Story Discussion: Oct 30, 2006. "Cabana Capers" by Caroline Covington

[Caroline Covington]

Welcome to my story discussion thread, and thank you in advance if you decide to read my little piece of fluff, "Cabana Capers", which is not yet posted.

I'm planning on submitting the story under the "Mature" category. Other themes within the story are "Exhibitionist & Voyeur" and "Erotic Coupling" with an emphasis on oral play.

What I've aimed for is a light-hearted tale of titillation. The story should stand on its own, but it may also be read as a sequel to the posted story "The Mexican Stand-off", which the interested reader can find at the following link:

The Mexican Stand-off

 

[Caroline Covington]

Cabana Capers (Mexican Bedtime Stories, Part 2)
By Caroline Covington ©

This tale is the second instalment in the series Mexican Bedtime Stories. The story can be read on its own or as a sequel to "The Mexican Stand-off".

After telling my husband about a one-night-stand adventure that I'd had before marriage, a door opened through which there was no going back. Chris's hunger for more tales and his positive reaction to them encouraged me to reveal more of my past. Indeed, my recollections excited me, and I took pleasure in formulating the events in my mind so as to tell them smoothly when the time came. We'd uncovered a new vein of sexuality, and we mined it in earnest.

On Saturday morning, the day after my initial divulgence, we visited some nearby Mayan ruins. I've been drawn to archaeological sites ever since visiting Borobudur, a massive Hindu-Buddhist temple in Indonesia, some twenty-odd years ago. That day in Java at the ancient structure still resonated with me. It was monsoon season, so the rain poured off the statues, stupas, and bas-relief galleries, lending a sheen to the mossy patina of the rocks.

The temple's size and design was breathtaking, covering three square kilometres and consisting of ten levels. The lowest six levels—square with high, enclosing, limiting walls—depicted man's base desires and cravings. The next three levels—circular and freer, allowing for broader views—represented the ability to control those earthly needs. Finally, the top level, the zenith—exclusive but open, yielding spectacular panoramas of the surrounding landscape—portrayed fulfilment and enlightenment.

I thought about our Mexican holiday and smiled to myself. For that week, at least, we had descended to the lower levels. And it was splendid, which was the crux of the problem, if one chose to see it as such; it was so much fun down here, slumming in the so-called gutter. Why on earth even try to ascend to the bodissatva?

After viewing the Mayan ruins we sauntered back to the resort restaurant for a bowl of sopa de lima and enjoyed the soup in silence, aside from our slurps. When we'd finished, Chris ordered some beer, and as soon as the waiter left, he spoke.

"I know I've asked you before, but tell me about your first time, Caroline, with a little more detail."

"Oh God, Chris, there's nothing to tell. My memory's hazy simply because the sex was forgettable."

He laughed, "You too, eh?"

"Here's what I remember. His name was George, my high school boyfriend. We were both eighteen and virgins. After about a year of kissing and petting, I finally gave in to his not so subtle pressures to have sex. In fairness, my hormones also played a role," I sighed. "Neither of us knew what we were doing. We had quickies in the most unromantic and uncomfortable of places. As for orgasms, he certainly had them, but I didn't. Yet I knew I was capable of them from my solo efforts. And don't even mention oral sex. What on earth was that? Anyway, at least from my young perspective, I was convinced that sex was hugely overblown. Sorry, honey, you picked a rather unremarkable topic."

Chris then told me about his first time. At the age of eighteen, while dating an older girl, he too lost his cherry in the back of a car, apparently a widespread North American phenomenon. However, Chris and Mandy's explorations, unlike George's and mine, progressed far more boldly. Chris, unsurprisingly, was eager for the joys of oral play and inventive in finding places to make love. For about a year, Chris and Mandy sucked, licked, and screwed each other every chance they could.

I smiled while listening to his descriptions and realised that I was squeezing my thighs together from arousal, but I couldn't resist teasing him.

"Mandy? Don't tell me I've been living with a closet Barry Manilow fan!"

Chris burst out laughing while assuring me that he didn't have any white grand pianos in secret storage.

At a little past noon, we paid our bill and walked back to the cabana. It was shaping up to be another scorcher, so I was anxious to get to the beach. With only a handful of days left, I wanted to brown some more and take complete advantage of the clothing optional beach, which I'd promised myself I'd do.

My tan was progressing well; a few more days of all-over tanning could only enhance it. Although I'd packed my bikini tops, I'd yet to wear one. Consequently, the whiteness of my breasts had transformed to a nut colour, blending with the rest of my body. And thanks to the skimpiness and see-through nature of my thongs, my crotch had also coloured instead of remaining a stark pale patch.

Once inside our room, we stripped and applied sunscreen onto each other's back and then tended to ourselves, smearing the rest of our bodies with cream. Chris grinned as he watched me rub my breasts with lotion and asked, "Which thong are you wearing today?"

I delayed answering him, concentrating instead on protecting my skin. When I'd done coating my breasts, torso, and arms, I lifted my foot onto the bed and covered my feet, calves, thighs, and crotch. Chris worked some sunscreen into his muscled arms while watching me. Meanwhile, his penis bulged noticeably, and although it pleased me that I still affected him like that, we weren't taking time out for sex. I was anxious to get to the beach. The early nights and accompanying cooler temperatures left plenty of time for extended, comfortable romps.

"I think I'll go with the lace one," I finally responded. The suit was a dainty little number in powder blue lace that provided minute, yet numerous, visions of bare vulva.

"You look great in all of them, baby," Chris complimented.

