"One Day at a Time" (closed for RitaPita)

[KyleReevis]

"One Day at a Time"

Closed for RitaPita​

Henry Thomas
55 years old
6'2", 200 lbs, fit and healthy (sort of)
Graying hair and beard, brown eyes

Henry ended his two mile jog up and down Costa Brava where his dinghy was tied to a pole sunk into the sands. He felt great, despite what his doctor had said about his health. Still, his heart was noticeably pounding and his breathing was deep and quick.

Once he'd regained himself, he looked down the beach. Barcelona wasn't far off to the southwest. He couldn't see it from here, though. Beach obstructions; homes, a pier, a jetty.

He looked out into the world's largest sea. His leased 36 foot long sailboat bobbed gently at its anchorage. Henry had taken delivery on it a week ago in Lisbon. Before that, he'd taken a week long sailing refresher course in Boston. In between, he'd spent an additional day with a Certified Sailing Instructor. The leasing company needed verification of their customer's abilities at the tiller.

Henry's vacation was scheduled to last six months. He was already thinking he'd cut it short. He was determined to give the getaway a couple of more weeks. A couple of more days at least. He was ready to head home already.

Henry hadn't taken a vacation since 2000. His work for others and, later, his work for himself simply hadn't allowed the time off. Less than a month away, Henry felt the need to return to Boston. He was neglecting his company.

His family felt otherwise. It was his mother who'd demanded he take time off. His company was in preparations for the next big project. Despite being the lead once work began, Henry wasn't needed there now.

Henry had had a stress episode a couple of months back during a stressful time. A few days later and then a few days after than, he suffered two more. Not a heart attack. Not a panic attack. Stress episodes his doctor had called them.

At his mother's urging, a travel agent friend had put together a Med Cruise package for him: jet to London for some shows and shopping with his Ex-Pat sister and her husband; a second flight to Lisbon; boat leasing, maintenance, fueling, and cleanings at a series of ports; and hotels, rental cars, scooters, and more in those same ports.

It was called a Freedom Package. Henry's itinerary was without specific dates of arrival or departure. He could show up when he wanted and leave when he wanted. The lodging, services, and everything else would be made available to him when he got there. He also had the right to end his vacation early or extend it further, too.

There were additional costs related to that, of course. But Henry Thomas's net worth was just shy of $14 million. A couple of extra thousand dollars of penalties or adjustments wasn't going to be an issue.

He looked back the way he'd jogged. The surf lapping at the sands had already erased his tracks. It was as though he'd never even been there. That bothered Henry, of course. He was a single man with no children. He had a fortune, a profitable and productive company, and hundreds of dedicated employees. Despite this, when he died one day in the future, he knew he would eventually be forgotten by this fast moving, busy, easily distracted world.

As if he'd never even been here.

He untied the dinghy and pushed it out into the surf. It was time to return to the boat and the open sea. His next port of call was Marseille, 184 nautical miles. Even with favorable winds and a direct, Point A to Point B course, it would take him more than a day and a half.

Henry stopped short, though, at an unexpected though not unwelcomed sight. The most incredibly sexy woman in an unbelievable bikini was nearing him through the knee high water. She was petite, well tanned, and young; he would learn soon enough that she was just short of 19 years of age.

And she was smiling to Henry as if she knew a secret he didn't.

Try as he might, he couldn't lift his gaze from her delicious body. Later, he would try to recall ever having been with a woman who looked this incredible. He would fail.

His ogling of her figure was undeniable when she stopped in the surf just five feet from him. Henry forced his eyes up to her own. He wanted to say something to her. Anything. A greeting? An introduction? Her face was as perfect as her body was, though. He found himself simply tongue tied.

 

[Ritapita]

Rita Maraya Pita
Days short of her 19th birthday
5'5", 32A-22-34, 110 lbs
Straight brunette hair, lightened by the sun
Sparkling green eyes.

"Bon mati," Rita said with a flirty smile after the man at the boat had simply stared at her for quite some time. He had what in America would have been called a deer caught in the headlights expression on his face. Rita had never heard that phrase before, but she still recognized the merging of horniness with shock and awe. She translated the words she'd spoken in Catalan, "Good morning."

She hesitated to see if he would return the greeting, then continued in heavily accented but still clear English, "My name Rita Maraya Pita. Rita. You can call me Rita if like."

Again she hesitated to see if the man would give his name, glanced over her shoulder at the beach side lounge, looked back to him, and continued, "I saw you last night. I am a cambrera. Uh, a waitress, no? You were drinking with another man. Another American. I saw you. You saw me."

