Vacation at a resort, where nothing is left to the imagination
Chapter 1
It had been a year from hell. For nearly 12 months, I’d fought my way through corporate acquisition after acquisition, integrating one company after another into our system, merging different business cultures, on-boarding talent, and releasing “experienced” staff. A year of seeing the horrified faces of longtime associates whose financial dreams had been shattered, careers altered, and lives upended as I gave them the news that they would no longer have a job with our organization.
I’d read somewhere that in pro football, the person who was assigned to cut players during pre-season training camp was known as “The Turk.” As he lumbered down the dormitory hall, players scattered to their rooms. If The Turk knocked on your door, you knew the axe was coming down.
In the corporate world, I was The Turk.
And it sucked.
It didn’t matter that my position was secure. It didn’t matter that I was paid handsomely for my efforts. It didn’t matter that I was a shooting star in the world of mergers and acquisitions. Emotionally it was draining being The Turk.
So, after the latest round of bloodletting, I was eager to escape. I chose a new luxury resort on a not-yet-fully-developed segment of the Mexican coast near Cancun that Anita, a friend of mine, recommended through a company called Executive Travel Club. I’d never heard of the agency, but Anita assured me that once I’d experienced the agency’s offerings, I’d never travel with any other company. The location she suggested was the Estrella Resort. I’d never heard of it either, but my biggest request was to find a place where the sun was warm, the drinks were cold, and the waves could wash away the corporate blood I felt was on my hands. A place with a private beach where I could walk without being disturbed by vendors hawking trinkets, sombreros, and 5-to-15-year prison sentences masquerading as Mexican brown.
And so, after a long plane ride, I reached my room and shed my corporate armor as I pulled on my barely there bikini. With my ample cleavage grandly on display and my thong snugly secured between my butt-cheeks, I evaluated myself in the mirror. My strict gym regimen had kept me in fine form, but I was pale as a ghost. Too many office hours during the week and long work weekends basking under fluorescent sunlight had robbed me of my color. Gotta do something about that, I decided.
Plus, there’d been no sex during all this corporate activity. It’s not that there hadn’t been plenty of opportunity. You’d be surprised at what men … and women … would offer up to keep their jobs. But I’ve never been one to “fish off the company pier,” as my dad used to say, and to be honest, the work schedule had been so demanding that even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t have found the time. As a result, I’d had to resort to the DIY approach.
So, I said to myself as I smacked my well-toned rump, I’m here to enjoy myself and ready to have some fun. Let’s do this!
Chapter 2
My friend was right about this place. It was stunning. Besides luxurious rooms with private butlers who kept the in-room refrigerator fully stocked, the resort featured several swimming pools with interesting features such as grottos, a waterfall, and several private aquatic attractions that allowed for discreet encounters. Additionally, there were bungalows with their own private hot tubs and pools.
Right now, the only amenity I was interested in was the beach. I wanted to walk along the surf, feel the sun on my face, the salt on my skin, and the sand between my toes. I wanted to breathe in the salt air and smell the ocean. Most of all, I wanted to forget about life back home as The Turk.
Because I’d arrived on a Monday, the beach wasn’t overrun with vacationers. To be honest, it felt good to have the surf and the sand to myself.
And just as I was about to succumb to the zen of a relaxing beach vacation, my calm was shattered by a voice from out in the water.
“Hey, you want a lobster?”
I was startled not only by the question but by the person asking it. He waded toward me through the surf, a barrel-chested, Rodin masterpiece in tank shorts. Droplets of water dappled his chiseled face and dribbled down onto his sculpted pectorals. Perched atop his soggy blond hair was a mask and snorkel. In one hand he held a pair of flippers. In the other was a large lobster desperately trying to free himself.
“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”
I had recovered only enough to nod my head, not being entirely sure if I was agreeing about the crustacean or the stone-carved cross-fit creation holding it.
“He’s yours if you want him.”
