La Mar

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t always wanted a woman like her.

But I’d also be lying if I said I’d imagined a woman like her could even exist.

It wasn’t just her age–her maturity, I should call it. It was the way she carried herself: Regal, like a queen. Her dress was white, backless. I could see the outline of her white panties through it. My eyes traced the triangle back of them for an hour as I watched her from the other side of the restaurant. She never turned to look at me, but I had a feeling she knew I was there.

That’s why I took the dare from my friends to talk to her. It was our last day of our guy’s trip. We’d spent a week surfing in aquamarine colored water, popping straws into freshly picked coconuts, and lounging around in flip flops and shorts before we headed back to our cold apartments in Mexico City. This was our last night to have fun and maybe get a story to bring home with us.

We were messing around with each other all night. Enrique tried to hit on the bartender with the blonde braid, but she shot him down with a few words. Raul tried to talk to the two American girls a few seats away, but the moment they turned to look at him, he spun on his heel and raced back to us. We roared with laughter.

It’s not easy to approach women, as much as they think it might be. Especially a woman like her.

In between watching her sip her drink, I had been doing most of the shit talking. It was only a matter of time before my friends called me out. 

“And who are you going after?” Javier asked me.

I didn’t want to tell them. You don’t give these kinds of things away when your buddies are messing with you. You have to hold back a little or else they see your weakness.

But they saw me look at the mirror. Its gold frame held her image like a portrait. Her brown hair was casually pinned up to reveal her neck and she wore a simple white dress with almost nothing underneath. I could tell she was beautiful even without seeing her up close. I wanted to kiss up her spine – the place her dress left bare – tasting the saltiness and feeling the humidity of her skin.

“Her,” Raul said, nodding in her direction. Javier and Enrique turned to look. As if she felt our attention, she ran her slender fingers along the nape of her neck. I froze, hoping she wouldn’t turn around and see us staring at her.

I said nothing. Even thinking of her made me feel a little hard. Lifting her long white skirt, revealing the white triangle, the triangle beneath that…

“Your turn,” Javier said.

I couldn’t back down. You can’t when things get this heated. 

I walked to her side of the bar and took the stool two seats away from hers. I saw her eyes glance at me, but her head barely turned in my direction. Yet it gave me enough: she acknowledged my existence. I needed to prove myself to my friends—and not give them something to make fun of me for the rest of my life.

I watched myself in the golden mirror that had framed her all evening. I was sweating through my white cotton shirt. My face was damp, too. My ex-girlfriend told me I had a baby face. Not a good quality for a man, but she said she adored it. At 27, I was ready to look 47. To gain the composure of the men in movies who never seemed to sweat in the heat, and always knew how to claim the attention of the woman they wanted.

But my baby face didn’t know what to do. Awkwardly, I lifted my hand to catch the bartender’s eyes, the same one who had sent Enrique running. Beautiful to look at, but icy. Not my type. The bartender pretended not to see me. I called out to her, but even then she didn’t respond.

The woman in white smiled. An inviting smile. A warm smile that came with a smattering of fine, feathered lines at the edges of her deep brown eyes. A lock of her light brown hair that had fallen out of the pinned up style hugged her face, softening her pointed features. 

“¿Te ayudo?” she asked me playfully. “She seems to ignore the young men here.”

I grinned in response, leaning toward her. Her dress was cut low, revealing more of her chest than I’d expected. She had that reddish tan tourists from cold places get when they come to the beach and a tan line that encircled her long neck. My eyes glanced quickly down to her small, perky breasts pressing against the fabric of her dress. I wanted to see more. 

She lifted a hand and waved to the bartender. In Spanish, with an American accent, she told the bartender I wanted a drink.

I asked for a beer. The bartender gave it to me, a little bit warm.

“Thank you,” I told the woman in white.

“Some things are easier with age,” she smiled. I feel more attracted when a woman smiles like that. As if she knows how hard it is for a guy to walk across the bar to a stranger. As if she were willing to give me a break.

“Are you visiting from the U.S.?” I asked her. “Or Canada?”

She took a sip. “The U.S. Just down for the week.”

I wanted her to ask me something next. I wanted her to tell me it was okay to want her. I wanted her to tell me that I was welcome to give her the attention I wanted to give her despite the bridge between our generations. Instead, she rubbed a finger against the condensation of her glass.

I looked at her hands. The veins showed through the skin in a way that only happens with age. It’s sexy to see how a woman learns to carry herself when she’s older. Girls my age seem too concerned with how they look. That fixation seems to fall away as a woman gets older. Like when she turns forty, she walks through a special curtain. On the other side, she is not as self-conscious. Or maybe she is more conscious in a different way. Like she has come into her body fully.