Again, Rita paused, smiled wider, and added, "I wear blue bikini top and red, uh, what you call them, pantalons curts spandex. Spandex shorts, red."

The only things that might have prevented the man from remembering her was that Rita had been serving tables and not the bar where he'd been sitting; and at work, Rita wore a stylish and dramatic blonde wig in an attempt to actually prevent male lounge patrons from recognizing her in the world beyond the bar.

It didn't take long, though, for the man's expression to reveal that he suddenly remembered Rita. Despite the wig, she would have been very surprised if he hadn't remembered her. Her work uniform, as her boss liked to call it, did little to hide the curves of her young body. The top boosted her small bosom even more dramatically than her current bikini top did, and the bottoms hugged her ass and crotch so tightly that if they had been tanned skin color you would have sworn she was naked.

A larger wave than those that had been sweeping past her splashed against Rita's waist, sending water up into the air around and upon her. She gave out a little squeal at the chill, then laughed as she brushed her hands over her body, stripping away the droplets from her suit and skin both.

"Jose, the cambrer, uh, bar man," Rita continued, "he tell me after you leave, before I leave, what you say, about girls. Girls who too young for man as you? Old man? Older, not old?"

Again, the man's face betrayed him. Rita's lips spread wide with a knowing expression. "Is true, what say? You not be with young girl in long while? Not know what do with one, but want know?"

Another pause for a response if there was one, then Rita's expression got more serious. After a moment of considering her words carefully, she asked, "Would pay know?"

One more time she waited for the man's reaction, but before he could speak she quickly said, "No soy prostituta. Um, I am not a prostitute."

Rita recognized the contradiction between asking the man if he would pay to once again be with a young woman, a girl, as she'd put it, and then telling him she wasn't a prostitute. Rita suddenly realized that she was shivering deep to her core, and she doubted it was because of the temperature of the water in which they were standing.

She rattled off a quick monologue in Catalan, which she'd learned from living in a household of extended family members who'd stuck to the ancient language, even as most of the people around them had adopted the similar but in many ways very different Spanish as their first tongue. When she realized that she'd been speaking words he couldn't possibly understand, Rita dropped her gaze to the passing water and felt her face explode in a fiery blush.

"I think you nice man," she said with a sincere tone when she finally looked up again. "Seem nice. Look nice. Handsome. Jose say you nice. Tip big. Jose say you alone, too. You be alone, yes? Not travel with woman?"

She didn't know if he would answer or not. She hoped his answer if he gave it would be no, I'm not with a woman. Rita continued, "You are nice man. I like nice man. I am nice girl. You like nice girl, yes? Maybe we like each other. Spend time. Maybe..."

She hesitated one last time before finally finishing with the hope that he wasn't going to outright reject her so very forward and very inappropriate suggestion, "Maybe we spend time you me, together, and you give me money."

 

[KyleReevis]

The Catalan goddess broke the awkward silence with, "Bon mati ... Good morning."

Henry was still a bit stunned but managed, "Good morning."

She said he could call her Rita. Finally getting his mouth to smile rather than simply hang open, he told her, "Henry. Henry Thomas. You can call me ... well ... Henry. Sorry."

She spoke about working at the lounge he'd spent a couple of hours at the previous night. Rita said, "You saw me."

Henry couldn't recall her for the life of him. He found forgetting such a beauty to be impossible. Maybe she was thinking of the wrong man?

Then she spoke of the clothes she been wearing. Henry had a sudden recollection, "Sure! But, you were blonde. A wig?"

He was right, of course. And now he could see the resemblance. She verified the wig without explanation. He smiled and ventured, "You look better without it. More natural."

Henry wanted to say she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He resisted. He was still trying to figure out why she was here. What purpose could such a young thing want with him.

Then she explained. "Jose, the cambrer, uh, bar man, he tell me after you leave, before I leave, what you say, about girls. Girls who too young for man as you? Old man? Older, not old?"

Henry beat Rita to the first blush. She was speaking of a conversation he thought had been private. He'd met an American tourist from Chicago, Peter, at the bar last night. Peter's wife was back in the room, dealing with jet lag. They'd had a nice conversation about their lives in the US and their ongoing vacations abroad.

After seeing her and her body that just wouldn't quit, the two men had had quite a conversation about Rita. It had begun as hushed whispers. But as the drinks continued to arrive, their volume had increased. Jose had heard, obviously.

They'd agreed that Rita was the most incredible thing they'd seen in Spain as of that time. Peter had already been three drinks ahead of Henry. His thoughts on Rita and young women in general had been rather free flowing.

