When I first saw the two women, I did not once stop to think that their ages were past teenage-hood.
They appeared much like such young girls on holiday, a naughty pair of best friends running off together on a little escape away from home and living off their parents’ credit cards, unbeknownst to those hapless mummies and daddies.
We have plenty of time people-gazing, Maureen and I, as we are after all past a certain age and aside from burying our noses in our respective mobile phones or paperback thrillers, conversation between the two of us has very much dried up and has been so for a good many years.
It's not to say that we have an unhappy marriage – indeed, ours is a fulfilling one of five decades strong and our devotion to each other is unshakable. But, as the children leave to create their own lives and old age looms upon us, the sense of utter familiarity with the other increases and by no means are we exempted from the well-worn-shoe adage. Struggle as we might in the past against the boredom of being with each other, we have long survived all manner of disagreeable misunderstandings and we are now in a comfortable stalemate of “agreeing to disagree”, as the deplorable saying goes.
Our days are now spent in comfortable silence and while we choose to be in close physical proximity with each other, we allow our minds to wander elsewhere. On occasion, we land upon a shared interest and excitement stirs up between us to quicken our blood and we begin to once again engage in discussion, discourse and observation on the matter.
Oh yes! Not everything is completely dead between us, let it be said.
Which is how, indeed, we found ourselves coming alive the moment our new holiday neighbours checked into their villa, next to ours. We were seated at our shady veranda that early morning – our old bodies slathered to the hilt with SPF and our snow-coloured heads jammed with sensible hats though it was only 9 o’clock, our eyes invariably glued on our phones! – when the new ones trotted by with bellboy in tow, smartly handling the colourful luggage.
The girls – women, I should say – were obviously freshly landed on the island as the unmistakable look of long air travel clung about them, yet they were gay and wished us a hearty good afternoon, with plenty of hand-waving as if they knew us already. Maureen and I heartily wished them back and our senses were immediately piqued though at the time, we didn’t share our feelings about this just yet. But we knew what the other felt.
Maureen and I have stayed at the Balinese villa for over a week and after the initial excitement of coming to a far-flung destination lost its exotic appeal, we once again fell back into the familiar groove of comfortable silence from day to night.
Thus, I must admit that the arrival of the new occupants of the next-door villa stirred an awakening in us old geezers!
As the morning was about to pass to noon, the sun proved much too strong for Maureen and me; therefore we decided to change locations and sit by the swimming pool in the resort’s comfortable lawn chairs to continue peering mindlessly into our phones as we waited for lunch.
The shade was delicious by the pool, even on the hottest afternoons. The area was surrounded with an abundance of foliage and flowering trees that were carefully tended to provide cool, ample shade to sitters such as us, as well as anyone who cared for a dip or a swim. The pool itself was a sparkling, vivid blue from the cerulean tiling, contrasting in a fantastic fashion against the frangipani and hibiscus flowers that naturally fell from the trees and shrubs nearby into the calm water. At a close distance lay the beautiful, private beach of Sanur, and closer still was the resort’s restaurant, a few steps away from where we were sitting. Gentle Balinese music that soothed and refreshed the soul piped unobtrusively from where we sat.
The girls – ladies! – finally made an appearance, very late. It was close to four o’clock and they must have had a very good rest-up, I surmised, as this time they appeared much more fresh-faced. They were now dressed in swimwear and no doubt, Maureen observed in a whisper, ready for the beach. We watched them saunter towards the hot gold sands of Sanur.
Instead, and to our secret delight, the twosome made a U-turn and decided on the swimming pool. As we looked busily on our phones, we furtively observed the two new guests.
They were physically different as night and day. One was short-haired – almost boyishly so – yet she was an absolute beauty between the two. Her facial features were delicately soft, almost doll-like, and her figure was utterly smashing. I sincerely hoped that no one, much less poor Maureen, noticed that I practically ogled over the beautiful hourglass figure, try as the owner might to cover it up with a charming menswear-like shirt and sarong in white.
The other friend, however, was as thin as a rake but I could see with some satisfaction that she, too, possessed some curves – mildly so – at just the right places. Her facial features were sharp and angular, and her wild, wavy hair almost reached to her bottom. She was dressed in floral pinks, with a revealing bikini beneath sporting a similar hue.
“What a pair! How did they manage to be friends?” I said under my breath we watched our new neighbours cavort in the pool. Short-hair was an absolute ball of energy, taking up the entire length with energetic, splashy laps and the occasional shout, whereas Wild-curls was demurely paddling by the shallow end of the pool. Maureen giggled gently at my comment.
