I settled into a routine at work. Each morning I’d bike the six or seven miles from my parents’ home to the beach where we were renovating condo and hotel landscaping. The winter’s three-day cold snap had played havoc with the palms and bougainvillea.

By ten or eleven, I’d remove my dripping-wet sleeveless tee and work on my tan. I knew I was looking good and I knew my sweating, ripped chest was attracting some attention from the opposite sex.

The supply and variety of poon seemed endless, particularly at the resort hotels. Tourists seeking the coveted lounge chairs near the pools would start claiming their territory around eight, the same time we’d start our day. Consistently the first family member would be the mom. They all seemed the same: sporting floppy straw hats and oversized shades, wearing mid-thigh gauzy coverups and lugging two or sometimes even three canvas totes.

I felt kind of sorry for these indentured servants. Claiming the chaises was just the beginning of the morning ritual. They’d fuss over the angle of the loungers with respect to the morning sun, then search for a table to unload their supply of SPF products. Lastly, these soccer moms would look around for a cabana boy, presumably hoping for beach towels.

One morning I was already on hands and knees in a poolside planting bed, pulling out dead crotons; when a forty or fifty-something MILF selected two lounges within spitting distance of my head. I looked up just as she was bending over the closest chaise. Any closer and my nose would have been in her crack. As it was, her crack was barely covered by a red butt-floss-style thong that ran forward, splitting her labia majora.

I guess I was spellbound, as initially I didn’t hear an “uh-hum” when she presumably looked down at my pervy face. The trance was broken, however, when she added, “Like what you see?”

I’m not sure there’s a correct answer to that question. In fact, the question reminded me of “Have you stopped beating your wife?”

She must have liked my stuttering, as she smiled, leaned down and whispered, “You’re cute, red face and all.” I wasn’t quite sure whether the “all” included the raging boner that was trying to escape my cargos.

My dream MILF rotated, leaned forward and extended her right hand. “I’m Barb.” I couldn’t help, but look at the straining bikini top trying to restrain, by my eye, 36 DDs. She giggled. “Not getting much lately?”

“Not getting any.” I stammered, as I stood and shook her hand. “My name’s Tate.”

“I’m pretty sure I can help you with that, Tate. My husband’s playing golf this afternoon. Meet me at the poolside bar around four for the fuck of your life.” Barb pointed to Tahiti Tom’s, the thatched bar nestled at the entrance path to the beach. She rotated, slipped off her coverup and bent forward again to smooth her lounge chair towel. She had that cheerleader hourglass shape with a little extra padding in all the right places. I wanted to grab her pelvis and doggy her on the spot. Instead, I walked away and resumed my work.

The crew moved to the opposite end of the property after our lunch break. We had a pretty clear view of the beach and the corner of the adjacent hotel’s pool. There was plenty of talent of all ages; but the nearby hotel, being an adults-only club, seemed to have only couples. It was creepy, but I had the feeling the watchdog husbands were scoping me, as I scoped their better halves’ tits and asses.

Three-thirty, quitting time, finally rolled around. As we trudged back around the pool toward the maintenance exit, we must have looked like convicts in a chain gang. I didn’t really care. I knew the MILFs and GILFs were probably undressing my tanned and toned body with their eyes behind their oversized sunglasses. I did care, however, about Barb’s empty chaise.

I stood with one leg on each side of my bike and fastened the chin strap on my helmet. The rest of the crew piled into an older F-150, waved and headed back to the other side of the tracks. I thought about following, but decided “What the hell, what did I have to lose by blowing half an hour?”

I relocked the bike and helmet and slipped my sleeveless tee back over my head. It was still a tad wet and clearly smelled like hard work. I knew security might toss me if I looked like the help (or worse) and tried to re-enter the resort by myself.

I decided to grab a beer before I headed to Tahiti Tom’s. Next door was a Holiday Inn with a Docker’s poolside bar. I knew they did a big business of walk-in beach traffic and cash was king. They’d think nothing of my somewhat rough appearance. Within two minutes I had a Modelo in my right hand, having walked out to the street and then cutting through their parking lot.

I pretty much chugged my Especial and ordered a second. As I sipped it, a twenty-something sat down on the adjacent bar stool. She ordered a pina colada and a basket of fries. She had a deep southern accent to the point the latter came out as “frazz”.

Without thinking, I rotated toward her and queried, “Alabama?”

“No, Mississippi; but that’s so sweet of you to notice. I’m Trish.”

