Ixchel Ch. 02

Cheryl continued her movements, the friction must have been working for Ted, his breathing became hasty, he got the look men do, Cheryl clamped her vaginal muscles and moved faster. Ted grimaced, shuddered, Cheryl knew her bun was being filled with his sauce. When it was clear he was finished, Cheryl disengaged herself, laid beside him for a polite moment, wasn't unhappy when a few moments later Ted rose, went into the bathroom, then began to dress. She turned her back to him, threw a tunic over her shoulders. Yes, a few words were said, "Thank you," "You were great," "I enjoyed it," "Have a nice flight," and the like, but when Ted walked through the door and Cheryl saw the last of his back, there was a grain of relief.

It would have been so easy to put a nightgown on and crawl between the messed sheets, but Cheryl was cognizant her time here was limited and she didn't want to waste any of the moments she had left. And so she swabbed her armpits, torso and groin with a washcloth and put on a bikini. She strolled to a heart shaped pool she'd seen on a walk, secluded and mysterious with a waterfall, and lazed in the tepid water. A couple cuddled in a niche, oblivious to Cheryl's incursion, and she watched surreptitiously as the lovers passed from giggles to kisses to fondling. When they got out of the pool and went over to a lawn mostly hidden by bushes, Cheryl listened to grunts, moans and even stifled shrieks from the girl; the audial performance was far from unpleasant to Cheryl's ear.

Ten minutes after they'd started, the couple was gone, Cheryl had the pool to herself. Insects chirped, the air was sweet with the aroma of night blooming flowers and the scent of salt water, every half minute or so the low growl of the surf was punctuated as a wave broke heavily; Cheryl felt completely alone, and so she was less than bashful as she stripped first the bra off, and then her panties. She unwound in the warmth of the water, allowed her mind to detach. She couldn't have told you what she was thinking of, if, indeed, she was thinking at all. The state might have been prayerful, perhaps meditative. The few times when a couple or man passed by and gazed at the unclothed body floating freely, they chose not to disturb Cheryl's karma. Following some immeasurable eternity of disassociation from the world, Cheryl gently comprehended she felt waterlogged and the tips of her fingers were furrowed from immersion. She sensed the time had come to abandon the water. She remained dressed as God had intended on her return to the room, if she was watched she was neither aware nor concerned, the breeze dried all traces of moisture from her skin, she slid between the sheets and slept dreamlessly.