Chapter 8
On the Playa Hornos, the afternoon beach of Acapulco, where the Hilton Hotel is situated in all its transplanted American splendor, Ben sat quietly in the sand, watching the beautiful people flitter and flutter all over the beach. It was mid-afternoon, and the breasts bulging through the mini-bikinis of a variety of girls were holding his attention, as well they should. From time to time, he would gaze at the deep blue water of Acapulco Bay, punctuated by high-rise hotels plunked down at the water's edge, bringing an ugly commercialism into what had once been a beautiful, unspoiled setting.
He noticed that the beach boys, as usual, were hustling the bathers for drinks and umbrellas and blankets and other beach paraphernalia. Sometimes, he observed, it was the other way around; horny American secretaries or aging dowagers were also hot for the beach boys' athletic, browned bodies. To him, Acapulco was a Mexican version of Miami Beach; instead of New York Jewish, the accents were definitely sibilant Spanish.
He was in his bathing trunks, brief European style, with an oversized pair of sun glasses covering most of his face. He was drinking a coco loco, a popular beach drink at the resort, made with gin and coconut milk, and served in half a coconut shell and sipped with a straw. It was very, very good; a few more, he thought, and he would go loco from coco.
Angela was not with him this afternoon.
She was in the hotel room, resting. She had been in a slight shade of shock ever since the death of Juan Lopez. Senor Sanchez, however, had urged both of them to complete their vacation as planned-as he had put it, "It is just the death of another surplus student, and you did not know him well anyway. It is just one of many tragedies that take place in Mexico every day. You are here to enjoy my country; do not let this unfortunate incident ruin your holiday. Go to Acapulco as you have planned, and if I can get away from my business, I may join you before you return to America and offer my good-byes in person."
If I can get away from my business-that, translated, means; if my wife and children do not return unexpectedly, I shall be in Acapulco to fuck Senora Brinkman a few times before her bourgeois husband takes her back to the United States ... unless I can persuade her to stay in Mexico as my mistress.
Ben had not said much to Angela about her liaison with Juan. He had said little; he had simply worked over the flesh of her buttocks with the back of his hands until she had found it necessary to sleep on her stomach for the first few nights. He did not know if she and Senor Sanchez had also enjoyed each other intimately, but he suspected the same. The thought did not make him happy; even his newly discovered machismo did not make him happy. He did not like having to physically work over his wife to keep her straightened, and that was the way their relationship was going now. My God, he thought, when we get home I'm going to have to chain her in the closet or something, otherwise how do I know who she'll take up with next?
And, as for himself, he had only had one transgression, that was with the stewardess on the flight into Mexico City. That, of course, was not his fault. He had been seduced by her, not the other way around. Who could blame him?
So he sat quietly on the beach, watching the girls jiggle their asses and thrust their breasts forward and put on their pouting sensuous expressions whenever a desirable man was near. He was watching one in particular, whose bikini top was as flimsy as a piece of string. Her cleavage was already half out, as she lay on her beach blanket tanning her voluptuous body. She was a long-haired blonde, like his wife, and her movements and expressions reminded him of Angela, as he stared at her breasts, watching them slowly inch out of the bikini top until he could see the nipples, taut with excitement, as through her thick shades she observed one of the more erotic of the beach boys wandering by. The way her breasts strained at the bikini top fascinated Ben ... he watched, his tongue dry in his mouth, an erection forming beneath his bathing trunks ... slowly, ever so slowly, the girl's provocative movements were forcing her breasts out into the open ... if these movements continued, it would only be a matter of minutes before she would become topless....
"Are you enjoying the view, Senor?" said a voice in his left ear, its sibilant Spanish syllables-even though she spoke in English, the girl's voice retained that smooth Spanish-Mexican quality of liquid flowing of words-whispering like a soft breeze into his ear.
He turned around. A tall Mexican beauty with jet black hair hanging to her waist and a flimsy white bikini covering her vital areas was bending over him, her olive skin dark with desire, her brown eyes peeping mischievously over a pair of circular sun glasses. He stared at her for a few more seconds, wondering who she was, trying to place her in his life.
"Senor, do you not remember me? We shared a particular airplane compartment together not so long ago. If I mentioned the fact that I am a stewardess for Aeronaves de Mexico, would that help you to remember me?"
