The Resort

Claire inhaled sharply as she felt his orgasm. She rubbed his back, trying to show him some affection. After a moment, James' movements came to a stop and he lay on top of her, breathless. "Oh baby, was that good for you?" She asked.

"Mmm," James moaned. "Yes it was. So fucking good." He propped himself up and she felt one final spark as he pulled out of her.

Claire sighed and closed her legs. "I'm so glad you liked it." She smiled up at him. Oh well, she thought. Better luck next time.

James chest heaved with each heavy breath. "That was amazing." He got up and put his underwear back on, then disappeared into the bathroom.

While he was gone, Claire looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Her sex still felt hot and achy. The room spun slowly, from a combination of arousal and tipsiness, and after a moment she found herself reaching down in between her legs. Her finger brushed her clitoris and she felt a burst of sparks. Cautiously, she began to rub herself with a fingertip in a circular motion, feeling a warm pleasure build up again. It was weaker this time. She rubbed faster, feeling disappointed and searching for the place she had been just a moment before. She felt a pleasurable warmth, but the earlier glow proved elusive. Claire searched and strained, letting her mind wander down to her fingers, down to her clit, letting the feeling fill up her thoughts. They drifted to Arturo. The flash of his smile, the way his accent punctuated everything his said, the way he talked with his strong, veiny hands. Her heartbeat quickened, both from excitement and a pang of guilt from feeling this way about someone other than her husband. But maybe it was okay if it was just thoughts... her legs strained and moved against the sheets. Then she heard the bathroom door click, and a startled Claire yanked her hands back to her sides.

"Hey babe," James said, poking his head out. "Do you need to go get cleaned up?"

Claire rolled her head sideways to look at him "Yeah, probably," she said. She stood up and felt his cum start to run down her thigh. She slipped into the bathroom past her husband and closed the door.

#

James left for the golf course the next morning after an early breakfast, and Claire was on her own. Arturo must not have been working, because their server for breakfast was an older woman with her hair in a messy bun. With nothing in particular planned, she decided to go for a stroll in the resort gardens tucked behind their building. The gardens had a network of cobblestone paths crossing through them, and all manner of native plants filled the grounds with small black signs tastefully displaying the names of the more interesting and exotic plants. As Claire walked through in jean shorts and a t-shirt, she looked up at the palm trees gracefully curving overhead, leaning gently in the breeze. The sky was a deep blue with small story-book clouds resting peacefully up above. At head hight, all manner of dark jade-colored leaves filled the space under the palm trees. The plants were so dense that it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. There were fern leaves that looked like fountains frozen in time, woody bushes with small oval-shaped leaves, and tropical plants with the sort of broad, veiny leaves the size of dinner plates that Claire thought would look beautiful in her living room. She had brought one home a few months before to put next to the window, but James had said it was ugly.

Claire took a breath. Stop thinking about him, she thought. Just look at the flowers. It seemed like every color and shape imaginable was represented by the flowers that dotted the green mass on either side of the path like stars in the night sky. Fragrant constellations of purple, white, and red populated the various branches. There were bright summery yellows too, and pale blues. Small round flowers and flowers with broad long petals that seemed to splash out from the foliage. Flowers shaped like roses, trumpets, and sunbursts. Hummingbirds flitted about, and birdsong filled the air. It was truly lovely. The sun warmed her shoulders pleasantly, and Claire could hear water murmuring from somewhere nearby. When she turned a corner, she came across a koi pond, perhaps 15 yards wide, surrounded by cobblestone, a small wooden bridge bisecting it across its width. The path continued on past the pond, but Claire saw a wooden bench to the right and decided to sit down and rest.

She watched the large fish swim lazily through the pond. There were about a dozen, she figured. Most were gold with dark spots, but a few were more of a solid reddish-orange, and two were white with black splotches. She wondered what the fish were doing, what they were thinking. They seemed to drift along without a care in the world, and Claire found herself wishing that she could move through life as effortlessly as the fish in the pond. They did not seem worried about getting anywhere; after all, there was nowhere to go. But she imagined they were happy anyway, moving wherever the water would take them, living in this beautiful garden paradise. As she watched, the shapes of the individual fish seemed to melt away in the ripples, and the school looked more like a shifting swirl of color in the pond, a single shape dancing through the water.