He'd confessed to an ongoing relationship back home with a high end escort half his age. Peter had asked Henry if he'd ever been with a woman so young. Henry had said no. Then he asked if Henry had ever paid for sex. Again, the answer was no.

"Hell, I wouldn't even know what to do with a girl like that," Henry had joked. "I mean, c'mon, they know things at that age and know how to do them, things we'd never even heard of until the internet and porn."

The two men laughed, joking about the new sex. Then Henry caught sight of Rita again. He mused with a sincere and wistful longing for pleasures he'd so seldom enjoyed, "I'd pay real money to spent quality time with a woman like that. Real money."

And now Rita was asking, "Is true, what say? You not be with young girl in long while? Not know what do with one, but want know?"

"Well, I mean, what I said was," Henry tried to explain. The words weren't there, though.

"Would pay know?"

Henry didn't immediately understand Rita's question. Then, suddenly, he realized what she was asking: would he pay money to have sex with her.

"No soy prostituta," Rita said before Henry could even contemplate an answer. He didn't understand her first two words. The third seemed easily translated. She clarified, "Um, I am not a prostitute."

"No, I never thought you were," Henry said quickly. He feared suddenly what Jose might have said. Had he told Rita the two men wanted to pay her for sex? Had he gone further? Had he asked her if she wanted to have sex for money?

She started talking quickly in her native language. Henry thought he might have recognized a few of the words. Catalan, Spanish, English: they all had the same ancient origin. Still, he had no idea what she was saying.

"I think you nice man," she said, returning to English. "Seem nice. Look nice. Handsome. Jose say you nice. Tip big."

"Well, thank you," Henry responded. He was relieved to be off the topic of prostitution. If he'd had the chance to think about it, Henry would have realized that that was ironic. He didn't want to speak about prostitution with Rita. At the same time, though, he'd pay her a huge sum of money to get naked with him.

"Jose say you alone, too," she continued. "You be alone, yes? Not travel with woman?"

"No, I'm traveling alone," he confirmed. "I'm not married or anything like that."

She continued with her nice man compliments. Then she returned them to the conversation that had made Henry's heart leap and cock harden.

"Maybe we like each other. Spend time. Maybe ... Maybe we spend time you me, together, and you give me money."

"Yes," Henry said without hesitation. He stood there in silence for a long while. Had he really just said that? Had he really just told this Catalan beauty he would pay money to spend time with her? To have sex with her? Again, he spoke without really thinking. "Rita, I, um, I would love to spend time with you."

Henry looked toward the lounge, then up and down the beach. There was absolutely no way anyone could hear them. They were standing in the surf. It was twenty to forty feet to the shore, depending upon the waves. And yet Henry couldn't help but be aware that they were talking about prostitution.

"But not for sex," he clarified quickly. He caught the change in Rita's expression. He explained, "I would love to just spend time with you. Get to know you. Maybe a walk on the beach. Dinner. Drinks. Are you old enough to drink?"

Henry really had no idea if Spain had age limits for drinking. It would never have occurred to him to even be concerned. He continued with a deeply heart felt yearning, "Rita, you are the most incredible woman I've ever met. And, I'd love to get to know you better. Please, yes, let me spend some time with you. And yes, I'll pay you for your time."

 

[Ritapita]

Rita laughed when Henry mentioned the wig. She very nearly explained but didn't. Her trying to keep male tourists from recognizing her out in town the days after they'd ogled her in the lounge might have made it sound as if she thought he might be a horny, invasive tourist as well.

She liked his compliment on her natural look, though, and wondered whether he was speaking about her hair or her body. Did it matter? Rita wanted Henry to like her all natural body.

He tried to explain what he'd meant at the bar the night before, and when she told him firmly that she wasn't a prostitute, he very quickly confirmed with Rita that he'd never thought that. But then, when she asked if he would pay money to spend time with her -- to fuck her, Rita meant -- Henry very quickly said yes.

Rita suddenly realized that she didn't know how to feel about his answer. She was the one who came to him, and she was the one who'd offered herself to him for money. So, why was she suddenly a bit put off by the fact that he'd said yes without hesitation?

But then he told her, "But not for sex."

He talked about a walk on the beach and dinner and drinks, then went on to tell Rita that she was the most incredible woman he'd ever met. But the thought going through Rita head was he doesn't want to pay to have sex with me.

"Please, yes, let me spend some time with you. And yes, I'll pay you for your time."