As they eventually stepped out of the pool and wrapped blue-striped towels about their torsos, Wild-curls noticed us and once again gave a happy wave and a smile. Maureen and I returned the gesture. Short-hair gave us a little half smile and a flap of arm at our direction while speaking in a low voice to her friend in a foreign language I could not discern. They swiftly made a beeline to sit closer to us on the lawn chairs beside us, and Short-hair proceed to ask us how our holiday has been so far as she noticed how comfortable we appeared.
Maureen and I laughed, genuinely touched. Not one soul in the resort had truly noticed us at all, as being old people comes with being uninteresting to others. How wonderful it felt to be seen by these vibrant creatures! I felt our perfunctory courtesy slip away and we felt more like ourselves for the first time. Maureen positively glowed from the attention, I noticed, and for that alone I felt a gladdening in my heart.
I replied warmly to mention that the food we had was excellent yesterday evening. Short-hair, now fully engaged and an apparent foodie, began to ask amusing questions that revealed an offbeat intelligence that was appealing as it felt so familiar to Maureen and me. Wild-curls sat next to her with an arm flung across her friend’s shoulders as we began to speak.
The conversation was lively and we spoke at length, jumping to more and more topics for several long minutes. Our phones were abandoned, forgotten. The twosome could not get enough of us and stated time and time again, in many different ways, how lovely it must be for us to enjoy our golden years together.
I must confess that this was one of the most invigorating chats I have had the pleasure to engage in a long time. Wild-curls herself possessed a dry sense of humour that complemented perfectly with Short-hair’s natural jibes and it didn’t take Maureen and me long to discern that these were not idle, rich teenage brats on the run but hard-working professional (albeit deceptively youthful-looking) women who decided to take a pause from their lives to rest and rejuvenate.
We parted ways as the late afternoon shifted to evening hours, with promises to catch up for dinner. Maureen and I left to head for our villas with the usual slow gait that old bodies possess, but this belied the hot blaze in our souls that warmed us to our very core. We even held hands as we sauntered through the winding stone-paved walkway to our villa, with the girls – women! – on tow behind us, chatting animatedly in their foreign tongue.
"Well, well," I remarked softly to Maureen when we were in the privacy of our room. "The magic of Bali has finally found us."
"What a lovely pair!" Maureen exclaimed. "I daresay that I can’t wait for dinner now. Shall we invite them to sit with us?"
"We shall," I agreed, and I even kissed Maureen’s lips, to both our surprise. "I think I’ll nip over to their villa and ask them now," I said, as I headed back to the door.
"Yes, do," she replied pertly. "Ask them if they may even want us to match colours with them!"
I laughed out loud at Maureen’s vivaciousness, feelings decades of years falling off me.
Each villa in the resort boasts a large private garden protected by tall hedges as a form of privacy from prying eyes. As I was about to turn to enter our neighbour’s private garden, I heard a noise that I instantly recognised, and I hesitated.
It was a light panting, so light, but my wise old ears could very well note the heavy passion that thrummed in each breath. I quietly padded through their garden – don’t be surprised how sneaky us old folks can be! – and was rewarded by the most unexpected sight.
As I mentioned, each villa possessed an expansive garden. I failed to describe all manner of gargoyles, statues and little tiki-style decorations that dotted the area, and the crowning glory of the garden is a covered, open-aired wood gazebo that would comfortably fit a party of two – in fact, the gazebo is replenished daily with all manner of amenities one would require for comfort. A clean reed mat, two padded floor-level loungers, a side table with flowers and bottled water, a fan and lighting overhead.
The two friends, I saw, were sprawled in their gazebo. Even though the evening dusk was just upon us, I could still easily fathom that Short-hair, with her sarong and swimsuit fabric hastily pushed to the side, was lying down and had her legs spread open. Her beautiful eyes were shut and her shapely mouth a little O as Wild-curls was on top of her, or rather between her legs, eating her as her own little ass was in the air, facing me with a tiny strip of pink bikini panty that barely covered her own modesty.
Wild-curls was taking delicious, long laps of a flat tongue, from ass to clit, as Short-hair moved rhythmically. I quivered, wondering what should I do. I was violating such an intimate moment – and I should have known from the beginning, I thought wryly with a smile. Friends indeed!
I was about to turn around to hurriedly leave but somehow, I decided not to. Instinctively, I knew and they knew that I bore witness to their fucking and it was consented, if I wished to continue watching.