I stuck my right hand out. “My name’s Tate.” She offered her tiny hand. I couldn’t help but notice the one or two-carat rock in her wedding ring.

Trish saw me eye-balling her ring, flushed and got flustered. “You must think I’m a floozy, sitting at a bar and drinking alone. My husband’s taking a paddle board lesson.”

“We’ll, you’re not drinking alone, obviously and I don’t know you well enough to think you’re that kind of girl. Please excuse me, but I’d like to find out.”

I prepared for a slap or a face full of coconut juice. Against all odds, she answered, “My husband is going to the dog track tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be here around four, if you want to buy a girl a drink.”

Before I could answer, she grabbed her drink, slipped off the stool and walked away. The view was some kinda good. She had a full head of auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked to be around five-two and couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-five pounds. I instantly wanted to fuck her back to the Stone Age.

I took a look at my phone. Crap, it was four-fifteen. I inhaled the last few ounces of the cerveza, settled the tab and hustled to the opposite corner of the property. There sitting by herself was Barb, sipping what looked like a margarita.

As I approached, Barb patted the stool beside her. To her credit, she didn’t say I was late, look at her phone or mention my work clothes. She just smiled, licked a little salt off her upper lip and suggested I order a drink.

I sat and rotated toward her to facilitate face-to-face conversation. This put her left thigh between mine and my left thigh between hers. Within minutes her left hand was on my thigh; not just anywhere, but along the inner aspect near the hem of my shorts.

Barb leaned in close to whisper just how happy she was that I’d decided to take her up on the offer. As she did, she slipped her fingers into the leg of my cargos, creeping up my sweaty thigh like a tarantula. I felt her digits surround my hardening man-meat. Truth be told, I had had a semi-boner since leaving the Holiday Inn. Barb seemed to know her way around cocks. After only two or three slow pumps, I had swollen to my full length of seven and a half inches (eight “internet” inches, but who’s counting). I looked around and thankfully, no one was paying us any attention.

Barb leaned back but kept her fingers circled around my Louisville Slugger. She bit her bottom lip and teased, “You like that. Don’t you, big boy?”

Well, what could I say? “Damn straight, I do. If you keep it up, I’m gonna embarrass myself!” I could already feel precum oozing onto my thigh.

Barb released Old Dan and slid her hand out of my shorts. As she started to grasp her margarita, she paused, looked at her fingertips and smiled. She licked what could only be glistening precum. The mind plays tricks. What came to mind was the act and sound of sucking smoky BBQ sauce from my hands after finishing a rack of ribs.

Barb took the reins. To be honest, I liked her running the show and making me her boy toy. I wanted her to force me to do things to her that would shock my mom and priest. She stood, asked for go-cups and took my hand. There was no turning back.

We walked across the pool deck and onto the terrace of one of the suites. Barb used her room card to unlock the sliding door and gestured in like a bellboy. I was dumbstruck by the opulence.

Barb gave me a quick tour, then suggested we bathe together. I didn’t know about her, but I was definitely in need of a shower. I smelled like man-sweat, mulch and precum. I envisioned a cramped bathtub and shower curtain. Instead, the bathroom was at least ten feet by thirty feet and was marble, marble everywhere. The shower was walk-in with neither door nor curtain. Before I could take in the intricacies of the dozen jets, Barb was clawing at my clothes.

I was all in. As she ripped my tee over my head and fumbled with my belt and shorts, I was unzipping her paisley-colored shift. At some point in the day, she had removed her bra top and thong bottom.

Her body was beautiful; tan from head to toe except for three small triangles of milky whiteness from bikini coverage. The lowest triangle was adorned with a full-length bush with her carpet matching the curtains. It had been expertly corralled into a tasteful Brazilian. I knew her camel toes had also been shaved from our earlier meeting.

I kicked my shorts away from my feet, stepped back and further surveyed this flaming hot MILF: Blonde hair in a flipped bob, pouty lips with peach-colored gloss (that matched her nail and toenail polish), freckles across her nose and freckles extending down between her heavy, pendulous knockers. Her large diameter areolae were shrunken and pebbled from, I surmised, air conditioning and arousal. This made her nipples erect like fun-sized Tootsie Rolls.

I wanted to suck those candies on the spot. Barb had other plans. She placed her hands on my chest. “Not so fast, Cowboy. Let me warm up the shower; plus I’ve got to pee.”

The two beers, one margarita and the sound of the running water brought on a pee-mergency. Luckily the en suite had his and hers water closets.

