Room Service Tacos

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"I'd rather walk," was all she replied and then looked at her watch. "It's almost four. Three hours is probably enough for our first day. Even with the thirty SPF, I might burn and be ruined for the beach for a few days if we don't head inside now."

"Ready for an early dinner?"

"I had something else in mind," she said. "Let's go see if the spa has an opening."

"Now I like the way you think," I said.

We dressed and stopped by the hut to close our tab with Marcello. She tipped him generously and asked him to reserve a spot for us tomorrow closer to the water. We made our way up the stairs as quick as wobbly legs would let us, navigated lounge chairs and running children by the hotel pool, and found our way to the spa.

"Good afternoon ladies," a smiling woman named Gisela greeted us. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm afraid we don't," Aunt Lisa said. "I was hoping you had an opening for us within the next hour?"

"Let me check," Gisela replied, opening the appointment book. She moved her finger down the time column in her appointment book stopping at six in the evening, then scanned the remaining columns for any opening. She glanced at a list of names by the phone before looking back to us and announcing: "I have two therapists available."

"Great!" Aunt Lisa said, "Let's do it."

"We do, however, have just one room available in the spa. Luckily, it is the room for a couples massage," Gisela explained. "You can have your massages there, or, we also offer in-room massages for an additional fee. One of you can use the room here, and the other can use your room."

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"The in-room massages are never as good. You either lie on the bed, which is never as comfortable as the massage table, or, if they do bring a table, you don't get the full ambiance -- no music, no soothing smells, no iced drink afterwards. Let's do the couples massage," she said.

Gisela entered our names in the appointment book and handed us a key to a locker.

"There are changing rooms through the doors on the left," she said, motioning to where we should go. "The keys are to a locker with a robe and slippers to use during your stay with us. Disrobe to your comfort and go through the back of the locker room to the waiting area. Your therapists today are Desi, who is visiting us from Bali, and Ingrid, who trains our team and is on loan from our property in the Netherlands. They will meet you in the waiting area and will discuss the details of your massages today."

"Thank you," Aunt Lisa said.

We walked through the doors and followed the signs to our right to the women's locker room. A few women who had obviously just finished their treatments were sitting silently on the wooden bench in front of their lockers, basking in the relaxation. Some wore robes with the spa logo on them. Others were comfortable wearing nothing at all or merely held a towel across their lap. Beyond the lockers I saw a whirlpool spa with steam rising from its bubbling water, and a cool plunge pool with water so still it looked untouched by anyone in days. Beyond that was a room with cushioned chairs and several jugs of iced water with lemon, cucumber, or berry infusions.

We found our lockers and removed our clothing and swimsuits. The robe replacing our clothes was soft and smelled of lavender. Ready to meet Desi and Ingrid, we passed the whirlpool and plunge pool on our way to the lounge. I noticed across from the whirlpool were a collection of showers along a wall I couldn't see when near the lockers. We each poured water into a plastic cup and waited for Desi and Ingrid.

Ten minutes passed before the doors opened and our therapists walked in dressed in relaxed white pants and a shirt patterned in Aztec designs in muted blues, yellows and reds. Desi was the shorter of the two, barely reaching Ingrid's shoulder. She wore a bright smile, well framed by long black hair that easily reached past her elbows. She held the hair behind her small frame with a headband patterned in what I would later learn was the Batik style of her home country. Ingrid, taller and more athletic, had long, sinewy arms well-conditioned from years of giving massages. Her soft green eyes conveyed the empathy of a health practitioner and she had, as expected, a slight accent to her English when she spoke.

"Miss Frye and..., two Miss Fryes, I guess," Ingrid said, looking at a small piece of paper in her hand.

"That's us," Aunt Lisa said, standing and walking over with her hand extended.

"Miss Frye, is that how I should call you?" Ingrid asked.

"I'm Lisa, and this is Kate," Aunt Lisa said.

"I'm Ingrid and I will be the therapist for one of you today," she said, shaking Aunt Lisa's hand.

"I'll go with you," Aunt Lisa replied.

"And I'm Desi," the shorter therapist said, bowing to me. I bowed back, uncertain if that was the appropriate response.

