“Hi,’ said the woman in the big black Elton John sunglasses.
It was Melissa, a Colombian friend. I had taught her two sons English. She and her husband Gilberto were fellow ex-pats and we met up from time to time at ex-pat events. Melissa ran a small spa in a hotel in Paramaribo, Suriname, and every time we met she would invite me for a free treatment from a menu that ranged from manicures to full body massage. I had no doubt that it was all above board, but somehow I had never taken her up on it.
Today I was walking past the hotel when I had bumped into her returning from the shops. She invited me in, and I followed her into the lift and up to the top floor, where her little unit sat next to a swimming pool. She motioned for me to sit on the massage table and came and sat next to me. She had put on her white clinician’s coat and looked professional.
“So, you finally accept my invitation,” she said with good-natured scolding. “Maybe you don’t like Colombian women.”
“I work with a lot of Colombians,” I reminded her. “Beautiful people.”
“You are a good man.” She was grateful to me for keeping her boys on the straight and narrow during school holidays. She leaned against me.
“Can I give you a de-stress?” she offered insistently. “Good for you. Very relaxing.” Her hand was on mine and she was looking into my eyes. “Go on.”
“Okay, that would be nice,” I said.
“You can undress in there,” she said in a professional tone, indicating a changing room with a white curtain. “Put on the robe.”
I undressed as instructed, slipped on the toweling robe and re-emerged, approaching the table.
“Lie on your front, without the robe,” she said, brandishing a small towel. “I put this on you.”
I did as I was told and she averted her eyes, then draped the towel over my buttocks.
Melissa took a little bottle of fragrant oil – lavender, I would say – and rubbed a little into my neck and the top of my back, before getting to work with strong, soft hands. She was a substantial woman, not fat exactly but solid in a non-curvy way. Naturally heavy might be a good way of putting it. The sort of woman who wishes she had a neck like a swan and some undulations, rather than a big pair of breasts, a barrel belly and a non-nonsense backside.
I don’t mind that sort of shape at all, in fact, I find it quite attractive. It all depends on the character, and many women of that profile have a cuddly, motherly way that translates into warm, comforting sex, unlike the bony, nervous electric eels that are their skinny sisters.
Just as Melissa got going with the upper-back business there was a knock at the door and in walked a receptionist, supposedly to discuss a booking but, I felt, really to see what was going on. When she had left, I reached for the robe and Melissa handed it to me.
“That’s one reason I don’t like public massages,” I told her as I wrapped the covering around me and she averted her eyes more briefly this time, to catch a glimpse of a man she liked.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I replied. “The other thing I don’t like is that it turns me on a bit. I know it’s not supposed to, but I can’t help it.” Melissa glanced down at the slight tenting in the robe.
“It happens,” she said. It’s a shame, though. I think I could do you some good.”
“I’m sure you could,” I said over my shoulder as I entered the cubicle to get dressed. We said goodbye politely and I didn’t think much about it as I went on my way. Half an hour later I got a text and it was from her.
“Sorry again,” it said. “Tomorrow morning I work at home. 10:30? Private. No stress.”
I went there in the morning, but not expecting a massage. I didn’t know what to expect, of her or of myself. She was in the kitchen when I arrived, making coffee, wearing a white t-shirt and a denim skirt just above the knee. We sat at the kitchen table.
“Are you happy?” she asked, staring into her cup, then flicking her gaze up to see my reaction.
“Yes,” I replied. “Things are okay. Got some work and the house is okay. How about you?”
“Oh, all that is okay,” she said. “I mean do you feel good or… is life passing you?”
“Sounds like you need to talk, not me,” I said gently, and sat back to let her compose her thoughts.
“I don’t know,” she began. “We happy enough, Gilberto and me. But is no, you know, excitement.”
“How long have you been married?” I asked.
“Seventeen years.”
“And you have been bringing up your boys and trying to make a living and looking for a country to stay in because your homeland is such a mess,” I said, hoping to sound empathetic. She and Gilberto had told me at length about the effects of the narco-terrorism in their part of the country, Antioquia. “It’s hard to sustain the exciting side of a marriage.” Melissa knew I had been married for 10 years and was happily divorced.
“I know,’ she said. “Gilberto is a good person and a good father. I’m a bad person.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. She took my hand in hers and just looked at me. I stroked her palm and she stood up and walked us through to the bedroom. The curtains were closed, the bed was made and the airconditioning was on. That was either careless and wasteful or it was on for a reason. Melissa stopped by the bed and looked deep into my eyes. We melted together in beautiful, affectionate passion, caressing and squeezing and kissing languidly. She took a step back and started to undress.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
“He has taken them out into the country to a river,” she said.