Ben did such a fast double-take that his glasses almost fell off. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "Are you ... are you...."
"Yes, I am Maria. We had a very good time together...." Now, she moved closer to his ear to whisper these words...." ... in the washroom together, did we not? Did I not fuck you as you have never been fucked before?"
A sweet smile of recognition flooding his face, Ben had to agree that she had.
"What are you doing here, Maria?"
"Well, I am on holiday, I have a three-day layover in Mexico City. But I felt like seeing a beach again, so I just flew here this morning. And, since this is the afternoon beach in Acapulco, where better could I spend my time? Where better, as luck would have it, could I meet you again, my charming American Senor?"
She reached out a finger and tickled him on the mustache. Her touch was gentle as a breeze from the bay, and he felt his cock growing even stiffer than it already was. The way her eyes glanced down at his crotch from time to time told him that she was not exactly oblivious to his sexual situation.
"As I remember, you were traveling with a woman, whom I believe was your wife. Where is she?"
Ben told her-not about Juan's death but simply about his wife's "resting"-and she cluck-clucked her sympathy. Then she said, conspiratorially, "Would she miss you very much if we were to take a little drive around the bay? Could that be arranged?" Ben queried her further.
It seemed that Maria was staying at the Las Brisas Hotel, that collection of cottages that hang on a hill overlooking the bay, not far from the airport, where privacy is assured and each guest has use of a pink jeep for transportation purposes. The idea of a jeep ride around Acapulco was sufficiently appealing to Ben-plus, of course, the added attraction of Maria's presence-to move him in that requested manner. But, as he told her, "No more than an hour or two, Maria; then, I'll have to get back to my wife. You understand, don't you?"
Of course she did.
Ben thought, What a strange situation ... Angela's made it with Juan, probably with Sanchez too ... now I'm getting involved with this Mexican hot pepper ... and I came down here to save my marriage, not break it up for good ... plus I seem to be catching a strong dose of Mexican machismo as well ... what a weird vacation....
He began to shake his head, wondering just what the hell the end result was going to be. In a few more days, he would have to return to New York. Back to work ... back with Angela ... he hoped.
"What is the matter?" she inquired solicitously. He shrugged. "It's all right. Nothing special.
Just hate to leave your lovely country when my vacation is over, that's all."
"Do you have to?"
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that you do not have to do anything that you do not want to do. If you wish to stay, stay. There are ways that Mexico can accommodate Americans who wish to establish residence here."
"Establish residence?"
"Yes. It is not impossible. Nothing is impossible for he or she who wishes and works to make it come true."
He did not like the philosophical mood she was putting him in. To break the round of question-and-answer, he ordered each a coco loco. They took the drink with them as they climbed into the jeep.
She drove him along the Costera Aleman, and they made a complete circle of the peninsula, merging into the Gran Via Tropical and the Avenida Las Playas before reconnecting with Aleman again. She showed him the houses of the rich, newly and otherwise, stuck on the sheer cliff drops like pimples on an acned face. The homes were spectacular in the Mexican coloristic tradition, like those in the Pedregal in Mexico City where Senor Sanchez lived. One of them belonged to John Wayne, and she pointed that one out. Ben was not a fan of John Wayne; besides, he was on his third coco loco, and they were very potent drinks. He was feeling the alcohol content building up in his bloodstream, and he was glad that she and not he was driving.
"Fuck John Wayne," he said, as if he couldn't care less whether he did or not.
She looked at him, her drink nestled between her knees, a look of limpid love, and said softly, "I do not wish to fuck John Wayne. I just wish to fuck you, Senor Ben."
Just like that.
And now it was Senor Ben. Soon, he thought, it would be just plain Ben ... then sweetheart, lover, darling ... and then ... yes, and then.-....
He felt a hand on his cock.
Rather, not so much on his cock as on his trunks, right over his cock. She had placed her right hand there, and gently slipped a finger beneath his trunks, tangling it in his pubic hairs, fondling his balls, tickling his cock. She looked at him with the seriousness of a woman who has one thing in particular in mind, and intends to let nothing stop her from getting it.
He said, finishing his drink and flipping the coconut shell out of the jeep, "Let's get back to your hotel."