Rita was suddenly conflicted about how to proceed. Sure, Henry was willing to pay money for the privilege of spending time with her. But not for sex. Did that mean that she wouldn't get as much money. To be honest, she didn't even know how much was much and how much wasn't much. She'd known a high end escort who'd worked the beach hotels last year who used to get as much as $6,000 for a night of dinner, drinks, dancing, and sex. Hell, sometimes she didn't even have to have sex with the men. It was something she decided after she'd spent some time with the men and judged what they might be like and how they'd act once she was in their room alone with them, stripping their clothes off.

"Yes," she found herself saying, unsure of how else to confirm that an arrangement had been made. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Rita finally said, "If go to dinner, I need clothes."

She hesitated a moment, as she had often during their conversation. Then, ever so casually, she lifted a hand out before her and slowly rubbed her thumb to the tips of her index and middle fingers. It was a gesture well known here in Catalonia, and she could only assume it was known where Henry had come from.

"A dress," she began to list. "Shoes. Maybe something pretty underneath. In case you wish later see me not in dress?"

 

[KyleReevis]

"If go to dinner, I need clothes," Rita told Henry.

That made sense, of course. But he didn't understand her point. He simply thought she meant she needed to go home and change.

Then he saw the money, please gesture. Rita wanted him to buy her a dress and more. "Oh! Of course. A dress. And shoes. Yes."

Henry patted his thighs, front and back, for his wallet. He did it instinctively, without thinking. In an instant he remembered his wallet was out on the boat. Henry hadn't planned on doing a lot of spending this morning.

His Amex had been recorded at the hotel when he was at the lounge last night. If he wanted brunch or an espresso or even an early cocktail this morning, he could charge it.

Henry's gaze fell again to Rita's body. He imagined being in the dressing room as she stripped to try on the something pretty underneath she'd talked about.

"You can charge it," Henry said with the sudden excitement of understanding. "The hotel. It has a small clothing store, for unprepared guests. You can charge a dress there. On me. I'll, um, I'll go up with you, tell the Concierge. Tell him you need a dress, shoes."

Again, Henry's eyes found Rita's incredible body. He murmured, "Something pretty. For underneath."

He snatched his shirt from the dinghy. He pulled it over his head. Then Henry retrieved the bow rope, to tie the little boat back up to the beach pole.

"I can walk up to the hotel with you," he told Rita. "Okay?"

 

[Ritapita]

As the conversation between them continued, the smirk on Rita's face wouldn't go away. Henry may not have realized it, but he wasn't just occasionally glancing downward from her face to her body but was instead repeated ogling her, from bosom to belly to, yeah, there too. It conflicted her a bit, because at the same time that it was she who had begun this, it was a little bit, what was that English word, creepy to think that if things went the way she was aiming them, this old man would soon be emptying his cock inside her.

Rita was no virgin, but she was no slut either, having only been with two men before this. The first had been a boy from the neighborhood, Leandro, with whom Rita had grown up. They'd eventually become lovers and had even contemplated marriage over their year long sexual relationship. But then he was killed in an auto accident, a tragedy that had led to Rita's spreading her legs for a stranger out of deep despair and a need to be held and loved.

That last time, what Rita considered the only time she'd fucked as opposed to making love, had been six months ago. Since then, the only intimacy she'd shared with another person had been one drunken night of kissing and heavy petting with a Canadian girl she'd met in Barcelona at what the girl had called a rave. It had been very passionate, with the girl from the other America reaching her hand up Rita's skirt and into her panties to drive her to an explosive orgasm while they stood in a dark corner of a club.

Rita had enjoyed the encounter and had begun looking at women in a different way. But she'd never repeated it, either with a tourist or local, for she didn't consider herself that kind of woman, a lesbian. Who knows, though? Rita often asked herself when she got that look from women who might very well have been thinking the same thing about her that Henry was now.

"You can charge it," Henry said, explaining that they could charge a new wardrobe at the stores of the hotel for which she worked indirectly through the lounge. "I can walk up to the hotel with you. Okay?"

Rita laughed without thinking about how Henry might take the reaction. She studied his expression, then explained, "An older, handsome American man take local, teenage, Catalan girl he just meet to buy panties and sexy bra where she work."

She hesitated, looking for him to understand her meaning, which he quickly did. Rita laughed again, adding, "What they think about me then? What is English word? Whore?"

 

[KyleReevis]

Henry was taken aback by Rita's sudden laugh. Then she explained the optics his suggestion presented. And he laughed, too. "Yeah, sorry. Wasn't thinking."

