Chapter Three: My English Rose (Part Two)

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 18, 2006

Les and I amble to the disco’s bar with that relaxed gait people only seem to have after getting thoroughly laid. Leslie’s magnificent hips sway even more that usual; with me it’s all ‘howdy pardner’ and imaginary six-shooters. I order a drink and then, pivoting against the bar, I catch an eyeful of the English girl’s backside. Her white dress, designed for either a midget or a toddler, exposes a blinding three-quarter moon. I cannot help but point. “Hey Les,” I stage whisper, “it’s the girl with the ass.”

Leslie pushes past me and moments later the women are locked in each other’s arms. I sidle up to them and take the English girl’s hand, kissing her dainty fingers while maintaining eye contact. “I never caught your name, dear.”

“I’m Karen.” She nods toward the friendly looking young man standing nearby. “And he’s David”

David looks at me and shrugs. It’s the gesture of a man who’s hopelessly in love with a sexually adventurous woman—and it’s a gesture I know all too well. He and I laugh and fall into an easy rapport. I’m surprised to learn he’s two years older than I am.

The two Bermudans, who have been speaking with our new friends, are now standing around with their proverbial dicks in their hands. They soon drift away and I decide it’s just as well: I’ve begun to get the feeling they’re competing with us and I’d just as soon leave that shit back in New York where it belongs. The thumping music is beginning to annoy me. “Shall we blow this joint and have a seat downstairs?”

No one objects. Shortly thereafter the four of us lie ensconced upon the couches directly opposite the sliding glass doors to the lobby. Leslie and Karen lock lips while David holds forth on the varieties and vicissitudes of dogging, the swinging phenomenon that’s swept the UK in recent years. “Ever heard of it?” he asks me.

“Sure. But, um, you just go to a car park and watch other people doing it?”

“Some people take it farther than that. They’ll be doin’ it in their car, yeah? And some bloke’ll come up and stick his cock through the open window.”

“Like this?” I stand up and walk over to Les, whipping my cock out. Leslie laffs and takes me into her yap. Karen watches and purrs.

“Yeah Lex,” says David, “like that.”

I’m hot in my shoes and socks and pants so I tell everyone I’m leaving to “change into something more comfortable.” In the room I remove everything below the waist and pull on my grey thong. I unbutton my white dress shirt but decide to leave it on. It turns out to be a smooth move. When I return the petite blonde is all smiles. “Oh that’s hot Lex!” she says, lightly raking her fingertips over my banana holster.

The Texas couple comes by and sits with us. He’s a ruggedly handsome older gentleman who speaks in a pleasing baritone and looks as if he ought to be out raising money for the Republicans. She’s a tall, striking redhead who has a small chain running from her clitoris to her navel (sadly, her body jewelry is hidden away now beneath a cocktail dress). A former stripper and dominatrix, the redhead radiates a devastating confidence. The six of us shoot the shit for awhile but it’s understood that Les and I will be pairing off with the English couple—in paradise I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for how much can be said without saying anything.

When the Texas twosome bid us good night Leslie and Karen remove their clothes and jump into a torrid soixante-neuf, my fiancée assuming the dominant position. The girls’ contrasting skin tones are lovely in the muted light of the courtyard. The little couch is ill-suited to the task yet somehow this only makes the whole scenario seem naughtier to me. David, who’s more thoughtful than I, proposes a change of venue.

The nymphs disentangle. Karen lights a fag, lifting it to her lips, taking a puff and then exhaling pensively. “I think the men should decide where we go next, right Leslie?”

“Right,” Les responds, nuzzling up to Karen and smiling at me.

“Shall we go to the beach, then?” suggests David.

I nod enthusiastically, taking Karen’s hand. “Sounds good to me. Haven’t done it there yet.”

I stop by the bar and order everyone a round of drinks for the road, then walk by the bed we were on just a couple hours ago, finding a narrow stone path and pressing forward into the darkness toward the palapa beds that line the beachfront. My shirt becomes a sail billowing in the refreshing sea breeze. The sky is messy with stars and even the faintest of the constellations are plainly visible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more comfortable in my own skin.

There’s enough light here for me to see what I’m doing, but to anyone walking along the beach the four of us are probably just a single writhing mass. The English stripper lies upon the mattress with her legs apart and when I kneel before her my knees sink into the cool sand. Her skin smells of baby powder. When I pitch forward between her thighs I learn the observation I made at the striptease contest was right on: Karen’s pretty, fleshy cunt is indeed made of sunshine and rainbows. “I want to lick you everywhere,” I growl.

“I want to be licked everywhere,” she responds.

I clamber atop the mattress and straddle Karen’s face, the thing between my legs twitching above her smiling mouth. I shudder when she extends her tongue, teasing me a bit before finally engulfing me. I dive between her legs once more; this time, however, I suck at her pink folds and then employ my tongue as a dildo. Her gentle hands caress my ass and balls and I close my eyes, trying to empty my mind. When I finally snap out of my dissociative state I have to tear myself away from Karen’s creamy center, rising from the mattress and popping the question: “Shall I get the condoms?”