"Why did you throw that coconut shell on the road? That is littering. You should not do that in Mexico, even if you do it in America. You should...."
He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her body close to his, and kissed her hard on the mouth. When her tongue instinctively rose to touch his, he bit it on the tip-not hard, but just enough to let er know who was in charge. Then he crushed his lips hard against hers again, until he knew she could feel at least a twinge of physical pain, and quickly withdrawing his mouth, said, "Well, I'm sorry I was a litterbug. Now, I understand I'm a guest in your country, and I won't do it again. But one thing I'm going to do again and again is to fuck the living shit out of you when we get back to the Las Brisas. And we're going there now, right now, do you understand?"
She said nothing. She nodded in acquiescence, and drove in silence. He could not see, beneath her sunglasses, that a few tears had fallen. He probably would not have cared one way or the other.
About fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a parking area near her cottage. Like the jeeps, the cottages were painted pink, that subtle yet shocking pastel pink that some Mexicans seem to love to hit the tourists with, like a blow between the eyes. They entered her room; it was a twin-bedded room, and both beds were pushed together to form a double bed. He noticed that, and smiled at the thought of her ingeniousness.
Without another word, they both undressed. She pulled back the sheets, and climbed inside. He followed her.
To again remind her who was boss, he grabbed her hair at the scalp and pulled, forcing her head back against the pillow. Still holding her hair-it was thick and lustrous, with the texture of silken rope-he kissed her on the mouth and slammed his tongue inside, over hers, to ream out the roof of her mouth. She responded readily, her lips sucking suggestively at his, her tongue struggling to return his tonguing. He did this for several minutes, finally letting her hair and mouth go.
When he did so, she went down on his cock.
By now, his cock was completely erect. She stuffed it inside her sucking mouth, drawing his instrument over her tongue and into her throat. Before he could stop himself, hold it any longer, he came, practically ramming his cock down her throat as she gurgled and gulped down his sperm, his white hot liquid sperm that came into her throat like a flowing river. She swallowed and swallowed as if dying of thirst, and did not release his cock from her mouth for what seemed like the longest time.
It happened so fast, and was over so quickly-or so he thought-that, in one way, he felt cheated. She had not even tried to place his cock inside her vagina.
But, there was a reason for that.
She whispered to him, her hair tickling his face, "I wanted your sperm so much ... I wanted to swallow you first ... do not worry. I will have your friend up and inside me very shortly ... I will make you happy to be fucking me ... Ben, I will make you so very happy...."
So, he thought, now it's Ben.
So, OK. Let's get with it, Maria ... let's make it.
They went into the 69 position.
Even with the air-conditioning on, it seemed hot to Ben, so he threw off his part of the sheets. So did Maria, leaving his head at the head of the bed while she dove for the foot of the bed.
He sniffed her pussy. She had daubed it with a touch of perfume, the perfume of a Mexican flower whose name he did not know. It was pungent, aromatic, and, mingled with the natural smell of vagina, it was thoroughly intoxicating. He sniffed it in her thick black bush, pushing his nose past her quivering vaginal lips. Then, he withdrew his nose, placing his tongue just inside her lips, parting them with his tongue. His tongue snaked inside, and he could feel, taste, inhale the wetness of her membranes, their softness and pliability enveloping his tongue like a fragrant mist. She shuddered as his tongue stabbed into her, and he could feel her vagina expanding and contracting as he licked and licked. She tasted so clean, he thought ... I just know she's clean ... I think she's even cleaner than Angela, and Angela's a freak about cleanliness ... oh, Maria, you're some Mexican tamale, all right....
Maria, in the meantime, was licking his cock.
Holding his balls in her hands, she was sweeping her tongue along his stiffening instrument in long yet gentle strokes that covered his cock from tip to base. She nudged his foreskin, dipping her tongue underneath it, then moving on and tangling her tongue in his pubic hairs. She licked his cock as lightly as a feather brush, almost tickling it so that he would jump a bit from time to time. She herself was moving a bit, as she felt the bite of his tongue in her vagina, feeling her liquid beginning to flow as his tongue set her sex on fire.