I’d never been with an older woman, but I’d often noticed them. My mother’s friend, Lupe, ran a small cafe in my hometown. She had curly hair and a permanent stain of pink lipstick. She yelled at her employees and customers in a raspy voice that demanded their attention without being mean or cruel. Whenever she saw me, she called me guapo and told me to be good to the girls. Sitting two stools down from the woman in white, I thought of Lupe. They both had an aura of playfulness alongside an air of wisdom.

The woman in white crossed her legs and I saw her ankles and calves. Strong and tanned. Smooth. All I wanted was to kneel on the ground in front of her and slide my hand up, but I knew enough from Lupe to know that a woman of her age didn’t waste time with foolish behavior. I had to be smooth.

“What’s your name?” she asked me.

I was so busy thinking that I didn’t even hear her.

“Cómo te llamas?” she asked again.  

Suddenly she was looking directly at me. Her eyes were intense. I felt nervous, far more nervous than I’d ever been talking to a woman. Yet the way her lips took a soft shape–not quite a smile, but welcoming–told me I could relax. There was nothing that I could do wrong.

“Daniel,” I told her. “Yours?”

“Daniel. Mucho gusto. I’m Adeline.”

We smiled at each other, locking eyes. It put me at ease.

“Are you traveling alone?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I had a busy winter and needed to go somewhere I could just sit on a beach and clear my head. Sometimes traveling with other people is less relaxing than following my own desires.”

I wanted to ask her, “And what are those desires?” but I could barely get any words out at all.

“It’s brave, coming to a new country alone,” I told her instead. I gave the reply a 6 out of 10.

“I lived in Oaxaca when I was younger,” she confided. “I wanted to see if it was possible to live in a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language.”

“Was it possible?” 7 out of 10.

“Somewhat. I lasted about nine months before the difficulties got to me. But I learned some Spanish so I consider it a success.”

Here she turned toward me. Her chest facing me, I could see the shape of her nipples beneath her dress. I had the urge to rest my hand on her breasts and feel them press against my palm.

She took the last sip of her drink. The few bits of ice slid back into the bottom of her glass.

“Would you like to watch the sunset with me?” she asked.

“I’d love to. There’s a beach just over the hill that has a nice view. Have you been?”

Her cheeks pinked up. “The nude beach?”

“Yes,” I said, holding her gaze. I was finally feeling smooth. “Is that okay with you?”

She nodded and stood up. As we walked, I felt the mirror behind us reflecting our passage out the door. I couldn’t believe I was leaving with her.

I led her out the long way, avoiding the table with my friends. I could feel their eyes on me, but I ignored them completely. I didn’t want them to ruin whatever was going to happen.

The beach outside the restaurant was empty except for a few couples walking on the shore. As soon as we got outside, she kicked off her sandals and carried them in her hand. The sand was cooler than earlier in the day, the sun’s fading rays left a slight chill in the air. The wind felt cool on my skin, drying my sweat.

We spoke very little as we walked. A delicious tension existed between us. It seemed delicate, like it might shatter if we started talking.

I pointed to a hill with a set of stairs.

“We have to climb that.”

She looked ahead at the stairs, but did not answer. The stairs were short but steep. At the top, we looked at the mountains that encircled the inner land and the ocean all around. We were both breathing heavily and paused to take the view in. I took a risk and placed my hand at the small of her back. She eased into it. I exhaled in relief.

The beach in front of us was nearly empty. The sun was almost down and the tourists had packed up their things. Far off in the distance, I could see a group of people starting a fire. I saw the outlines of figures moving around the party. One couple was a bit removed from the rest. Standing near a palapa in a deep kiss.

I pressed my hand against her skin. Soft, a bit sweaty. She did not back away. I felt her back move as her breathing increased. I felt that was a yes.

“There’s a restaurant there,” I said, pointing below. “Let’s get a drink.”

I felt better now, but still was nervous, parched. We walked down the stairs. At the end was a big step. I went first and held out my hand for her. She took it with a knowing glance.

Just a few steps in, she stopped.

“It’s a nude beach, right?”

“Yes,” I said, anxious for what would happen next.

She reached up and untied the part of her dress that wrapped around her neck. Like that, her skin was bare. She wore just her panties – the white triangle I had seen on her before and the full tan line from the place where her bikini top had covered her. Her breasts were still white, as if this was the first time they’d been exposed to the sun. 

Her body was spectacular. Sinewy and strong. Firm and soft all at once. She was gorgeous and she knew it, too.

I didn’t know if I should undress, so I offered to hold her dress. She let me. I draped it over my shoulder and smelled her. The mixture of sweat and musky perfume was intoxicating. I walked next to her, feeling her presence, smelling her scent, and holding back every part of me that wanted to pull her against me.

She seemed to know how badly I wanted her. This is the kind of confidence I had seen in other women her age. The kind a woman grows into. Earned and not given. It’s the sexiest thing a woman can have.