After a few minutes, Claire looked up and noticed a man across the pond, appearing to be an employee working on the hedges. He wore a dark baseball cap over long dark hair, a blue short-sleeved collared shirt, khakis, and white tennis shoes. His arms held a hedge trimmer, and his short sleeves revealed thick forearms with muscles that flickered every clip. Even though she could not see his face, she felt who it was. Arturo.

A cool spark echoed through her body. She felt happy to see him, and if she were being honest, she may have missed him at breakfast that morning. He didn't seem to notice her sitting across the pond. She wanted to say something. She didn't want to interrupt him. It would be so nice to hear his voice again, though. But what would he think about her if she called out to him? What would her husband think if he knew she was talking to this man, this man who yesterday was a perfect stranger? What if it weren't even him? And yet she wanted so, felt an urge to see his smile, and somehow she felt bold.

"Arturo!" His name burst out of her almost involuntarily.

He spun around and lowered the hedge trimmers, and to her relief, when he saw Claire his face broke out into a wide grin. "Claire!" He said. "Claire la guapa! How are you doing this fine morning?"

Claire smiled back at him. "I'm well, thank you. How are you? Are you working?"

"Muy bien, señora. Gracias. I am actually just wrapping up right now."

"Oh good," said Claire. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Crossing the bridge toward her, Arturo waved his hand and shook his head, saying, "Nonsense Claire, it is a pleasure to be interrupted by you. And to be honest, I can be done now. The work I was doing was extra."

Claire felt a rush as he approached, and found herself shifting to the side of the bench to open a space for him. After leaning his hedge trimmers against the side of the bench, he took a seat to her right, sliding his left arm across the back of the bench behind her. Butterflies began circling her stomach.

"I'm—I'm glad," said Claire. "It's good to see you again." Had she said that already? Her mind felt a little jumbled. "I didn't know you worked here in the garden, too."

"Sí, I help out all over the resort. This morning I happened to be on hedge trimming duty."

"It looks like they keep you busy."

"They do. Where is your husband? James, right? Is he with you?"

"No, he's at the golf course. He'll probably be there for another hour or so."

Arturo removed his baseball cap, setting it down on the bench to the right, and ran a hand through his dark hair, which fell around the sides of his face. "And left you all alone here in the garden?"

Claire looked down and chuckled. "It's alright," she said, "I've had a pleasant morning just walking around this beautiful place."

Suddenly Arturo leaned in closer to her and placed his free right hand on Claire's bare thigh. It felt solid and strong, with thick palms. She could feel the presence of his left arm behind her resting on the bench, not quite touching her shoulders. And now she could feel electricity radiating from her leg, almost a tingling sensation. She felt another rush, breathed in sharply and smelled him, the slight tang of sweat mostly hidden by a leathery, musky cologne.

"Ay, yes, our gardens are beautiful," Arturo whispered. "Thank you for saying this. And now" — he sat back up a little, keeping his hand on her right thigh — "I must ask you. I am not interrupting your private alone time, am I?"

"No!" Claire blurted. She could feel her heart beating hard. Her head was swimming, and yet she felt so at home next to him. Being here with Arturo, alone in the garden, felt like a sanctuary. She felt no discomfort with him, rather more of a nervous curiosity. Who was he, and where did he come from? She watched the golden swirl in the pond before them twist around and seem to envelop the pair of them. Like a sunrise in the water.

"Good," Arturo said with a soft smile, and as he said it he leaned back closer and his right hand slid three inches up her thigh, his fingers soft on her skin. It felt so natural and graceful, his hand gentle and yet not without strength. Claire felt it acutely, felt a jolt in her thigh, in her chest, then a gentle warmth between her legs. She froze for a second, hoping he didn't notice how nervous she was, trying to remember when the last time was that she shaved her legs. She thought she should be upset, she thought that her thoughts themselves should simmer down, tried to corral her mind away from this man and back towards her husband. She thought she was wrong, thought her feelings were wrong, and of course it only made them burn harder. "I enjoy your company, Claire," she heard Arturo say. "Please, I must know more about you. I want to know everything. Tell me what is in your past, what is in your mind, what is in your heart."