They led us down a narrow hallway lined with doors to the room at the end. Inside were two tables, a few feet apart, all ready for us to climb under the sheets and relax. Calm music played softly from a speaker in the corner and scented candles filled the room with the aroma of lavender and vanilla. On the other side of the tables were foldable wooden room dividers with hooks to hang our robes on.

"We will step behind these dividers. Please climb on the tables and let us know when you are ready," Ingrid explained and they both slid away, giving us our modesty. Quickly, we hung our robes on the provided hook, slid face down under the sheets, and announced we were ready.

Desi's hands were magical as they kneaded the muscles first in my shoulders and back, then onto my feet, legs, hips and glutes. She seemed to know exactly when to push harder, when to stroke soft and firm, and where to give extra attention. I could hardly believe enough time had passed when they asked us to flip onto our backs.

Once in position, the luxuriousness began again. She massaged my scalp and delicately ran her fingers along and around my ears. My neck and shoulders were next, then along my arms and my hands. She spent much more time with my feet, snapping her fingers off the end of each toe and eliminating tension I hadn't realized was stored in my feet. She worked my thighs until both were loose and glistening with massage oil.

"You want here?" she asked, pausing briefly. It took me a moment to realize her hand was on my stomach.

I shook my head.

"Here or here?" she asked, touching my breasts and my left hip.

I wasn't sure what to think of the question and thought maybe there was a language issue until I heard Ingrid whispering the same thing.

Again, I shook my head. Instructions understood, she began moving her hands again and focused more time on my neck and shoulders.

Moments later, Aunt Lisa's satisfied moans disturbed the quiet tranquility of the room. I smiled at the thought of Ingrid pushing hard enough on her muscles to force a groan. I was going to make fun of her later for that. I opened my eyes to see what Ingrid was doing -- her legs or her shoulders. It was neither.

Aunt Lisa was atop the table, completely uncovered, her knees slightly bent and split apart from each other. Ingrid was on the far side of the table, one hand massaging her breast, the other moving slowly and deliberately between the split in her legs. Aunt Lisa's moaning increased in volume and intensity, and she slowly rocked her hips.

Desi saw me watching and asked her question again. "Here or here?" she repeated, again placing one hand on my breast, and the other, less on my hip, and more between them this time.

I didn't have an answer. I looked to Desi for help; for guidance on the correct answer. She said nothing and merely smiled, patiently waiting for a reply.

"Is okay," she said when I had not answered.

I closed my eyes. My mind was racing and I'm sure if I kept my eyes open Desi would see fear and apprehension. My skin felt hot. There was sweat beading on the back of my neck.

"Yes," I whispered, barely audibly, and nodded my head several times.

Desi wasted no time getting to work. The hour was nearly over. Her left hand gave long-missed attention to my breasts while her right caressed and explored the opening I provided between my legs. My immediate wetness surprised me. Whether it was the novelty, the danger, or the taboo that heightened my excitement, I still don't know. I do know Desi had plenty of time to complete her goal, coax relaxation back to my now tensed legs and shoulders, and still end the massage on time.

The massage over, Ingrid and Desi thanked us for the opportunity to help relieve tension and relax our minds and bodies. They told us we could continue to make use of the whirlpool, showers, and spa until it closed for the evening in thirty minutes. When they asked if there was anything else they could do, my first reaction was 'write instructions for my ex', but I didn't say it.

"No. I couldn't ask for anything more. Other than maybe schedule us for another one tomorrow?" Aunt Lisa said, half joking, half not wanting to wait until tomorrow.

"I will advise Gisela of your interest," Ingrid said, and they left the room.

We lay in silence for several minutes after they left. I was still in shock. I'd done a lot of crazy things, rebellious things, wild things. I'd never done that or anything close to it. Aunt Lisa was the first to sit up, slide off the table, and wrap herself in the robe. Silently, I followed her lead. We didn't speak as we walked down the hall back to the changing room.

"Whirlpool?" she asked. I nodded.

The warm water and jets relaxed my body to the point I felt like floating gelatin.

"I guess we know why all those women looked happy and relaxed when we first arrived," Aunt Lisa said, breaking the silence.

"I guess we do," I replied.

"Did you enjoy your massage?"

"Is that what we're still going to call it?" I asked.