“Uh, no, but thanks for offering.”
“No worries. We’re having a cookout on the beach tonight. This beast will make for some fine eating, that’s for sure. Hey, maybe you’d like to join us,” he said as he shook the saltwater out of his right ear.
“I wasn’t aware there was a cookout here tonight,” I said.
“Oh, not here. I’m staying at the next resort down the beach about a half mile.”
“So you’re not a guest here?” I asked.
“No, not here. This place is amazing, but it’s not quite my style. But, seriously, I’d love to invite you to come join us. The feast starts at sunset.”
A quick evaluation of this Olympian god’s impressive portfolio and the prospect of some possible campfire canoodling seemed like the perfect evening.
“Hmmm. Attire?”
“We definitely don’t get dressy, but if you have a sarong, I’d suggest that. Kind of a theme for the evening.”
“A sarong, eh? I think I can handle that.”
“Great! By the way, my name’s Cade. Cade Jackson.”
“Vanessa Lawson. Nice to met you. And you know, Cade, why not? I’ll be there.”
“See you at sunset. You can’t miss it. Just look for the campfire.”
“Will do.”
“OK, I gotta run and get this monster to the chef. See you tonight.
“Looking forward to it.”
I waved as I watched Cade jog off down the beach, his muscular frame and amazing ass making the departure that much more enjoyable. Then I smiled feeling that this vacation held more promise than I’d imagined.
Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool, sunning, reading a trashy novel, and enjoying the convenience of the swim-up bar. My friend had told me that the resort boasted several outstanding restaurants, but I had my appetite set on a different kind of surf and turf. A feast that offered some delicious options not found on any resort menu.
Back in my room, I pondered my clothing options. I had brought several bikinis, but I wasn’t sure if this evening’s activities would include any aquatics. However, as I performed a mental replay of Cade and his magnificent masculinity, I quickly decided, nah, I’d skip the suit and go commando. Of course, I definitely wanted to make sure I was marketing my own assets well, so I opted to twist my sarong into a halter top. A quick trip to the makeup mirror, a thorough brushing of my long brown hair, and, yup, I was ready for action.
I strolled down to the beach and, with the sun dropping lower in the western sky, I headed east.
Cade said the resort was about a half mile down the beach, so I had plenty of time to think about what to say, listen to the surf, and also to view the undeveloped plots of land between our two resorts. There were signs of old construction, but nothing recent save for a fairly new trailer, probably left over from an aborted construction effort. It set me to wondering what had halted the previous efforts and how long it would be before the entire coastline here was shoulder-to-shoulder with resorts? But for now, my mind needed to shut down the business mode and simply enjoy the quiet and peacefulness that nature provided. Something about the area being all natural was comforting.
In the lengthening shadows, I could see the campfire burning. There were a few people milling about, chatting and drinking. As I approached, I -could see Cade strumming a guitar by the campfire and singing along with the music that wafted from the speakers set up for the evening’s cookout.
Cade smiled when he saw me. He set down the guitar, and jumped up to greet me. He wore an ecru-colored guayabera and a bright tie-dyed sarong wrapped around his waist like a bath towel. He pulled me to him in a huge hug, and his guayabera was unbuttoned, so I was pressed against his muscled pectorals and rippling abs. If this was the appetizer, then I couldn’t wait to enjoy the main course.
As Cade released his grip, I smiled at some of the other guests and noticed that they also were resplendent in their sarongs, each arrayed differently.
He fetched us a couple of drinks at the bar and introduced me to the other guests.
“Vanessa, I’d like you to meet Kris and Jim from Kansas,” Cade said as I shook hands with the 60ish couple from Middle America with dark tans and silver hair.
“And I’d also like to introduce you to Shayna and Marcus from Alabama.”
The ’Bama couple were late 20s, early 30s. She was white and he was black. They both looked fit and athletic.
