’

She throws her head back and cackles like a hen. I curse myself. How inconsiderate of me. Anyone can see she is a respectable lady of quite some social standing, and I’m asking her to go down on a bum like myself. What was I thinking?

‘Now be a good boy and stroke it for me. I have never seen a man stroke himself. Come, humor me.’

She is smiling almost apologetically as she looks into my eyes. Who can resist that? I grab my penis – which has gone limp again – and slowly stroke it back to life. I’m looking at her thick thighs and heaving chest with the vibrating breasts, and I’m hard again in no time at all.

‘Hmm, you do that so nicely.’

She is rubbing her breasts and I can’t help but raise my rhythm as I watch the skin twist and wrinkle while the nipples go hard between her nervous fingers.

‘Can you cum? Oh please cum for me, yes?’

Her voice is soft and sensual in my ear. I have lost all sense of time and place. My cock is on fire and my balls seem to have swollen to twice their size. I feel an orgasm building up.

It is not until the door is opened from outside that I notice that the car has stopped. The hotel doorman reaches out his hand to help Sara up when the first jet of semen hits the ceiling of the car. I desperately try to retain the flow with one hand while pulling up my shorts with the other, but the white milky liquid keeps spurting through my fingers and my hips jerk uncontrollably. Sara never looks back as she heaves her weight up the steps to the lobby. The doorman sticks his head back through the car door to see if I need any help, but quickly decides I don’t. My dick is still jerking and spitting when I stuff it inside my shorts and jump from the car. One hand on my twitching crotch, the other dragging my bag, I run after Sara up the stairs and into the lobby. I catch up with her at the elevators.

‘Oh my, what a mess you made. You should be more careful. Didn’t you notice we had arrived?’

My legs are shaking and I can’t utter a word. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.

We step into the elevator and I mark the seventh floor, which is where my room is. Sara uses her key card to unlock the access to the penthouse.

‘Why don’t you take a shower and we’ll meet in the restaurant in an hour.’

I nod absently and get off on my floor. I’m still in a daze when I enter my room. It is as if my mind refuses to fully register what has just happened.

A cold shower finally dissipates the numbness and I am again able to think clearly. I have to get out of this place. I cannot face that doorman again. And who knows who he will have told already. Surely everybody knows by know.

I lie naked on the bed. I can’t help but think that Sara set me up. She must have known how near we were to the hotel. At the very least she could have warned me when the car halted. Why didn’t she?

I dress and go out to the beach, using the back stairs and the exit behind the laundry room. The sun is a huge orange balloon dipping into the forest behind me. A cruise liner just off the shore lights up the dark water with its happy myriad of deck lights. The silence and the serenity of the dying day calm me down.

What if Sara really had set me up? She had come on to me strong from the moment we met. I am not used to women picking me up, usually I have to do all the work and then the results are usually meager. I get rejected a lot. I guess I don’t reflect that arrogant self-assurance that women seem to look for in a man. But this one needed no prodding. She practically dragged me to her limo and raped me. Surely I cannot trust a woman so apt at assuming control. I decide to shun her and leave the hotel as early as possible tomorrow morning.

But walking back to the hotel, I am consumed by doubts. What if I am wrong? She seems such a sweet innocent lady. A bit eccentric, true. But certainly not malicious. She just hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, which should account for her anxiousness and directness. Maybe she’s just desperate. Who am I to judge?

I end up passing by the restaurant anyway, to see if she’s there. It is almost empty. Sara is nowhere to be seen. I walk to the restaurant bar and sit on a stool. Before I can order, the bartender places a Martini in front of me.

‘Courtesy of Lady Sara. She says please wait for her. She will be down in a minute.’

I light a cigarette. This woman truly gives me the shivers. Every detail covered. There is no escape for the poor little fly once it has entered the black widow’s web. But I laugh at myself. My fantasy is off on a rampage again. Now I have her luring me into her suite, tying me to the bed and raping the living daylights out of me all night long, time after time, until she has sucked me as dry and shriveled as a sun-dried raisin. Then she slits my throat for the hell of it.

‘So sweet of you to wait for me. I thought maybe you’d gotten bored and gone to the beach. Lots of nice little girls on the beach, but then, you already know that, don’t you?’