"What would you prefer we call it?" she said playfully.

"I believe it already has a term," I deadpanned.

"I call it 'therapy'," she said, and slid under the water before I could reply.

"Wait, you've done that before?" I asked when she reemerged. I could not conceal my disbelief. The shock at such a formal, disciplined woman having done that enough she had a term for it.

"You haven't?" Now it was her turn to be shocked.

"No! I've never done that. How could I? Don't people get arrested for that?"

"I've never been arrested for it. But I also always only get massages by referral," she said.

"Does Uncle Pete know?"

"I've never asked him," she replied coyly.

"You don't think he'd mind? You don't feel guilty about it?"

"I thought I was clear that I'm married, not dead," she answered. She closed her eyes, lying her head on the whirlpool deck. "I don't know why he would care. He knows I'm going somewhere to have a stranger put their hands all over my

naked body to relieve tension and stress. It's a rather natural extension. It's not like we're kissing or having penetrative sex."

I embraced the warmth of the water while silently processing this unexpected perspective. I followed Aunt Lisa's lead and leaned my head back on the whirlpool deck and allowed my legs and torso to float to the top of the water. The tension of running from a wedding, the horrible messages I received from my ex, and his parents, was gone. I was at peace. I was also surprisingly horny. I'd just reached climax and yet I was filled with a desire for more. I wondered if the whirlpool jets would do the trick.

"We should get some dinner, and hopefully our luggage has arrived," Aunt Lisa said. I felt her hand gently nudging my shoulder.

"Did you have a place in mind?" I asked, opening one eye.

"Seafood. I have a sudden hunger for oysters and shrimp." She climbed out of the water and wrapped the robe tightly around her. Reluctantly, I joined her.

"Can we talk about what happened at the spa earlier," I asked, clutching my first glass of wine, a bold Cabernet from Argentina.

"We can," Aunt Lisa replied, dipping a shrimp the size of my hand into the sauce. "I'm not sure there is much more to say. It happened. It was great. You'll probably do it again, now. I can give you a referral if you want."

She paused, to take a savory bite and chase it with a splash of wine.

"I'd much rather talk about our plans for the evening," she said, changing the subject. "Are you up for some salsa dancing, or would you rather go to one of the college hangouts and see some liquored up frat boys fall all over themselves egging on drunk girls in wet t-shirts?"

There was no condescension or judgement in her question.

"I assume you'd prefer the salsa?"

"Honestly, they both sound like fun," she replied, thoughtfully. "I haven't been to a crazy college party since, well, my college days. I'm sure they think I'm too old. You might think I'm too old. But the people-watching aspect of such events never gets old. I also love to salsa and meringue. A dance club like that would more likely be locals than tourists. Probably a bit older than the college kids, too. So, I'm up for either."

"Oysters in a half-shell", a different Hector announced, appearing with our dinners. "And seared seabass on rice pilaf."

"Your bass looks delicious," Aunt Lisa said. "Do you want to try one of my oysters?"

"Not a fan," I replied, shaking my head. "No offense, but it always feels a bit like snot going down."

"Really?" Aunt Lisa said, grabbing one off the plate, tilting her head back, and allowing it to slide off the shell into her mouth and down her throat. "I always thought it felt a bit like swallowing after giving head. A power move after such an easy task."

"Aunt Lisa! You continue to surprise me," I exclaimed. I had a lot more to learn about my now favorite aunt.

"So, about tonight," she continued, finishing another oyster. "Dance, or decadence?"

"When you put it that way...." I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"Dance first, then decadence," she replied, reading my mind.

After dinner, we collected our luggage, which, thankfully, had arrived by six as promised and returned to the room to prepare. With everything we packed now at our disposal, we dressed for an evening out and put on enough makeup to be dangerous.

We arrived at the dance club shortly after nine in the evening. Far too early for a crowd. We didn't care. Salsa was the appetizer, not the main event. We ordered shots of tequila and joined the small group of people, a mix of local men and older, female tourists, already dancing. We started out dancing solo, did a few dances together, and ordered another round of shots when the band took a ten-minute break.

"I love your dress," Aunt Lisa said as we stood at the bar awaiting the band's return. "You obviously packed for some fun."

