I’m lying on a beach in Mexico, one that I’ve actually been to before, a few times.  One where there is nothing to do but stare at beauty, doze, and drink beer. 

I go back to my hotel, which is airy, and smells of soap.  I lie down for a nap.  When I wake, I shower and call the hotel front desk.  I order him.

He is the hotel bartender; he is Robbie; he is submissive; he is the man I slept with a year ago.  He is all the men who draw me to them, and none of them.  I have never met him.

He is not exactly an object, but he is definitely for my use, and he is there to provide service, without me having to ask, or give directions, or give anything back.  He takes a bottle of massage oil (that comes from some convenient and as-yet undiscovered nook of my room) and rubs me down, starting with my back, neck to toe.  Then he works me over neck to toe, down the front.

Then he starts on my pussy. 

The oil is warm, his hands are warm, the day is hot and the room is cool and dark.  I relax and let my mind wander; I am not responsible for being responsive.   I don’t have to worry about my pleasure pleasing him.   In fact, I hold orgasm at bay for as long as I can; I want to savor this.

His hands are strong, but they don’t cause me pain; they push and pull and knead.  They explore, but they are not tentative.  They know my body already.  And eventually, they drive me over the edge, into a sweaty, glistening, oily, salty, drenched, cummy mess.

I lie there, breathing deeply.  He wipes his hands on a towel, awkward.  He is hard.  He helps me up, dries off my legs where I have squirted, hands me a soft towel.  I tip him and he leaves.  I feel no pang when I think of his unused erection.  After all, I’m having him again tomorrow.

hagedorn

Not the image I wanted–that one’s on my home computer–but close.  By Gunter Hagedorn, found at Fresh Nudes.