As we sat back down on the folding lounge chairs, I saw another couple approaching from the cloth-covered cabanas lining the beach. I wasn’t sure if the orange glow of the sunset was playing tricks on my eyes or not, so I blinked a couple of times to adjust my vision because it appeared to me that they were, well, naked. They did have sarongs, although they were draped over their shoulders like shawls.
“And that would be Dennis and Denise,” Cade said as he waved at the couple, who waved back. By my guess, they were in their mid-to-late 70s, if not older.
“Uh, Cade,” I muttered, “are they coming to the barbecue like that?”
“Sure,” Cade said. “Didn’t I mention that this resort is clothing optional?”
“Oh, wow! No, I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a tidbit like that.”
“Oops! My bad. Does it bother you? I mean, we can leave if it does.”
Now, I’m not a prude by any stretch, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to a couple of Silver Citizens arriving for dinner in their vintage birthday suits. Still, I had come on this trip for relaxation and adventure, so what the hell? Besides, the prospect of seeing Cade sans sarong was worth the price of admission, even if that price meant I might be required to share a little more of myself with strangers than I’d originally planned. So I smiled at Cade, raised my glass, and said, “Lobsterboy, let’s party!”
And so began my first experience at a clothing-optional resort. As the liquor flowed and the DJ cranked up the music, everyone began to dance around the campfire. To be honest, I quickly found myself less conscious of the nude-agenarians, although when the husband launched into a very active gyration to Chubby Checker’s “Lets Twist Again,” I thought he might bruise himself from the frantic penis lashing. He even managed to get his limp cock to twirl like a burlesque dancer’s tassels. America’s got talent, alright.
Before long, others began to shed their sarongs, and in the flickering light of the campfire, I saw a variety of shapes, shades, and sizes. I also glimpsed different approaches to personal grooming. Manscaping, hedge-trimming, and, in the case of the Jayhawkers, more bush than a Brazilian rainforest.
Despite the skin follies and the booze, my sarong remained in place. Cade had doffed his guayabera, but, to my disappointment, nothing else. And then the tempo changed.
Suddenly, the DJ shifted into slow-dance mode, and with Eric Clapton singing “Wonderful Tonight,” I found myself in Cade’s powerful arms. With the campfire dwindling to embers, I wrapped my arms around his muscular torso and swayed to the music. At one point, Cade pulled back, looked at me, and moved in gently for a kiss. I responded in kind, and we stayed in a passionate lip-lock long enough for him to express his desire for me and for me to let him know that the feeling was mutual.
And then, as we moved closer and our bodies began a round of rhythmic foreplay, I felt the stirrings of a massive erection begin to rise from beneath Cade’s sarong. He quickly and deftly guided me into the shadows, and then he bent his head down to whisper into my ear, “We can’t.”
I was perplexed. Did I misread what was clearly a HUGE signal? A HUGE THROBBING signal?
Cade held my face in his huge hands. I looked into his deep blue eyes with confusion.
“There are rules here,” he said. “Yes, it’s clothing optional, and yes, guys do occasionally get boners, but this is not a swingers’ resort. People who come here want to enjoy the outdoors in the nude, but they expect everyone to comport themselves appropriately, and that means that other than a specific drink order, there’s no Sex on the Beach on the property.”
“So your erection was what, a violation of resort rules and nudist protocol?”
“Well, yeah, pretty much. That’s why I moved you off to the dark. Sorry about that.”
I noticed that his sarong had regained its former drape, so I assumed the moment had passed.
“Not to be unkind, but it appears you are back in alignment now. What do you propose?”
“Well, I was thinking about grabbing a couple of drinks and heading up to my room, if that’s not out of line?”
I smiled, took Cade’s arm and guided him back near the fire. He went to the bar for a couple of drinks. And as he returned with drinks in both hands, I gave him a mischievous smile, reached up with both hands behind my neck, untied the knot there, and let my sarong fall to the ground.
Cade was thunderstruck. Eyes wide, he took a good long top-to-bottom-to-top look, and suddenly, he was in violation again.