"I'm just glad our luggage arrived in time for me to wear it tonight," I said. "This is my favorite. It's comfortable, moves with my body, and reveals everything I want it to while concealing everything else."

"What, exactly, are you trying to conceal?" she asked. "I've seen every inch of you and wouldn't hide a thing!"

"Only looking to conceal what would get me arrested if I didn't," I said, and raised my shot glass for a toast.

"We're in Mexico. They won't arrest you for anything short of selling drugs or murder. Reveal away!" She clinked her shot glass with mine and pulled me onto the dance floor, which by now was much fuller as the early arrivals began pouring in.

She led me around the floor through each song, each tempo change, each change in direction. She dipped me, twirled me, and even lifted my leg higher than I thought it could go.

"You're great at this!" she shouted over the music.

"I'm just trying to keep up!" I shouted back, loving every minute of the dancing and sweating off all the tequila and wine we'd consumed.

"Ready for the big reveal?" she asked.

"What does that mean?"

"Follow my lead," she replied.

"That's what I've been doing all day," I said, and I meant it.

The song changed and so did her lead. Her right hand held my left high in the air. With her left, she pulled me close to her body, first by my waist, then by my thigh. Our feet moved in the same frantic pace as the music. Our legs split each other and intertwined. With each of her forward steps, her hips would grind on my leg; each backward step, mine would grind on hers. We stepped left. We stepped right. She dipped me again and ran her hand down my neck, between my breasts, and across my stomach.

Two local men tried to step in and take each of us in their lead, but she pushed them away. This dance was ours. They could watch, but they couldn't join.

My heart pounded in my chest, matching each step on the floor. My breath was hot, in and out of my lungs, trying to keep up with the energy, the thrill, and the excitement. The other dancers on the floor made space for us. Many stopped dancing and converted to spectator.

The song was coming to an end. Aunt Lisa twirled me around and around and around. I felt my skirt rising high above my waist revealing the tiny red thong I'd chosen for the evening. The crowd erupted in a cheer and, instead of embarrassment, I felt exhilarated.

The music stopped. My spinning abruptly stopped at the same time. We were face to face, noses touching. Her right hand was sliding down my elevated arm, her left hand was moving up my side. When they reached my shoulders, they both quickly dropped, bringing the front of my dress with them.

The crowd erupted in a cheering frenzy that rivalled the reaction to a winning goal in a local soccer match. My breasts were on display, and I felt not shame, but pride. I felt the adrenaline surging through my veins as I raised my arms high in the air and spun around so the whole club could get a view before pulling Aunt Lisa close to me and embracing her in the tightest hug I could.

"That was amazing," I said directly into her ear.

"Best dance partner I've ever had," she replied. "Now cover up. There is no topping that, so the dancing is over and it's time for the decadence."

The crowd was still cheering as we quickly exited the club and climbed into the first cab in line.

"Where next?" the driver, a young woman with sad brown eyes, asked.

"Senor Frogs," Aunt Lisa replied without hesitation.

"College kids?", the driver confirmed.

"College kids," Aunt Lisa said, motioning to me with her head.

"No problem," she said, pulling away from the dance club.

The line for Senor Frogs was at least sixty deep when the cab pulled into the back of the queue. Aunt Lisa slid her a hundred peso note and told her to keep the difference. The meter indicated just forty pesos.

"You want me to wait for you?" the driver asked.

"Your choice," Aunt Lisa said. "We'll probably be a few hours."

"We're going to be waiting in line a long time," I said, eyeing the long queue and how slow it was moving.

"You have much to learn," she said, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the front of the line.

"We okay?" she asked when we got to the front. The bouncer nodded and let us through, to the objection of everyone we had passed.

"How did you do that?" I said, amazed at yet another surprise from my legendary aunt.

"You didn't see the hundred pesos I gave him," she explained.

We walked straight to the bar and ordered tequila shots and a corona chaser. Aunt Lisa slid a platinum AMEX across the bar and asked him to open a tab. He wrote her name on a piece of paper, clipped it to the card along with a tab of our order, and dropped two shots and two bottles on the bar.

"Where's the show tonight?" she asked.

"Beach stage," he replied.

"Ready for a show?" she asked, handing me my shot.

"I'm ready for anything you can throw at me," I replied.