"Oh," said Claire, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I don't know. I mean, there's a lot in my mind. But you don't need to listen to all that."

"Tell me," said Arturo. "You and your husband, you are from the mainland, yes?"

"Yeah, we live in Minnesota."

"A lovely place," said Arturo. "I love the wild places, the lakes, the people. You've lived there for long?"

Claire couldn't help but smile. "Born and raised. My husband grew up in Michigan, but he went to college in Minneapolis on a football scholarship. That's where we met."

"A lovely story. He seems like a nice man. You must have a wonderful relationship." Arturo's hand hadn't moved. Claire found herself hoping that it didn't, in spite of herself.

"Yes. Although ever since our son moved out to college, it's been..."

"How has it been?"

Claire paused. "Different. Like, our marriage used to be vibrant, as vibrant and colorful as the flowers in this garden." She gestured outwards. "But somewhere along the line, it faded. Like an old picture. It faded, and I guess we — I — never really noticed, because there was always our child around to keep our focus off of each other. But now it's front and center—the fading, I mean—and it's just a little bit of a shock and it's hard to ignore. I never noticed, I guess, that he was paying more attention to his work and his hobbies than he was to me. I never noticed how little time we were spending together and how little he cared. And for my end, I was always so involved with my son that I wonder if maybe I've abandoned him too." She stopped herself, suddenly self conscious that she had spilled too much, gotten too personal. Was she making him uncomfortable? "Sorry," she said, "I'm rambling."

Looking up at Arturo, she saw a pair of concerned deep brown eyes.

"Claire, Claire, do not be sorry." His thumb began to stroke her thigh, gently. Soothingly. "I am heartbroken to hear this. For a woman as lovely and thoughtful as yourself, you deserve from your Husband the whole world. Even from our short time together, I can see in your eyes, tines una alma hermosa. You have such a beautiful soul, such a beautiful spirit. To share even this time with you is a blessing. To share a whole life you must be paradise. And it is so unfortunate when a spirit like yours goes unnoticed and unappreciated. Maybe your time here in paradise may help him to see that. Maybe that will help him reconnect with you."

"I hope so. Sorry, I don't mean to tell you all of my personal problems."

"Do not apologize," Arturo said, patting her thigh. "I believe you can completely change things. You are so kind and loving, I can tell. I have seen many couples come and go from this place, many people who drift in and out. But you, you are special. I can feel it. And I think you will have a very special experience here with us. Remember that this is not your fault, but a relationship is a living thing, not a just work of art. Without attention and care, it can grow weak. But with work, it can grow and thrive and bloom." He gestured outward, taking his hand off her leg and holding it in front of him, palm turned upwards. "Just like this garden."

Removing Arturo's hand cut the electric current flowing through her leg, and Claire's heart slowed a little. Her breathing returned to normal. "Thank you. I think we will be okay." She felt the denim of her shorts and fidgeted, struggling to remember what she normally did with her hands while talking. After a moment, she folded them neatly in her lap. "Enough about me, though. Where are you from?"

"Colombia, señora," said Arturo. "Mi familia is still there."

"You're a long way from home. What brought you here to Hawaii?"

"I got a work Visa a few years ago. Mi madre, she is getting old and can't work as much any more. So I came here to earn money and send it home, to her and my sisters. My hope is to soon save up enough to attend University."

"That is wonderful. You are such a remarkable young man. Your mother is lucky to have you as a son. And I'm sure your sisters look up to you. You will do so well."

Now Arturo smiled, looked down at the ground for a split second. Claire swore she saw him blush. "Gracias," he said.

"You need to teach me some Spanish."

"Maybe I will." Arturo grinned. "I love to teach people. I would love to become a teacher someday." His eyes seemed to light up a little, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. His strong jaw still had his beard that was just barely too long to be called stubble, and a wayward lock of wavy black hair hung down in front of his cheek. His shirt was buttoned down just enough to reveal a hint of chest hair below his collarbones. His tanned arms looked strong and solid.