David’s cock exits Leslie’s mouth with a wet pop. “Why not?” she says cheerily.

I’m sure no one’s ever run so fast with a hardon. When I get back to the room, breathless, I realize I have no idea where I stowed the rubbers, so I begin to ransack the place in a blind panic. Normal people call upon divine assistance when, for example, their lives are in jeopardy, but not me: the few times I’ve thought it might be lights out for me I’ve faced the possibility of my impending death with equanimity. This, however, is serious business. I’m yelling now as my panic escalates: “Oh. Fuck. OH! FUCK! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING CONDOMS? OH GOD JUST LEMME FIND THE CONDOMS I’LL NEVER ASK YOU FOR ANYTHING EVER AGAIN EXCEPT FOR MAYBE WORLD PEACE I FUCKIN’ PINKIE SWEAR!” Anyone overhearing this must think I’ve gone quite mad.

Just as I’m about to run door-to-door asking for condoms—and I’d do it too, for there is no such thing as shame in the Garden of Eden—I remember to check my trouser pockets. Of course the rubbers are in there, waiting for me (dare I say mocking me?). I grab ‘em and rush back to the beach, laughing at my folly. Little blonde Karen greets me with a hungry look in her eyes. I toss a couple condoms in Leslie and David’s direction while Karen fluffs me, looking into my face and grinning like a good porn star. I absentmindedly brush some hair away from her temple. “Just in case it’s not already obvious,” I whisper, “I’m having a great time with you.”

Karen pushes me to the mattress and forces her tongue into my mouth as I roll the latex over my erection. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” she says. I rise and stand beside the palapa bed, my toes dug into the sand for leverage, and lay the girl upon her back with her knees up by her shoulders. Her pristine, shaven little cunt is so tight that I have to pull out for a moment and slather her with saliva before sliding into her again. She won’t stop beaming at me. I kiss the soles of her small feet, one by one, and she giggles. I flip Karen over and have a go at her from behind. I stroke her back. I grasp her beautiful ass cheeks. I reach around and cup her breasts. I uncouple now and then to reprise the tongue fucking. “How are you doing?” I ask her.

“How do you think I’m doing?”

“Because I could probably do this all night.”

“You’re not the only one.”

I push deeper into Karen, my left hand pressed against the small of her back, my right smacking her shapely buttocks, leaving behind rosy eruptions where the fingers impact her supple flesh. She blindly reaches for my thighs, pressing my legs against hers, urging me to go deeper, faster, harder. When I steal a glance to my right I notice David propped above Leslie, who’s moaning in her usual cat-like way. I reach out and squeeze my fiancée’s hand.

Karen lies pinned beneath me. She throws her head back over the edge of the mattress and I cup her neck in my palm so she can gaze up at the stars in comfort. The white noise of the surf, the barely spoken oh’s escaping Karen’s mouth, the feel of her porcelain body writhing against mine, the warmth of her insides, the distant sounds of my fiancée’s coupling—these sensations are my universe and for the time being I’ll let myself believe I can be lost in them forever. We change positions when inspiration strikes either one of us, and each time we do so I take a peek at Les and David. An odd question comes to mind: “Do you think I look cool in this shirt?”

Karen looks up at me and laughs as her pussy capitulates to me over and over again. “You’d look cool in anything.”

When I come I’m having her the way I prefer: with her pale ass in the air, bucking against me, her legs quivering and her quim clenching. I call out to my maker (giving thanks for the condoms, perhaps) and rise to my toes, my spine straightening against the inner tide, and only reluctantly do I let out shuddering breaths and settle into the sand again, the last of Karen’s spasms finally pushing me out of her. “Wow,” is all Karen says. Leslie and David, who I now realize finished some minutes ago, have been watching us in silence.

The four of us walk to the water’s edge. Karen holds my waist and asks me whether I know any constellations, so I point toward the night sky and show her the stars that constitute Orion. Down here the dim arc of the hunter’s bow is as clear as a Hubble telescope image.

As I gather my things I notice I’ve lost my spent rubber in the sand. “That’s okay,” Les assures me. “Just leave it for the Mexicans.”

“That was a terrible thing to say,” I respond earnestly, but then the subtext of her joke hits me and I can’t stop laughing.

We bury the night at the courtyard bar, sipping margaritas until the palest light begins to creep in from the East. “I thought you and Leslie were hot,” Karen’s telling me, “but you were always surrounded by people so I just thought—”

“—we had better things to do than talk to you.”

“Right.”

“God, isn’t that funny? After the striptease contest I was thinking the same thing about you.”

More: The Mexico Diaries | Travel | Mexico | Cancun | Desire Resort | Swingers | Foursome | Voyeurism

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