"What they think about me then?" she asked. "What is English word? Whore?"

"You're not a whore," Henry countered immediately. In the back of his head, though, he wondered. What exactly is she? She came to him offering her body to him for money. But he repeated, "Rita, you're not a whore."

Henry looked off toward the hotel and lounge again. There was an obvious option. He would return to the boat for his wallet. He could return and give her cash. But she's not a whore, that voice in the back of his mind repeated yet again. She could go shopping for clothes. They could meet for dinner afterward.

But would she return? After he gave her a stack of Euros? Would she spend his cash on clothes and meet him for dinner? Maybe for sex? Or would she disappear with his money? Would she wait for him to return to his itinerary, to abandon his lustful dream, to go away?

He could give her his American Express card. That thought made that voice in his head laugh insanely.

What about his prepaid VISA cards? His travel agent had had Henry buy a stack of them. They were for day use, with less fear of being robbed of his real credit cards. He had about 20 of them. They came in American Dollars and Euros. They ranged from 50 to 1,000 of each currency.

How was that any different than handing Rita cash, though?

Then, a totally inappropriate and ridiculous thought came to Henry's mind. He looked to Rita. "Come with me."

She didn't seem to shocked at the suggestion. Maybe she thought he meant come to the boat with me to get cash. He clarified, "Come away with me. On my boat."

He unnecessarily glanced over his shoulder at the sailboat. To Rita he continued, "I'm sailing to Marseille. It'll take about 2 days. We could stay there a couple of days. See the sights. Go shopping. Dinner, drinks, sunsets. Then, when you're tired of me, you could fly back. I'll put you on one of those sea planes. You'll be home in a couple of hours.

"Or, we could sail up the Spanish coast," Henry continued. He was suggesting four or more days with him. It was far more than Rita had suggested. "One day. Just one day. If you like it, like me, we could make it one more day."

He smiled, desperate for Rita to accept. "One day at a time."

He hesitated as she had often in their conversation. "If you don't like it, I'll drop you at a port of your choosing and pay to get you home. And, of course, I'll put a little something in your pocket. For your time." Then more suggestively, Henry said, "For whatever happens between us."

He hesitated a moment. He knew this was a crazy idea. She didn't know him. He was a foreigner, too. And he was old as fuck, compared to her anyway. He could be a serial killer. A serial rapist. A sex slave trafficker.

Or, maybe, he was just a lonely man enthralled with a beautiful young woman. Maybe he was a man of means who could make this an adventure worth taking. Maybe. Just maybe.

 

[Ritapita]

"You're not a whore."

Rita thought about Henry's declaration that she wasn't exactly what she was in the process of offering herself to him as. No, she didn't make her living by providing sexual services to strangers. No, she hadn't taken money for sex even once before. But the fact remained that she'd come to this man, to Henry, a stranger, a tourist, and made it clear to him that for money she would fulfill a fantasy of his, a desire to once again know what it was like to be with a young, beautiful, sexy woman.

"Come with me."

She was deep in thought when Henry began his proposition that she come away with him and didn't really understand all he was asking until he'd very nearly finished speaking.

"One day at a time," he told her. "If you don't like it..."

Even as Henry continued, Rita already knew she was going to tell him she'd go. She'd made up her mind before he reminded her that an offer of money was on the table. Later, she would ask herself how she could have so easily decided this. After all, this had begun with her desire to put some cash into her pocket, as opposed to sailing off with a man for a wild day or weekend of sex. Rita's only motivation was money: this wasn't about getting laid.

Another one of those taller waves struck and shocked Rita with its chilly water. She gasped at the sensation, laughed, then with a return of her more serious expression, asked, "Help into boat, yes?"

Henry only stared at Rita a moment, and after she smiled widely, she said, "I know a club in Marseille. You will like, very much. You get me dress there, and I take dancing."

She reached a hand out, asking again, "Help into boat, yes?"

 

[KyleReevis]

Rita's short, sharp gasp at the cold water striking her made Henry laugh. It was a bit of comic relief he needed right now. He was certain the incredible young thing was about to back out and back away.

"Help into boat, yes?" she asked, surprising Henry. She spoke of a club in the French city, then again asked, "Help into boat, yes?"

"Yes," Henry said, his lips widening greatly. "Yes, definitely. Help into boat."

He chuckled at his own inadvertently abbreviated English. He came around the dinghy. Securing it with one, Henry took Rita's hand in his other hand. The dinghy rose and fell in the surf. He knew this wasn't going to work.

"Please excuse me," Henry told Rita as he put her own hand on the boat's side. "Hold this. Don't let it get away."