When we arrived at the restaurant they were beginning to close. Waiters were cleaning and stacking chairs on the table tops. They told us they were closed but I told them that we only wanted a drink and would leave quickly. They reluctantly gave us our order.

She sipped her drink, the ice clinking in her glass. I again watched her fingers play in the condensation. A breeze blew and her nipples grew hard. Our legs brushed under the table. I could feel myself stiffening.

We drank quickly. Talked a bit. I told her I worked in film production. She was a writer. We were both nervous, as if waiting for something we knew would happen. As if the inevitable was coming, but we knew that the build up was the most important part.

She sucked a piece of ice from her glass and held it in her mouth. In a moment, she leaned over and kissed me. The coldness of her lips against the warmth of my own was a shock of pleasure. Her hand rested on my thigh. I reached forward to reciprocate, feeling the smoothness of her inner thigh, the invitation it seemed to allow. I wanted to slide my hand up to that beautiful white triangle, but I held back. The tension was delicious and I wanted to extend it as long as possible.

I laid down money for the drinks and thanked the waiters at the back of the restaurant for letting us sneak in.

It was fully dark now. The stars were dotting the sky and the moon cast a brilliant light onto the ocean. We ran like children to the water, tossing our clothing on the beach before we jumped in.

The water was quite shallow, so we waded out, playfully splashing and chasing each other in the soft waves. Her smile was magnetic, her laugh even moreso. I loved seeing the lines around her eyes and the way she threw her head back with a deep sense of enjoyment. The silhouette of her body against the ocean waves and the moonlight, the curves of her hips, the soft underbelly, and the sweet tuft of hair between her legs. It was all like something from a movie.

I pulled her close to me. This was the first time our bodies truly made contact. We were both completely naked and wet from the ocean. I pulled her close but did not kiss her mouth. Instead, I bent to take in the scent of her neck. It was a sweet combination of sweat and salt water. I kissed just below her ears and felt her body relax completely into mine. Even though she was nearly twice my age, the way she melted felt pure, but not innocent, as if she had the confidence to choose when she would release into me. 

I kissed her neck, hearing her moan with pleasure. I licked her skin and grazed my fingertips along her belly, moving up toward her breast. I barely touched her nipple at first, almost as if I were touching the air that touched her. She pressed against me. I felt my cock move as it touched her thigh. I ached for her, dying to end the tension. But I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t let it build just a bit more.

I reached down between her legs, barely touching that sweet spot I had fantasized about at the bar so many hours ago. I could smell her, the same scent that had been on her dress, though now much stronger. I gave one gentle stroke, from the top to the bottom, then from the bottom to the top. Very little pressure at first.

She moaned. The sounds of her against the noise of the crashing waves all around us was almost too much. I stroked her more, feeling the warm wetness of her on my fingers. I wanted to taste her, to feel her juices all over my face.

A big wave came and knocked us off balance.

“Let’s go to shore,” I told her, taking her by the hand. I had seen some palapas outside the restaurant. If we were lucky, they would be empty.

We ran through the surf, pausing long enough to grab our clothes, now damp and covered in wet sand. I could hear her breath moving to the rhythm of our jog. I felt the vibration of her footfalls next to mine. I glanced at her, her wet hair rising and falling with her steps, her soft, pink lips slightly parted. My stomach swirled with excitement. She was real. This was real.

We slowed as we reached the palapas. The fire down at the other end of the beach was the only light we saw. The restaurant had closed down and the air was filled with a quiet emptiness, like the anticipation between breaths.

The palm roof blocked out the moonlight. The mat was cool and slightly damp. Our skin, covered in sand and salt, felt rough against each other. I lay her down and stroked my hand against her belly. She closed her eyes and began to move against my touch. I was struck at how easy it was for her to fall into this space of total sexuality. She moved like a snake, her hips circling, her breasts lifting and arcing as I ran my hand up her belly to her breast, cupping it and feeling her body move toward me. My cock grew.

I wanted to taste her. I wanted to feel the softness of her pussy against my tongue, my mouth. I wanted to give her pleasure, for her to receive it entirely. I kissed her belly, moving down toward the hair between her legs. Its aroma was intoxicating, the combination of salt water, honey, and musk. I kissed the very top of the space where her lips began and she gasped.

She pressed her pussy into me. I could tell she was ready for more. But I wanted to stare into the darkness of her pussy in the darkness of the night around us.

Slowly, I slid my tongue down her lips. Barely entering her. She shuddered. I pressed my hands on her hips, holding her down with a gentle firmness. She softened, her legs spreading further open.

In the moonlight I could see her inner folds. I had no light but I imagined her skin was a vibrant pink, like the inside of a conch shell. Just imagining the contrast of her pale skin against her pink pussy made my cock stir. I wanted to be inside her, to feel her body pressing against mine.