Now, she commenced to suck his cock, drawing it inside her lovely lips like a cock inside a vagina. Inch by inch, she pulled him inside her wonderful sucking mouth. His cock slid past her teeth, across her tongue ... and almost inside her throat, as she drew his stiffening instrument inside her mouth ... inch by inch ... until all of it was inside. She let her mouth membranes come down on his cock, chewing it with her gums, pressing it like the meat in a sandwich ... using all of her prodigious technique to get it hard enough to come inside her vagina and jolt her into the highest level of sexual thrills. She sucked and sacked ... his cock grew stiffer and stiffer.
Meanwhile his tongue, still probing the innermost recesses of her vagina, was causing her liquid to flow like a waterfall. Gleefully, she surrendered to her orgasm, letting her vagina membranes grip his tongue in a vise, palpitating wildly as she caught his tongue in her vagina. He was amazed; Angela had never been this wild with him, and his tongue was feeling as if something was biting it, holding it inside her firmly. Has she got teeth in there? he wondered ... wow, her vagina is something else....
He tasted her come, intoxicated by the total sexuality of this woman. But, he could also feel her tongue and mouth on his cock, and he knew that he was as ready to fuck her vagina as he would ever be. So, reluctantly, he pulled his tongue out-almost scraping some skin off-and, as gently as possible, removed his cock from her mouth, again with difficulty. It was as if her two orifices were -lined with adhesive; they simply did not want to let go of him, and that was that.
On her part, this was true. He was so unlike any other men she had ever known. He was, to her, just a nice guy and, after all the hustling she had had in her 23 years of life and two years of flying, that was more than enough reason for her to become interested in him. Besides, she had seduced him for a lark, on a bet from one of her co-workers. Yet, she had enjoyed her sojourn in the washroom with him, he was good in the sex department, and she sort of liked his serious looks, especially with the mustache, and his meticulous attention to details. He was intelligent, too, she thought ... I do not care if he is married ... I want to love him anyway ... and I want him to love me ... the marriage we can worry about later ... mafiana....
Mahana, however, does not necessarily mean that everything in Mexico is put off for the morrow.
Right now, Ben had moved Maria's position so that she was parallel to him, head to head and foot to foot. He climbed on top of her in the traditional position, pausing only to bite her on the breasts as he settled on top of her. She winced, thinking, Oh God in Heaven, is machismo getting to him too ... Oh I hope not ... please dear God do not let him become as rough and rotten as the rest.
But he had not bitten her hard; just a few "love" bites, that was all.
He dropped his cock on top of her vagina. Eagerly, she moved his member inside. It slid in as if greased, for her vagina walls were wet as the water in Acapulco Bay. Ben did not have the world's biggest cock; far from it. Yet, even though her vagina was also far from the world's smallest, they both felt that the fit was snug and full. She could feel the tip of his cock at the edge of her womb, and he could feel her vaginal walls enclosing it like a finger in a tight glove.
Moving rhythmically, he turned on his cock power, and her vagina responded. Her breasts burned concave holes in his chest, her lips fastened upon his, her arms grasped his shoulders ... and he humped and pumped her, feeling his cock and her vagina coalescing together.
His sperm was screaming for release, his balls bursting. From her throat, he could faintly hear her moans of delight, as his cock drove deeper and deeper inside her vagina. They were both perspiring, even in the air-conditioning, and stuck to-each other's bodies in an adhesive of sweat, as he drove into her....
She was coming now, her body racked by the sporadic and spastic rhythms of orgasm ... her back arched, cat-like, and her fingernails dug deeply into the flesh on his back ... she silently screamed for his release, to relieve her orgasm, to fulfill her womanly function.
He could hold it no longer. He came.
His sperm roared out of his cock like racing cars at the Grand Prix. With the impact of an automatic pistol recoiling, his sperm slammed into her vagina, and she received them as a thirsty person receives a large glass of refreshing liquid. She swallowed his cock ... his sperm ... his body ... himself ... more and more and more.
For him, this was one of the best fucks he had ever had. He was amazed at the completeness, the oneness she gave him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, even in the two years of his marriage. This was one hell of a woman, he told himself ... I mean, is ... let Angela fuck around with Lopez and Sanchez and the whole fucking Mexican Army if she wants to ... I'll fuck Maria instead ... I'll fuck Maria every day and night.
But ... I'm still married to Angela. When will this madness ... this Mexican madness ... end?