Leaning over, he swept the petite teen up into his arms. A moment later, Rita was in the forward seat of the little boat. "Scoot to the other side. It's okay, you won't tip it over. I promise."

Henry waited for another passing wave. The swell passed and the boat was low in the water. With it leaning away from him, he skillfully boosted himself into the craft's bottom, to lower the center of gravity. It balanced port to starboard with his and Rita's weight on opposite sides.

"Okay, you can sit in the middle now," he said as he engaged the small gasoline engine. Henry negotiated the surf and turned the boat seaward. "Good. Here we go."

He looked to Rita as they headed slowly away. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was taking this beautiful young thing to his boat. He was taking her to Marseille. And if all worked out, he was taking her to bed.

"I have a sat' phone, satellite phone, on the boat," Henry said as they moved away from the shore. "in case you need to call someone. I, um, I never asked if you live alone, with family? Parents? Is there anyone you need to contact?"

She answered. Henry's attention moved to and from Rita, the ocean swells which were light, and the boat to which they were heading. Mostly, though, his attention was on her. He expected to wake up from his wonderful dream any moment. And if it wasn't a dream, he expected Rita to tell him to turn back any moment.

And yet, they reached the boat. He tied the dinghy to the stern. Climbing aboard, he then offered a hand to Rita. The footboard enabled her to board without Henry wrapping her in his arms like before. Too bad, so sad, he thought. He would have liked to hold her again as before.

"I'll get the phone," Henry told her. "Be right back."

He headed down into the cabin. Despite being a single guy on a voyage all alone, the interior of the cabin was immaculate. He'd never been the type to just drop clothes wherever or let dishes build in the sink. His office and home in Boston were just as neat and clean. Of course, he had custodians and housekeepers in those locations. But still, without them, his work and living spaces were always neat and tidy.

Topside again, he powered up the phone. Handing it to Rita, Henry asked, "Do you know the number?" He chuckled, explaining, "I mean, I have all my important numbers on speed dial. I don't think I could ever tell you my mother's phone number, or my office number."

Henry was about to pull up the anchor but didn't. He thought maybe he should wait. Perhaps the person Rita called would talk her out of this madness upon which she was about to embark.

 

[Ritapita]

Rita giggled and wrapped her arms around Henry's shoulders and neck as he swept her up into his arms. The sudden and somewhat intimate encounter caused her to blush, something she could have hidden by looking away from him but didn't, instead deciding to look into his eyes. He directed her in helping him load up without swamping the boat, finally telling her as he fired up the motor, "Good. Here we go."

As they headed away from shore, Rita found the older man once again struggling not to ogle her well displayed form. She'd always liked the way men looked at her, knowing that she had something they wanted, something she could give them if she wanted or refuse them just as easily. Considering how many men had tried to bed her during her womanly years, Rita was often surprised that she'd only allowed two men inside her, with one of them being little more than a desperate one off fuck.

Things were unfolding far more differently with Henry, of course. Rita had already told him she could have her, and despite his saying earlier that -- for the time being -- this wasn't at all about sex but was instead only about companionship, she had very little doubt at all that at some time in the near future, the American was going to be desperate to put his cock inside her.

He told her about having a satellite phone, asking if she needed to call someone, perhaps her parents.

"La meva mare," she said in Catalan, before translating into Spanish and then English, "Mi madre. My mother."

Rita explained that she lived with her mother and grandmother both in a little house more than forty miles from the hotel. "Sometimes I stay night with amiga femenina, a friend, girl friend. Too far to ride bus home all nights. I will tell la meva mare that is what I do tonight. She not worry. Is good."

That seemed to satisfy Henry, knowing that no one would be coming to look for the helpless little Spanish girl he'd kidnapped and taken away for sex. That wasn't at all what the man was doing, of course, but it was important to Rita that Henry know that her absence from her family's home would not come back to bite him in the ass.

He helped her up into the boat, then headed off to find the phone. Rita looked around, smiling at the luxury of the craft. The sails were down and all tied up to the whatevers that ran most of the length of the boat. She knew absolutely nothing about sailboats, having never even been on one before.

Henry returned and handed her the phone, asking if she knew her mother's phone number. Rita found that a strange question, until he mentioned speed dials and contact lists and such. She wasn't your typical teenage girl who lived with their smart phone in their hand 24/7, though. In fact, with the exception of a prepaid burner phone a wannabe lover had given her once, Rita had never even owned a cell phone.

"I know the number, thank you," she responded, before adding with a flirty smile and tone, "Henry."