She inhaled deeply when I finally tasted her fully. Her body filled with tension and release as I slid my tongue around her clit. Her breath picked up pace as my movements picked up pace. The sound of the ocean sliding on the sand as I slid around her ocean.

I reached down to touch myself. My cock was aching from anticipation. I wanted to be inside her, but I held back still. I slipped a finger in her instead as I continued to lick her. She arched her back and moaned.

I wanted to see her let go of everything. I wanted to see all the knots in her spine release and fall like water from the cliff. I wanted to see how a woman like her felt pleasure.

I began to feel her body drawing inward, upward. She pressed herself against me, her pussy soft against my tongue. Little brushes of her hair touching my lips. She tasted like musk and fennel. Anise and lavender. Salt and whiskey. A combination of tastes unexpected and perfect.

I pressed my whole mouth against her. Tongue moving steadily against her body as she writhed beneath me. She pressed her hands onto the back of my head, leading me to the places she knew would bring her the most pleasure.

I felt her clit getting harder beneath my tongue. Her legs shaking. Deeper and deeper we went. I slid another finger inside. We moved together faster. I could feel her pleasure building and I followed it. Exactly as she wanted. Exactly where she wanted. It was as if she was directing me with no words, just the language of her body.

Then, she broke. She wailed. She howled. She yelled. She whimpered. She sighed. All the tension in her body melted. My fingers inside her felt the pulsations of her orgasm. I kissed her thighs, tasting the sweat of her skin mixed with the salt water.

I let her lie there until her breath became more even. I wanted her to tell me what we would do next. To direct this like it was a play of her own design.

She sat up, her eyes full of pleasure and longing. I could see the sparkle even in the dim light.

“El fuego,” I said. “The fire at the end of the beach is reflecting in your eyes.”

She smiled and pulled me to kiss her. Her taste swapped between us, tongue to tongue. I felt my cock firm and pressing toward her. She reached for it, stroking it, whispering in my ear words that I could barely understand because the desire was so strong in my body. I wanted to be inside her, to know her fully, the parts of her that cannot be seen with just the eyes.

She wrapped her legs around me and began to pull my body closer to hers. Pulling my cock closer to her. She led me until I was right on top of her. She led my cock directly to the place where I’d wanted to visit the moment I saw her. I slid inside her, effortlessly, easily. We both moaned as our pelvises met. We rocked there for a few minutes. I savored the sweet smoothness. Her wetness invited me to move and explore. Her inner flesh enveloped me and responded to every part of me.

We kissed deeply as if trying to hold a perfect circle of us together. Mouth to mouth and cock to pussy. She grabbed a lock of my hair and twisted it in her fingers. Her other hand pressed against my ass, pulling me into her. She moved and pressed herself against me. I met her with equal force, feeling my cock sliding against the soft, wet places within her. I felt myself building to the edge. I used my breath to hold on. I didn’t want to let her go after such a short time. I was her prisoner and her captor, all at the same time.

Her body began to buckle as her pleasure increased. Sweat was the only thing between us. Her body glistened. She was exquisite. Amazing. A goddess in the moonlight. I felt my moment arising, but I felt it would degrade her to leave her covered in me. I didn’t want that. I wanted her to remain exactly like this in my visual memory. I pushed into her, wanting to explode in her depths, but knowing that the fantasy I had been waiting for my whole sexual life would end here.

She sensed me getting closer. She pulled away and sat up. In a flash, she swiped her palm against her pussy and then grabbed hold of me, stroking me with that delightful wetness in which I had just been enveloped. I stood before her. She sat with legs open. My eyes fixed on the space I wanted to live forever, if forever were a vacation on a nude beach.

I came like that. A low growl and a moan. Dripping into the sand below my feet. I felt the collapse, the release of all tension from my body. I lay my head against her shoulder. She held me, stroking my hair.

“Gracias,” she said softly.

After some time passed and our sweat dried, we made our way back to the point where we had stripped off our clothes. The tide had come in and we had to wander around to collect everything. We found her dress. My pants. One of her sandals. The rest was a gift to the ocean.

“I leave tomorrow,” I finally told her when we got back to the restaurant.

She smiled, stroked my hair, and kissed my cheek before walking off alone to wherever she was going.

Inside the restaurant my friends were very drunk. I walked in, wet hair, barefoot, and shirtless. Immediately they demanded to know what had happened. Where was the woman in white? Where are your clothes?

I paused in front of them and took in their excited words, the eagerness in their eyes. They were scrambling, pushing each other back to get to me. Answering none of them, I laughed and walked away. Up to the bartender with the icy eyes. She saw me this time. I ordered a beer. This time it was cold.