Manaconda

Shit. Why was I reading Fifty Shades of Grey? It wasn’t even very good. Lisa had said I’d enjoy it. And I kind of did, but even on holiday where nobody knew me apart from John, it was sort of embarrassing sometimes. And now the guy on the next lounger is making fun of me for it. I wouldn’t mind, but my husband John is getting another beer. And it makes it much worse that the guy is really hot. Tall and tanned. And he clearly knows he is.

I chatted to him yesterday, when he had another guy with him and John was here, but now it just feels a bit edgier. I can’t even say why, but I wouldn’t call him handsome, I’d call him sexy, which feels dangerous. Was it him who chose to sit next to me? Or maybe it was me who chose the lounger next to him again…There are a few people in the pool, but this is a quiet spot away from the families and no one else is close.

“I quite enjoyed it” His accent is, what? Italian? French? “Have you, you know, got to the good bits yet?”

“No, I’ve only just started it this morning” I lied. Did he see me reading it yesterday? Probably not.

“Oh. I think you’ll like it. It’s about a young innocent lady who meets an attractive dominant man. He fucks her again and again.” And he pauses and makes a clear point of looking at me for a second. At my legs. My breast. My bikini feels really small. “And she can’t help herself. She loves it”. Another pause, then “Will your husband be away for long? If I had a beautiful young wife like you, I wouldn’t leave you alone so much. Especially when you’re obviously thinking about sex all the time.”

What the fuck! “I’m not thinking about sex!” I blurt out, quickly shifting from a shout to a whisper as I say the words.

“But you do know what the book is about. And anyway it looks like you’re about half-way through.” Shit.

He can see I’m annoyed. “It’s OK – you can tell me what you think when you’ve read more”. And he walks off. His tight ass moving around in his shorts. Maybe that annoys me even more. But what was all that about? Is this guy really trying to pick me up when I’m obviously on a holiday with my husband? An unpopular voice in my head points out that this guy is a lot sexier than John. But most of my internal conversation agrees he’s an arsehole. Debatably a sexy arsehole.

***

By 3pm it’s even hotter and my husband is back. “Hey Hun” I rub John’s leg. “Could you put a bit of this on my back?” and lie down. A few seconds later I feel his hands and the cold of the suncream moving lightly but quickly over my back. Working carefully around the strap of my bikini. With my head to the side, I then notice the guy on the next lounger again, looking over. ‘The hot gut on the next lounger’ says part of my brain. He’s smiling a slightly evil smile as he looks at me and John, tho’ I guess John can’t see him. I turn my head the other way. He’s still annoying me a bit. But a few seconds later “I’ll just go and wash my hands and probably head back to the bar” and my husband walks away.

A few minutes later, I turn and see the guy is looking at me again.

“How did he react when you told him about what I said?”

I say nothing, thinking of my best response, but too late “Oh, you didn’t tell him…That’s Interesting. You know I would put the suncream onto you in a different way”. I still say nothing. He smiles and then reaches for a bottle of his own. Slowly, looking at me intently, he puts lotion on his hands and begins to rub it into his body. He does look good doing it. I can see he’s flexing his muscles while he spreads the oil. Which kind of makes sense I guess when you’re slowly rubbing your chest, but obviously he’s doing it for show. He smiles again. A voice in my head asks why I’m still looking at him, but I smile back. Then with the briefest of glances around, he reaches lower and with a mix of alarm bells and fireworks going off in my brain, I see him take a firm grip through his shorts on what is obviously his very large cock. As he slowly pulls his hand up and down once, twice, I’m very aware that I’m looking downwards staring at the outline of his cock while he’s looking at my face. Then, he pulls further and Fuck! the massive glistening helmet of his cock and then an inch, two inches of thick thick shaft come into view below the hem of his shorts. He’s so big, it’s half way to his knee. I should be looking at his face. And suddenly he stops, the show is over, I look at his face and Fuck! He looks smug. Why did I keep staring? Maybe I should have pretended to be offended. Maybe I really should have been offended. But I hadn’t been and I realise now I’m sitting meekly, like it’s me who’s been caught being bad. Never mind that he was flashing me.

All he says is:

“You know you should come to my bedroom later. Villa 7 at the end of the lane. I have a nice balcony overlooking the beach. Knock quietly at 5pm. Tell him you’re going for a walk”. And he stands up, looks around and slowly puts his stuff in a bag. I realise my mouth is open, but I have no idea what to say. He smiles a friendly, charming smile, then “Hope to see you later” and walks away.

My brain is slightly scrambled. Thinking of everything. A few minutes considering complaints to the hotel management. But with plenty of other mental images. Looking into the man’s eyes as I lower myself, slowly impaling myself on his massive cock. Bending over the wall of his balcony while he fucks me hard from behind. I realise I don’t know his name. But my imagination is still going crazy. And then I see my husband walking back towards me. Immediately I notice his developing gut. And his white unhealthy skin. I feel guilty but I can’t help my brain making the comparison. And sex with him, and (the meanest part of my brain adds in) with his average cock, is OK but no longer special the way it was a few years ago.

“I met Gary again” John says “You know the guy from the next room. He’s going to watch the football before dinner, you know with the time difference – that OK?”