It had been a year from hell. For nearly 12 months, I’d fought my way through corporate acquisition after acquisition, integrating one company after another into our system, merging different business cultures, on-boarding talent, and releasing “experienced” staff. A year of seeing the horrified faces of longtime associates whose financial dreams had been shattered, careers altered, and lives upended as I gave them the news that they would no longer have a job with our organization.
I’d read somewhere that in pro football, the person who was assigned to cut players during pre-season training camp was known as “The Turk.” As he lumbered down the dormitory hall, players scattered to their rooms. If The Turk knocked on your door, you knew the axe was coming down.
In the corporate world, I was The Turk.
And it sucked.
It didn’t matter that my position was secure. It didn’t matter that I was paid handsomely for my efforts. It didn’t matter that I was a shooting star in the world of mergers and acquisitions. Emotionally it was draining being The Turk.
So, after the latest round of bloodletting, I was eager to escape. I chose a new luxury resort on a not-yet-fully-developed segment of the Mexican coast near Cancun that Anita, a friend of mine, recommended through a company called Executive Travel Club. I’d never heard of the agency, but Anita assured me that once I’d experienced the agency’s offerings, I’d never travel with any other company. The location she suggested was the Estrella Resort. I’d never heard of it either, but my biggest request was to find a place where the sun was warm, the drinks were cold, and the waves could wash away the corporate blood I felt was on my hands. A place with a private beach where I could walk without being disturbed by vendors hawking trinkets, sombreros, and 5-to-15-year prison sentences masquerading as Mexican brown.
And so, after a long plane ride, I reached my room and shed my corporate armor as I pulled on my barely there bikini. With my ample cleavage grandly on display and my thong snugly secured between my butt-cheeks, I evaluated myself in the mirror. My strict gym regimen had kept me in fine form, but I was pale as a ghost. Too many office hours during the week and long work weekends basking under fluorescent sunlight had robbed me of my color. Gotta do something about that, I decided.
Plus, there’d been no sex during all this corporate activity. It’s not that there hadn’t been plenty of opportunity. You’d be surprised at what men … and women … would offer up to keep their jobs. But I’ve never been one to “fish off the company pier,” as my dad used to say, and to be honest, the work schedule had been so demanding that even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t have found the time. As a result, I’d had to resort to the DIY approach.
So, I said to myself as I smacked my well-toned rump, I’m here to enjoy myself and ready to have some fun. Let’s do this!
Chapter 2
My friend was right about this place. It was stunning. Besides luxurious rooms with private butlers who kept the in-room refrigerator fully stocked, the resort featured several swimming pools with interesting features such as grottos, a waterfall, and several private aquatic attractions that allowed for discreet encounters. Additionally, there were bungalows with their own private hot tubs and pools.
Right now, the only amenity I was interested in was the beach. I wanted to walk along the surf, feel the sun on my face, the salt on my skin, and the sand between my toes. I wanted to breathe in the salt air and smell the ocean. Most of all, I wanted to forget about life back home as The Turk.
Because I’d arrived on a Monday, the beach wasn’t overrun with vacationers. To be honest, it felt good to have the surf and the sand to myself.
And just as I was about to succumb to the zen of a relaxing beach vacation, my calm was shattered by a voice from out in the water.
“Hey, you want a lobster?”
I was startled not only by the question but by the person asking it. He waded toward me through the surf, a barrel-chested, Rodin masterpiece in tank shorts. Droplets of water dappled his chiseled face and dribbled down onto his sculpted pectorals. Perched atop his soggy blond hair was a mask and snorkel. In one hand he held a pair of flippers. In the other was a large lobster desperately trying to free himself.
“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”
I had recovered only enough to nod my head, not being entirely sure if I was agreeing about the crustacean or the stone-carved cross-fit creation holding it.
“He’s yours if you want him.”
“Uh, no, but thanks for offering.”
