That would end soon. Ambrose had only a few more days of talking to people (that’s what he did) before he could relax properly too. Em knew he wanted to relax and that it would be nice when he did, when they went on to Maui. She planned to fuck his brains out then. However, relaxing wasn’t on his list of available options at the present and Em had been entertaining herself.
She had awarded herself some holiday treats. First she had a nice haircut and gone streaky blonde. It was a girl thing, she told herself. Second, she had taken the plunge and had a full Brazilian. She wondered whether Ambrose would like this. “If he ever finds time to see it,” she told herself a little sourly.
She had also had sex and a secret massage that she probably wouldn’t be telling Ambrose about, at all, or at least not immediately.
In their ten days in Hawaii so far she had tried out a few of the bars along the beach at Waikiki and avoided several pick-up attempts. She had shopped and acquired part of a whole new wardrobe. American clothing was excellent, though she found the underwear a little ho-hum. Her preferred bras and panties came from more forward-thinking places that understood the true meaning of the word scanty.
They had been in Honolulu for the full ten days. Well, Ambrose had. Em had taken a two-night trip to Kawaii a few days before and stayed at a beach-side multi-star hotel. She had enjoyed the playful surf which had tried several times to remove her bikini and the hot attentions of a rather nice American man who had succeeded in removing it at his first attempt.
That was before she had her Brazilian. She had been fully furred in Kawaii and it had driven the poor man mad with lust. She had rewarded him with two very hot after dinner fucks and some sizzling beach sex that was the best she’d had in a long time.
She had particularly relished being fucked naked in the surf. She didn’t think anyone had seen them but she didn’t care. She would forever remember the cool sensation of the surf on the shoreline running up her legs and into her pussy and over her bush and up to her breasts while she was coming on hot hard thrusts from a fat cock.
When she got back to Honolulu after one of those ridiculously short flights you take in the islands, she and Ambrose had dinner together. He guessed (no, he knew, he always seemed to know) that she had had sex on her two nights away.
Ambrose never asked. He left it to Em to confess if she so desired. Sometimes she did, but mostly she didn’t. This was not because of conscience; far less was it from embarrassment. It was because Ambrose firmly believed that no one had proprietary rights over anyone else’s body. He had told her once, years ago when Em was making an early small confession, that he was a sexual Marxist. Proprietorship was outlawed. It was a concept she had come to accept without much delay.
That night she didn’t tell him about Kawaii. One night, perhaps soon, she might. Instead they talked about what they would do when, in a couple of days, Ambrose’s work requirements would be over and they were going to Maui.
Em knew vaguely where it was and that it was just another ridiculously short flight away. Ambrose in contrast had the history of the place at his command. He was particularly interested in the whaling history of Lahaina and they were staying just north of there and hiring a car. Em expected lots of little lectures on whaling and other island history over some lovely lunches.
Next day Em gave some thought to extensive personal care and decided she would go blonde for a change, as far as her dark hair would let her. She would never be a real blonde of course, so that dictated a further hair experience. She would also have a full Brazilian. She’d had them before though her most preferred style was naked pussy and minimalist landing strip. She had had several men (and three women) who had hotly desired this combination.
She booked at a salon she’d seen earlier and had checked out, for two o’clock that afternoon. The haircut and blonde dye was standard. The Brazilian was an interesting experience. Newly coiffed, she had walked through to the pleasant, airy room where these proceedings took place. She got naked below the navel, as required, and waited in the comfortable reclining chair for the stylist.
There was a knock at the door and a man’s voice said, “Can I come in now?” She was about to say “No” quite loudly when the door opened and the man walked in. “I’m your stylist,” he said. Em said, “Oh,” in a surprisingly small voice. “Oh, OK then. I thought you would be a woman.” The man had laughed. “Well, I’m not, as you can see. My name’s Mike. I do most of the Brazilians here.”
Em considered this as she lay in the chair with her legs apart and her pussy (which every man who had ever seen it and many who hadn’t regarded as highly desirable) on full display. “Are you gay?” she asked. He laughed again and said, “No, I’m not.” Em said, “Oh,” again; and again in a very small voice.
“Relax,” said Mike. “Having a Brazilian done is not necessarily very pleasant, but I’ll do my best to make it easy for you.” He looked at Em, judging her character. He made the right call. He said, “With some of my clients I start with a pussy massage. Would you like that?”
Em’s pussy answered that question for her. It opened pinkly, parting her hair. Mike said, “I see that you would. That’s good.” He removed the salon robe that Em had placed loosely around her shoulders so that she was completely naked. Em said, “Oh god.” Her left hand strayed into her pussy, her right hand to her left breast.