I stepped out after finishing my business (not that easy with a semi-boner). Barb was already standing under the steaming jets. She beckoned with a curling and uncurling index finger.

No sooner than I entered the shower, Barb again took the lead. She pulled me chest to chest and reached up with her hands on each side of my head, bringing our lips together in an open mouth passionate kiss. It was intoxicating. I felt almost dizzy; likely from a combination of the alcohol, the hot water and Barb’s sensuality.

Barb broke our kiss but leaned her face up to expose her neck. I gave her what she signaled. I licked down and planted kisses from her jaw to her collarbone. Simultaneously, Barb ran her hands down my back to my buttocks, kneading each like loaves of sourdough. With her left hand, she reached around my pelvis and adjusted my love muscle, positioning it fully vertical between our bellies. Barb replaced her hand on my ass and forcefully pulled us into a grinding position. “You need to cum, don’t you?” she teased.

I wasn’t in an ideal situation to verbally deny that, as I was thinking about anything and everything (the Marlin’s score, dusty luggage, Delco batteries, roadkill, etc.) to avoid just that; namely, losing control and shooting a half dozen ropes of hot jizz onto our bellies.

Barb must have sensed I was close to premature ejaculation and spoiling the party, as she broke our clench. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes or so shampooing and washing each other with sandalwood gel products; soaping, then rinsing, then kissing, then licking every square inch of each others’ bodies. Barb’s erogenous zones were clearly her milk chocolate-colored nipples and her man-in-the-boat. Her clit was amazingly large. It felt like the eraser end of a number two pencil. It seemed to stiffen and elongate with stimulation. My zones were anywhere and everywhere Barb soaped or rubbed or bit. I wasn’t picky.

We toweled each other off and headed to the bedroom, Barb holding my hand and leading the way. The duvet was already turned down, exposing snow-white linens; the quality of which I’d never seen. I expected her to hop into bed and prepare for me to mount her missionary style. Instead, she sat on the foot of the bed.

“Come here. I want to get a better look at my treat.”

“Treat?” But who was I to complain? I walked the two steps toward her, as she spread her legs. I stood there somewhat awkwardly, Barb simply surveying her toy. After this pregnant pause, she began running her fingernails over my pecs and hardened BB-sized nipples. She locked her eyes on mine. Barb licked, then again bit her lower lip. Shit, she was hot!

Barb slid her nails down my six-pack and onto the dorsum of my meat, seemingly teasing it. Abruptly, she circled the base of my cock and balls with her left thumb and index finger, much like an overly snug cock ring. With her right fist, she began vigorously pumping my now purple and veiny organ.

Barb saw me take a deep breath. She smiled and released slightly the pressure on my screaming cajones.

Without missing a beat (pun intended), Barb dipped her head and inhaled nearly half of my kielbasa. She began making slurping and satisfying “mm, mm” noises, as she jacked my cock both up and down; but also, with rotation. She gagged once or twice as she tried to pull more of my somewhat over seven inches into her hungry mouth.

“I’m gonna cum, if you keep that up,” I warned. Barb stopped her sucking and jacking, but tightened her grip on the base of my shaft and balls. That did the trick.

Barb released her vice grip and ordered me to get down on my knees. Without uttering a further word, she pulled my face down and onto her furry snatch.

I knew what she wanted and needed, but I took a breather, so to speak. I buried my nose in her curly blonde bush and took in the pleasing aroma of the lingering sandalwood shower gel. There was additionally the unmistakable scent of a woman. This triggered an endorphin storm somewhere in the depths of my brain. Almost involuntarily, I parted my lips and extended the tip of my tongue to the very end of Barb’s girl cock. This was met with increased pressure on the back of my head and an “oh yes, oh yes, Cowboy.”

I used my left index and long fingers to form a spreading V to fully move her major and minor labia aside, so that I had unfettered access to her clit. I added my saliva to her arousal fluids, then licked up one side of her girl dick and down the other side. I hesitated at the love button, licked it in small circles, then abruptly and forcefully sucked it between my lips.

Barb instantly shuddered, let out a plea to the deities and locked my head between her thighs. I started to release her clit from my lips; but she shuddered again, begging me to avoid further movement and stimulation of her sex organ. We stayed locked in this position for what seemed like an eternity. She finally relaxed her death grip on my head, allowing me to take a deep breath. I wiped the girl juice from my face with the back of my hand. As I crawled up onto the bed for what I assumed would be a timeout, she uttered, “Thanks, Clint. I needed that.”