She is radiant in a glittering white strapless gala dress. Her hair is done up in a curly stylish mess. An uncharacteristically large handbag matching the color and texture of her dress is hanging from her arm. I am and feel bitterly underdressed in my jeans and short-sleeved shirt.

‘None as stunning as you, Sara.’

I take her hand and bring it to my lips. I hope my hard-on is not visible inside my jeans.

‘Oh, you’re such a charmer, Frank.’

The maître d’hotel announces our table is ready and holds out a jacket for me to slip into. Then he leads us to a private section of the terrace outside, where a table for two is laid out overlooking the beach. We are away from the chatter and hustle of the public section of the restaurant.

‘I never come down to the restaurant. I usually eat in my suite. But I thought this would be more romantic. Don’t you agree?’

‘Absolutely, my dear. You must have read my mind.’

The role of the jet set lady killer is as uncomfortable and unnatural to me as is the borrowed jacket, but I try.

‘Would the lady and gentleman care for an aperitif?’

‘I feel like champagne tonight, Oscar.’

‘I have a fine Dom Perignon in the cellar. I’ll have it put on ice immediately. How about some oysters?’

‘Great. We’ll start with two dozen each.’

I refrain from entering this conversation. I wonder if my credit card will hold against the bill.

‘Ah, what a beautiful evening. You’re right, the beach is absolutely stunning at this hour.’

She throws her head back and stretches her arms upwards. Her breasts are on the brink of popping out again, but somehow the dress holds its ground. She pulls out a gold cigarette holder from her purse and offers me a cigarette. They are long and thin and an elegant dark brown. I light hers, then mine.

When the maître‘d returns with the champagne and the oysters, Sara orders a crab cocktail, Bouillabaisse and lobster for the both of us, with a 1992 Domaine de Saint-Laurent-l’Abbaye Sauvignon Blanc. My mood grows darker as the bill adds up. But what bothers me even more is that I am so completely ignored in the food selection process. I may not be a connoisseur of the fine foods and wines, but I am sure I can stand my man with a little help from a volunteering waiter. As things are, I feel branded as a low-life gigolo by both Sara and the maître d’hotel.
I have never eaten oysters, and seeing the snotty shells arranged before me does not exactly do wonders for my appetite.

‘Come on, don’t be shy. Dig in.’

I watch Sara as she sprinkles lemon on one of her oysters and then picks it up with her right hand. She places the shell against her lower lip and throwing her head back, sucks its contents into her mouth with a slurping sound. I try to imitate her the best I can, including the slurping. I have no idea if this is how oysters are supposed to be eaten.

My first oyster almost makes me gag. The cold slimy substance that slithers into my mouth reminds me of an old lady who used to sit on a bench in the park back in my hometown, clearing her throat and spitting large clods of green phlegm all around the bench. I cannot bring myself to swallow it down, and spit it into my napkin instead. Sara is laughing her head off.

‘Not the oyster type, are you? Oh well, one has to get used to it. Try another one, only this time swallow it straight down. You blur out the taste by allowing the texture to draw your attention. Let it slither over your tongue, just enough to catch the flavor, then throw your head back and let it slide down your throat.’

I try it and it works, although I cannot keep my imagination from playing with my mind. I manage to eat half of the oysters on my plate, then I give up. The champagne is a welcome refreshment.

While the maître’d hovers around us like a busy bee serving the different courses of our dinner and keeping our glasses filled – the wine tasting is the first time I get acknowledged – we eat and chat about Mexico and the weather. Sara is an attentive listener and seems to appreciate my opinions. My conversation is somewhat hampered by my constant worrying about the bill. That dilemma gets solved though when after coffee and cake, Sara instructs Oscar to charge it to her room. I am too relieved to put up even a perfunctory fight over the ownership of the bill. Instead, I rally around the table and help Sara up from her seat before the maître’d gets a chance.

‘Be a dear and bring the champagne, will you?’

I drape the jacket over the chair, grab the ice bucket and rush after her towards the elevators.

‘Take me to your room, honey.’

I had rejoiced in the prospect of a night in a first class suite, but truth be told, for all I care we could do it in the broom closet, anything for a chance to slip between those powerful thighs. I take her up to the seventh floor and into my room.

Before I get a chance to close the door behind me, she drops her bag and nails me to the bathroom door with her enormous belly.