How did I know? Neither one of them looked at me, truth be told, but Short-hair was aware of my presence from the very moment that I arrived, simply from the change of her body language and the quickening of her breaths. I heard her speak once again to Wild-curls in the language that they shared, and though the oral ministrations paused for a second, it then continued once again in a burst of tiny violence that sent Short-hair almost crying out in pleasure.
I decided to stay and my poor eyes did their best to adjust to the dark. My skin burst with prickles all over and, amazingly enough, I felt the wetness come between my legs as the twosome quickly disrobed each other and, in that natural state, became more excited for each other.
What beautiful bodies, I thought wonderingly, as they pressed against each other, limbs intertwined in a nude, full-body embrace. Their physiques were entirely different, to be sure, but were so in tune with each other’s that they moved in perfect unison, it seemed to me. Did Maureen and I have this kind of love once?
Dormant, old thoughts of the past possessed me as I watched, transfixed, as my neighbours’ kisses grew more intense, with many a-bitings here, there and everywhere. Breasts exposed, they both lavished upon each other’s nipples, sucking and licking with such building intensity that in a very short moment later they once again resumed the position that they had before, of Wild-curls finishing off Short-hair.
My failing eyesight could not see in minute detail this splendour just a few steps away from me, yet my soul felt the gentle movements of Wild-curls’ fingers prying Short-hair’s hood wide open to expose the little pink nub and sucking hard on the organ, interspersed with lavish tonguing from the asshole back to teasing of the clit.
Tongue was then pressed very hard with fast, tiny circling motions against the uncovered stiff clit, insistently and with mounting pressure. Wetness ran down between the legs and with the same lubrication, a finger was gently inserted into the ass. Short-hair was close, I surmised.
As she suddenly came, she hardly made a sound except for the continued panting. It was as if in their deep passion, they were still aware of their surroundings and wished to not make a sound, even as they knew they were being watched. The silence of their coupling was in such erotic contrast to Short-hair moving aggressively against Wild-curls’ cupped palm, bucking in time with her orgasm as it pulsated, ebbed and flowed.
Memories of Maureen and I came flooding back. Those long passionate days and nights we shared in the early years of our marriage. Where have they gone? I thought. How did we forget? Could we still?
With the same aggression, Short-hair pulled Wild-curls to sit on top of her and she slipped a finger into Wild-curls’ aching, needy pussy, a slow finger-fucking into the welcome wetness that Wild-curls reciprocated by moving up and down, legs spread against Short-hair’s shapely hips.
Two fingers, then three, slipped into Wild-curls’ wetness. Short-hair was now fully fucking her in short, deep strokes and Wild-curls was arching against the pleasure as the rhythmic up-and-down increased, her long hair tumbling behind her. Wild-curls was clasping onto Short-hair’s breasts, squeezing the nipples hard as she rode, rode, rode her. All of this, I thought, so much pleasure in utter silence, save for heavy breaths and tiny little cries.
I did not know them; I could not even see them as it was fully dark now, but I felt them. The way of their own kind of sex, how remarkably similar Maureen and I were, once upon a time, to them! I thought. For this was not a loving moment of sharing of the bodies, but an animalistic ritual of soul-fusing that I had long, long forgotten.
Short-hair sat up and held Wild-curls' body fast against her with one strong arm, now taking full control of her partner’s slim body. Short-hair bit Wild-curls on the neck hard as the gyrations halted; the fingers were now barely flashing in and out but were instead making deep movements inside of Wild-curls, making her shudder as she came to her orgasm.
Wild-curls collapsed on top of Short-hair with her fingers still deep inside. They were now sprawled, spent, shaking uncontrollably. Once more a tangle of limbs in the gazebo, but now it was utterly dark. I quietly walked away, not wanting to see any more.
Let them be, I thought. I’ve seen more than I should. I’m thankful, but that’s enough now. Back to Maureen.
I’ve long thought that I knew what lay in front of me and Maureen – more days of silence together, more looking at the phone, more waiting for excitement to come to us. I thought I knew everything, I mused, in my old wisdom. How much I didn’t know!
My steps were energetic and I arrived at my villa’s door in no time. Maureen must be wondering where the hell I had been.
I wondered for a little moment. My hand was on the door, but I was still.
Should I tell her? Should we discuss this, like everything nowadays?
Or should I remind her, of what we once had? What we still have, I reminded myself, my arousal still apparent.
Shall I remind her?