I undressed too and soon we were standing there next to her neat, feminine bed. She lay on it and beckoned me. We lay and kissed and caressed unhurriedly. This woman really knew how to kiss; she did it in a way that was worth a thousand episodes of desperate pawing and hasty jerking. She was making love. She made her way down my body, kissing my neck and my chest, sucking my nipples and looking into my eyes as she licked them slowly and determinedly. And then she was between my legs, licking my thighs and my crotch, sucking my scrotum and gently taking my balls in her mouth, one at a time, knowing it was for her pleasure rather than mine. And finally, she licked my cock, gently but firmly and lovingly, as if I had just given it to her for Christmas. She took it in her mouth and I could tell that she was loving the whole thing. She had been wanting to give somebody a good blowjob for a long time. Maybe it was me she had been wanting, she sucked me with such tenderness and confidence.
Finally, I stopped her. “Come up here,” I said gently, and she came up obediently and we kissed some more. Then I made my way down her body, with the same ports of call as she had made on mine, but I also licked her armpits and as she writhed with ticklish pleasure I knew I had done something no one else had ever done. Eventually, I got between her legs and licked her beautiful womanly pussy, all rosy swirls and lady juice, and I licked and sucked her clitoris until she came with a bucking, exultant cry.
“Turn over,” I said, gesturing with my hands in case she didn’t understand. I pulled her hips so she was up on her knees. I was 100% sure that no one had ever licked her arse, and it was confirmed when, as I put my face there and my tongue entered her hot, savoury satin cave, she turned around as best she could and half cried/half-whispered, “Oh, baby…”
I gave Melissa the full treatment with my tongue in her crack and she had orgasm after orgasm, each time gushing sweet words in Spanish, until finally, she flopped forwards on the bed, panting and moaning with satisfaction. I climbed astride her and masturbated until my cum gushed into her crack. She brought her hand around to the back and poked a little into her arsehole, then grabbed her knickers from the floor and wiped herself clean.
“I thin’ I love you,” she said as she settled onto her back in post-orgasmic bliss, and the English teacher in me silently castigated her for her Spanish-speaker’s failure to pronounce the last letter.
“You are… I don’t know how to say it in English,” she said with a faint smile. “You like the sexo pervertido.”
“Perverted?” I said, amused. “No. Kinky, maybe.”
“Yes, kinky,” she said happily. “You do the not normal things.”
“You like it too,’ I replied. “So it’s normal for us.”
“Yes, for you and me,” she said, snuggling into my body as I played absentmindedly with her nipples and my finger ran on autopilot down to her crotch.
“Are there other things you want to do?” I asked expectantly.
“I have had a quiet normal life in the sex,” she confided. “Are a lot of things I want you do with me. Are you in a hurry now? I am free the whole day. Or you need to go?”
Well, you can’t turn down an offer like that, so I made a quick phone call to cancel a student. Melissa made some coffee and cut some cake and we sat together on the sofa while we had our mid-morning break, before returning to the bedroom.
“So, what did you have in mind?” I asked when we had broken from another loving kiss.
“Again,” she said, “I don’t know how to say in English. I want you pee on me and I do to you. You understand?”
“Golden showers,” I said in teacher mode. “Or watersports.” We walked into the bathroom and I was pleased to see they had a good-sized shower cubicle. I knew I had to do it first because when she pissed on me I would instantly develop a huge hardon that I couldn’t piss through.
“Sit in the floor,” I said, and she sat immediately, with her knees up.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Yes. Now part your legs a bit,” I said, gesturing with my hands. She did so and her tidy little diamond of pubic hair peeked up at me. Even her hair seemed to love me. In spite of my growing excitement, I managed to get a stream going and pissed on her chest, then down her stomach until I was aiming at her clitoris. She was rubbing her hands over her body to spread my liquid and her mouth was in a strange expression of serious tenderness. Then, of her own accord, she turned onto her knees and commanded, “In my ass.”
I sent the last of my stream into her crack, as she made ecstatic little noises.
When I had finished, I helped her to her feet and sat down where she had been.
“How?” she asked. “Like this?”
“You could do,” I said, “but come down here.” I pulled her down so that she was straddling my hips.
“Here,” I said. “Go on.”
Melissa seemed to have to give herself permission to do it, but soon her urine was trickling in that directionless female way, before the stream became strong enough to control and she was giving me a good, hard flow like a very focused waterfall. She pissed on my urgent, rampant cock and over my balls and her beautiful bodily fluid was in my arse and running down my thighs.
When we had finished we had a quick shower and went back to bed.
“Next time you piss in my mouth,” she said seriously.