"What would you teach?"

"Spanish. Maybe math. I loved math back when I was a boy, un niñito."

"I would love to be your student."

"Would you?"

Claire sat up a little straighter. She felt bold and wanted to send a spark of her own back at him, a response for... really, everything about him. She wanted him to feel the excitement she had felt, the excitement of meeting a thrilling stranger, this man who made her feel a way again that she had not felt in so long. She had spent so long serving a husband and son who now no longer needed her, or so it felt. She wanted someone else to serve her for a change.

"Of course. Now that I think about it, why don't you come and teach me some time, while I'm here with you?

Arturo smiled. "I would like teaching you, sí. What would you want to learn?"

"I want you to teach me some Spanish."

"Just some Spanish? Nothing else?"

"Well..." Claire started, and her voice trailed off.

Arturo again rested his hand on her thigh, higher than before, more than halfway up to her hips from her knee. Just below the hem of her shorts. He leaned in until his head was nearly touching hers, until she could smell his scent again. Her heart began to race, her head felt light, a white glow raced back through her body again. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach now, and she felt an ache growing in her loins.

"I will teach you whenever you are ready, Claire," Arturo said. "I can teach you many things. When you are ready to be my student, you give me the word and I will show you everything I know. But for now I must go. I hope you will excuse me."

Claire's head felt like it was swimming, her thoughts shifting in every direction like the fish in the pond in front of her. She didn't want him to go, she wanted him to stay here in the garden that felt like a bubble, by the pond that seemed to glow in the sunlight. She wanted to keep feeling his faint warmth and hearing his voice as soothing as the bird songs.

"Oh no," she heard herself say, "Do you need to get back to work?"

"I have some errands to attend, and I am sorry to leave you. But don't worry, we will meet again when you dine with us for supper, señora." With his left hand, he gave her shoulders a quick rub, and for a brief delectable instant she could feel both of his hands on her at once, completing the electrical current that shot through her stomach.

"I can't wait."

Arturo stood up and put his hat back on. "Until next time, Claire," he said with a wave and a smile.

"Goodbye, Arturo," said Claire, grinning. "It was so nice to talk to you. Thank you for keeping me company."

"It was my pleasure." Arturo took his hedge trimmers, turned, and vanished into the garden.

She looked back at the fish, who continued swimming in swirls before her. She wondered if they could see her and Arturo together on the bench, could know somehow what had just happened. She found herself wanting a witness, wishing there was someone else who could verify that she had not just imagined her conversation with him, that it had really taken place and she had really felt his real touch. She wished the fish could talk, to tell her that she was right to feel this way. But of course, how could they? And after a moment, Claire simply told herself to take comfort in the fact that the only witnesses to her encounter with Arturo, were the ever-silent fish, the ultimate keepers of her secret that was beginning to blossom like the flowers in the garden.

#

James was in a good mood that afternoon, like he always was after a round of golf, but Claire barely noticed as they got ready for dinner. Her thoughts were consumed by Arturo. She felt anxious, eager to impress him, to look good for him, and no matter how hard she tried to push the feelings away they only seemed to grow. She felt almost embarrassed for feeling this way. It seemed beneath her to develop a crush like this on a man barely more than half her age, after all. And yet she felt intoxicated by him, at once dreading and relishing the chance to see him again.

After a shower, James changed into a gingham long-sleeve button down and khaki shorts, with boat shoes on. Claire slipped into a strapless patterned orange sundress and sandals and went into the bathroom to brush her hair. It didn't look quite right, and she kept trying to get the frizz out to no avail. With a sigh, the tied it back into a low ponytail. That looked alright, she thought. Not quite as sexy as she had hoped, but it looked put together enough. Just for fun, she pulled down the front of her dress to reveal a little more cleavage.

Claire looked at herself in the mirror and smiled, feeling almost giddy. What am I doing, she thought. Is this crazy? It seemed insane to her that she wanted so badly to look good for someone other than her husband, but she found herself craving Arturo's attention. She thought of the way his hand had felt on her earlier, the way his arm felt around her. She wanted that again. She wanted his hands on her, and she found herself imagining them on her legs, on her back, exploring every inch...