Rita dialed, got an answer, and began explaining her faux plans. She glanced at Henry when she told her mother that she would be staying at the coast for tres dies, three days. He showed no reaction, so Rita presumed he hadn't comprehended the words.

"What is boat name?" she asked Henry. He told her, and she returned to the call. Disconnecting and handing him the phone, Rita continued her lying by playfully telling him, "I tell mother Rosita and I go sailing for day with strange man from America, and if I not back tomorrow to send Guàrdia Costanera."

Rita smiled wide at Henry's response, looked about herself, and set her gaze on the the hatchway to the main cabin. She looked back to Henry, asking, "Sleep down there, yes?"

Without waiting, she headed down into the boat's interior. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around, finding the space so clean and neat, very unlike what Rita had expected from a guy on vacation alone. Behind her, to aft, was an open door to a small bedroom. In front of her beyond the kitchen/dining room was a short passageway. She wandered that direction, finding a small room to each side, each with its own function.

She stopped again, this time at the open doorway to the bigger bedroom, or berthing cabin, or stateroom, Rita wasn't sure. Other than the fact that it had a very low ceiling, it was actually very similar in size to her own bedroom back in the tiny home she shared with her two elder female family members. She stepped inside, turned, and launched herself back onto the bed, being careful not to hit her head on what she assumed was some sort of emergency overhead escape hatch.

"Who sleeps here this night?" she asked, a sly smirk on her face as she continued, "You? Me? You and me?"

Before he could answer, she giggled again and spoke some more Catalan without explaining herself. Rita rose from the bed, moved up close to Henry, and looked up into his eyes from her 9 inch shorter height. Looking down to his shorts, she reached out to take hold of the waistband, playfully tugging at it.

"We go now, yes?" she asked softly, adding, "You have something I can wear?"

Rita stepped back again, sweeping a hand before her bikini-clad body like some fashion model showing off an available design. "This not for sailing. Maybe Henry has more shorts, a shirt?"

She watched her host as he looked for something for her to put on over her skimpy bikini. But as Henry turned to leave and give Rita her privacy, she said sharply, "Esperar. No hi vagis."

When Henry looked back to her, Rita was already loosing one of the little rings that held her suit together. The triangle of cloth concealing her womanhood popped loose of the thong string that ran from there around her waist, as well as up her torso to over her back and shoulder, but remained in her grasp, continuing to hide her most precious of physical features.

"You not need leave," she said with a serious yet still suggestive tone. She allowed the bikini's lower section to slip a bit more lower and inward teasingly. "You may watch, Henry. If want."

In a few seconds, Rita was going to slowly allow the suit to begin falling away from her body. She only needed to loose one more ring in front and the entire suit could be simply pushed away and dropped to the floor. Would Henry remain? He was, after all, paying to more than likely do more than just look at Rita's body. He'd said this wasn't about sex, but they both knew that wasn't true.

Either way, Rita unfastened the ring and shed the suit, revealing her smoothly waxed groin and smallish, pert, pinkish-brown nipples.

 

[KyleReevis]

Henry found it very fortunate that Rita often spent nights away from home without concern from her family. Then she made the joke about the Guàrdia Costanera. He presumed was the Spanish Coast Guard. He raised fingers in what he thought was the Boy Scout salute, saying, "I'll be a good boy. Or, at least, I won't be a bad boy."

"Sleep down there, yes?" she asked.

"Yes, there're two berthing compartments, fore and aft," he told her.

He wondered whether he needed to clarify who would be sleeping where. Then he wondered whether they yet knew who would be sleeping where.

Then, for the first time since they'd met, Rita turned her back to Henry. On the beach, she'd been facing him. On the dinghy, despite holding her, he still hadn't seen her backside. Even boarding the sailboat, he'd been in front of her.

Now, though, she turned to descend into the main cabin, and ... Oh, Holy Jesus Christ, he thought at the sight of Rita's ass. He'd presumed she was wearing a thong. Or perhaps a tiny triangular piece of cloth hid a portion of her ass, as one did her crotch.

Nope. The string or thong or band or whatever it was that reached around from her front side to her back met only another string or thong or band or whatever. This one headed straight down from the small of her back to disappear between the most amazing pear shaped ass he'd ever seen.

As Rita made her way slowly down into the cabin, Henry followed her. Well, followed her ass anyway. He simply couldn't pull his gaze from it. With each step, it swayed, rose and fell, tightened and relaxed, or a combination therein.

He forced himself to look up again when Rita turned to ask, "Who sleeps here this night?"