“No worries. We’re having a cookout on the beach tonight. This beast will make for some fine eating, that’s for sure. Hey, maybe you’d like to join us,” he said as he shook the saltwater out of his right ear.
“I wasn’t aware there was a cookout here tonight,” I said.
“Oh, not here. I’m staying at the next resort down the beach about a half mile.”
“So you’re not a guest here?” I asked.
“No, not here. This place is amazing, but it’s not quite my style. But, seriously, I’d love to invite you to come join us. The feast starts at sunset.”
A quick evaluation of this Olympian god’s impressive portfolio and the prospect of some possible campfire canoodling seemed like the perfect evening.
“Hmmm. Attire?”
“We definitely don’t get dressy, but if you have a sarong, I’d suggest that. Kind of a theme for the evening.”
“A sarong, eh? I think I can handle that.”
“Great! By the way, my name’s Cade. Cade Jackson.”
“Vanessa Lawson. Nice to met you. And you know, Cade, why not? I’ll be there.”
“See you at sunset. You can’t miss it. Just look for the campfire.”
“Will do.”
“OK, I gotta run and get this monster to the chef. See you tonight.
“Looking forward to it.”
I waved as I watched Cade jog off down the beach, his muscular frame and amazing ass making the departure that much more enjoyable. Then I smiled feeling that this vacation held more promise than I’d imagined.
Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool, sunning, reading a trashy novel, and enjoying the convenience of the swim-up bar. My friend had told me that the resort boasted several outstanding restaurants, but I had my appetite set on a different kind of surf and turf. A feast that offered some delicious options not found on any resort menu.
Back in my room, I pondered my clothing options. I had brought several bikinis, but I wasn’t sure if this evening’s activities would include any aquatics. However, as I performed a mental replay of Cade and his magnificent masculinity, I quickly decided, nah, I’d skip the suit and go commando. Of course, I definitely wanted to make sure I was marketing my own assets well, so I opted to twist my sarong into a halter top. A quick trip to the makeup mirror, a thorough brushing of my long brown hair, and, yup, I was ready for action.
I strolled down to the beach and, with the sun dropping lower in the western sky, I headed east.
Cade said the resort was about a half mile down the beach, so I had plenty of time to think about what to say, listen to the surf, and also to view the undeveloped plots of land between our two resorts. There were signs of old construction, but nothing recent save for a fairly new trailer, probably left over from an aborted construction effort. It set me to wondering what had halted the previous efforts and how long it would be before the entire coastline here was shoulder-to-shoulder with resorts? But for now, my mind needed to shut down the business mode and simply enjoy the quiet and peacefulness that nature provided. Something about the area being all natural was comforting.
In the lengthening shadows, I could see the campfire burning. There were a few people milling about, chatting and drinking. As I approached, I -could see Cade strumming a guitar by the campfire and singing along with the music that wafted from the speakers set up for the evening’s cookout.
Cade smiled when he saw me. He set down the guitar, and jumped up to greet me. He wore an ecru-colored guayabera and a bright tie-dyed sarong wrapped around his waist like a bath towel. He pulled me to him in a huge hug, and his guayabera was unbuttoned, so I was pressed against his muscled pectorals and rippling abs. If this was the appetizer, then I couldn’t wait to enjoy the main course.
As Cade released his grip, I smiled at some of the other guests and noticed that they also were resplendent in their sarongs, each arrayed differently.
He fetched us a couple of drinks at the bar and introduced me to the other guests.
“Vanessa, I’d like you to meet Kris and Jim from Kansas,” Cade said as I shook hands with the 60ish couple from Middle America with dark tans and silver hair.
“And I’d also like to introduce you to Shayna and Marcus from Alabama.”
The ’Bama couple were late 20s, early 30s. She was white and he was black. They both looked fit and athletic.
As we sat back down on the folding lounge chairs, I saw another couple approaching from the cloth-covered cabanas lining the beach. I wasn’t sure if the orange glow of the sunset was playing tricks on my eyes or not, so I blinked a couple of times to adjust my vision because it appeared to me that they were, well, naked. They did have sarongs, although they were draped over their shoulders like shawls.
“And that would be Dennis and Denise,” Cade said as he waved at the couple, who waved back. By my guess, they were in their mid-to-late 70s, if not older.
“Uh, Cade,” I muttered, “are they coming to the barbecue like that?”
“Sure,” Cade said. “Didn’t I mention that this resort is clothing optional?”
“Oh, wow! No, I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a tidbit like that.”
“Oops! My bad. Does it bother you? I mean, we can leave if it does.”
Now, I’m not a prude by any stretch, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to a couple of Silver Citizens arriving for dinner in their vintage birthday suits. Still, I had come on this trip for relaxation and adventure, so what the hell? Besides, the prospect of seeing Cade sans sarong was worth the price of admission, even if that price meant I might be required to share a little more of myself with strangers than I’d originally planned. So I smiled at Cade, raised my glass, and said, “Lobsterboy, let’s party!”
And so began my first experience at a clothing-optional resort. As the liquor flowed and the DJ cranked up the music, everyone began to dance around the campfire. To be honest, I quickly found myself less conscious of the nude-agenarians, although when the husband launched into a very active gyration to Chubby Checker’s “Lets Twist Again,” I thought he might bruise himself from the frantic penis lashing. He even managed to get his limp cock to twirl like a burlesque dancer’s tassels. America’s got talent, alright.
Before long, others began to shed their sarongs, and in the flickering light of the campfire, I saw a variety of shapes, shades, and sizes. I also glimpsed different approaches to personal grooming. Manscaping, hedge-trimming, and, in the case of the Jayhawkers, more bush than a Brazilian rainforest.
Despite the skin follies and the booze, my sarong remained in place. Cade had doffed his guayabera, but, to my disappointment, nothing else. And then the tempo changed.
Suddenly, the DJ shifted into slow-dance mode, and with Eric Clapton singing “Wonderful Tonight,” I found myself in Cade’s powerful arms. With the campfire dwindling to embers, I wrapped my arms around his muscular torso and swayed to the music. At one point, Cade pulled back, looked at me, and moved in gently for a kiss. I responded in kind, and we stayed in a passionate lip-lock long enough for him to express his desire for me and for me to let him know that the feeling was mutual.
And then, as we moved closer and our bodies began a round of rhythmic foreplay, I felt the stirrings of a massive erection begin to rise from beneath Cade’s sarong. He quickly and deftly guided me into the shadows, and then he bent his head down to whisper into my ear, “We can’t.”
I was perplexed. Did I misread what was clearly a HUGE signal? A HUGE THROBBING signal?
Cade held my face in his huge hands. I looked into his deep blue eyes with confusion.
“There are rules here,” he said. “Yes, it’s clothing optional, and yes, guys do occasionally get boners, but this is not a swingers’ resort. People who come here want to enjoy the outdoors in the nude, but they expect everyone to comport themselves appropriately, and that means that other than a specific drink order, there’s no Sex on the Beach on the property.”
“So your erection was what, a violation of resort rules and nudist protocol?”
“Well, yeah, pretty much. That’s why I moved you off to the dark. Sorry about that.”
I noticed that his sarong had regained its former drape, so I assumed the moment had passed.
“Not to be unkind, but it appears you are back in alignment now. What do you propose?”
“Well, I was thinking about grabbing a couple of drinks and heading up to my room, if that’s not out of line?”
I smiled, took Cade’s arm and guided him back near the fire. He went to the bar for a couple of drinks. And as he returned with drinks in both hands, I gave him a mischievous smile, reached up with both hands behind my neck, untied the knot there, and let my sarong fall to the ground.
Cade was thunderstruck. Eyes wide, he took a good long top-to-bottom-to-top look, and suddenly, he was in violation again.