They had reached the master stateroom. Henry didn't even recall descending the main cabin ladder, let alone following her forward. He asked obliviously, "Sorry?"

"You? Me?" she asked, landing that incredible butt on Henry's neatly made mattress.

Henry's subconscious mind informed caught him up on the question. But before he could answer, Rita asked suggestively, "You and me?"

His eyes widened. His mouth opened. His tongue wetted his lips. His brain was throwing responses all about. But Henry wasn't speaking one of the options. He was too flustered.

Then Rita giggled and spoke some Catalan gibberish. She stood and neared him. She reached out for his shorts' waistband. And Henry suddenly thought Oh my god, we're gonna do it, now, here, right now, right here.

Henry had told Rita earlier on the beach that this wasn't about sex. That had been a lie, of course. He wanted to fuck her so badly. And he knew that she knew that.

But Henry was willing to take some time. He'd been telling the truth when he'd said he wanted to get to know her first. But really, if she was about to undress him, he wasn't going to stop her.

But Rita instead only asked for some clothes. She indicated her sexy bikini, saying, "This not for sailing. Maybe Henry has more shorts, a shirt?"

"Shorts and ... oh, of course," he said. He quickly turned to his dresser, saying, "Sorry. I should have offered."

He dug through his meager wardrobe. Henry hadn't packed much before leaving Boston. In fact, he'd begun his 6 month vacation with a single, rolling, four wheeled suitcase and a garment bag. He'd brought a suit with two shirts but only one tie, two sets of casual clothes that mixed and matched, and the appropriate shoes, sox, and underwear.

Aside from that, it had been his intention to do some shopping along the way to fill out his wardrobe as needed. In fact, he'd bought the shorts currently restraining his raging hard-on in a little shop in Lisbon.

He pulled out a pair of swimming trunks and a pair of boxers. Girls like wearing their boyfriends boxers, don't they? he thought to himself. I mean, not that I'm her boyfriend. He found a tank top and offered the selection to her.

He took one last look at her perfect figure. "I'll give you some privacy."

But when he turned to leave, Rita said, "Esperar. No hi vagis."

He didn't understand the words, of course. She clarified when he looked back, "You not need leave. You may watch, Henry. If want."

He didn't respond verbally. But the expression on his face was more than enough to tell Rita he wanted to watch. His gaze dropped to her fingers as she worked loose a fitting on her bikini. A second fitting undone. A string or thong or band or whatever it was called pushed off a shoulder. The second shoulder bared.

It all seemed to have happened in slow motion to Henry. In truth, Rita had taken her time. And then she was standing before him naked. Standing there naked, in all her womanly glory. Henry's gaze had found her bared breasts and their petite, pert nipples for a moment. They were absolutely perfect, the greatest of orbs. They weren't large. He didn't know cup sizes as well as a woman would. He guessed B-cups. They were actually A's, which he might one day learn.

Then his gaze dropped again, to her crotch. Her skin was absolutely bare at the meeting of her belly and thighs. Henry actually drew an excited breath, not that he realized it. In all his life, he'd never been with a woman who was what one one of his friends called baby butt bare.

They were standing only three feet apart. And Henry was nine inches taller than Rita. At that angle, he could only barely make out the upper most bit of the slit between her legs. He found himself wanting to drop to his knees. He wanted to look at it up close and personal. He wanted to investigate it. Examine it, visually and physically both.

Henry suddenly realized that his heart was pounding. He looked up into Rita's eyes, licking his lips. He wanted to say something. He wanted to compliment her on her heavenly body. He wanted to compliment her tits, hers nipples, her curves, her slit. But everything that came to him would make him sound like a dirty old man overwhelmed with lust.

"You're incredible," he was finally able to whisper. He surveyed her exposed features once more. Then, again speaking softly, Henry said, "I'm unworthy. No man is worthy of you, Rita."

He was fighting taking her right then and there. Henry wanted to throw her back onto the bed and shove his head in between her thighs. He wanted to work his tongue and lips on her pussy and clit. He wanted her to explode in orgasm over and over and over. He wanted her to pass out, spent from the pleasure he'd caused her.

"I'll let you dress," Henry said instead. He half turned, paused to look back, then turned away. He only made it two steps before turning back again. With a sincere tone, he told Rita, "I want to make love to you, like I've never made love to a woman before. But, I have to earn the right to do this. Otherwise, we'd just be fucking. Does that make sense?"

If she understood, he would go topside to get them underway. If she didn't, well, he didn't know how else to phrase his meaning.