I thanked him with a light kiss and then finished glazing my skin with lotion. After slipping into my swimsuit bottom, I readied our backpacks, throwing in towels, blanket, books, sunscreen, bottled water, and several other items. Finally, after donning my kimono, sandals, and sunglasses, we were ready to leave.

We'd taken just a few steps along the path when I exclaimed, "Wait. I forgot something. I'll be right back."

Chris muttered something about women and their endless preparations as I returned to the cabana. I laughed to myself, suspecting he'd be more charitable if he knew my plan: Today I intended to bake in the nude. So once inside, I slid my thong down my legs and kicked it onto a chair. I then refastened my kimono, crowned myself with a sun hat, and exited, locking the door behind me.

"What did you forget?" he asked.

"Can't you see? My hat!" I smiled, strolling past him and leading the way to the seashore.

Once there, we staked a spot on the beach and spread our blanket. I trembled with excitement. My crotch was still silky smooth from my Brazilian wax of less than a week ago. I'd been nude on public beaches before but never with all of my pubic hair stripped away.

Chris laid his body onto the blanket while I remained standing, waiting for his attention. It wasn't long before he looked at me questioningly as to why I hadn't lain down yet. I eyed him, smiled mischievously, and undid my kimono, casting it aside with a flourish. The befuddlement on Chris's face was priceless.

"I thought you were wearing the lace thong? I saw you put it on," he stammered.

With my arms raised, I executed a slow look-at-me pirouette before lowering myself onto the blanket beside him.

"Surprised?" I asked. "I forgot my hat on purpose. That's when I took off my thong," I confessed as I leant over to peck him.

"Baby, you look dynamite," he crooned with approval and wasted no time removing his trunks. Several other men on the beach were already nude, but, from what I could see, I was the only woman tanning au naturel.

I lay flat on my belly, arms by my sides, head turned, examining Chris. He rested on his side, his arm propping his head, facing me. God, he still had it! Although Chris, like me, was forty-eight, he looked thirty-two, whereas even on a good day I might've passed for forty. His dark hair was full with only a hint of grey, unlike mine, which would've been silver if not for the masking properties of Lady Clairol. And his facial features were still sharp, with only minor wrinkling around his eyes, which contributed to his youthful appearance.

My mind drifted back to France some twenty years ago when I first bumped into Chris. Both of us were on holidays, backpacking. We first met in the early afternoon in the hostel in which I was staying. I was in the kitchen when he walked in and began chatting with me. His soft brown eyes and handsome face just swept me away.

Bordeaux had numerous attractions, so after about an hour of small talk we agreed to see some of the sights together. But first I changed into some walking shorts, choosing my shortest pair in the hopes of wowing him with my legs. It worked. By late afternoon, we were kissing in an art gallery alcove; by evening, at dinner, we were holding hands while drinking wine from a local vineyard; and by midnight, we were making love in his room.

The next three days were spent in bed. It was the most loving I'd ever received from one man. Although we went our separate ways after that, the connection between us was undeniable. We couldn't keep away from each other, so two months later, we married. Friends and family from both sides declared us insane. But they were wrong. It turned into a twenty-year one-night-stand.

Chris seemed to be reading my mind. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach to hide his burgeoning cock. His hand inched towards mine, found it, and started drawing light circles on my palm. Soon his fingers enclosed my middle one and began a slow, suggestive stroking motion. I eased my legs apart as much as I dared. At the basest level, I wanted him to make love to me right there, on the beach—to hell with conventions—but that was out of the question.

Instead, we spent the afternoon lying naked, people-watching and whispering sweet promises to each other. As the afternoon went by, the sun and tropical drinks worked their magic, unlocking my thighs as I tanned. On our blanket, I sat or lay in positions that were comfortable, not caring whether my insouciant attitude exposed my labia to the other beach goers. Indeed, it was quite the opposite; the public baring of my waxed vulva thrilled me, so from time to time I even sat cross-legged or with my knees scrunched up and apart, facing the ocean and enjoying both the light breeze that cooled my body and the stolen glimpses of the occasional passer-by that ignited it.

A woman in a blue bikini bottom, perhaps in her forties, wandered by several times that afternoon. Her bare breasts—round and heavy with large, dark areolae—matched her curvy body, and her erect carriage conveyed confidence. Her well-tanned skin, highlighted by a blonde ponytail, featured numerous large dark freckles giving it a leopard-like appearance. The overall package was undeniably sexy and intriguing. At first I assumed she was ogling Chris, but then I sensed that she was also peeking at me, which both confused and excited me.

In either an act of bitchy possessiveness or daring display—I'm not sure which, perhaps both—I clambered onto my hands and knees and pointed my ass towards her while whispering into Chris's ear as he lay on his back.

"Don't look. You have an admirer. But you're mine."

I kissed him and then let my mouth drift to his nipple to suck on it. As I did so, my back arched downwards, raising my ass in the process. My knees were well apart, so my pose afforded her a clear view of my ass and pussy. The whole act was brief, no more than several seconds, but when I returned to my sitting position, the woman had vanished. Although one part of me was pleased by her departure, another was disappointed.

I continued sitting, my legs bent and thighs apart, my arms propped on my knees, revelling in the kisses from the sun. A little time later, a gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties walked along the shore and stopped about fifteen yards in front of me. Despite his grey hair and ageing body, I could see that not too long ago he was a handsome man. His outward interest in the landscape didn't fool me; I knew he was pilfering peeps of my pussy.

While I debated whether to improve his prospect, Chris lazily rolled over and whispered, "You, too, have an admirer. That’s his fifth or sixth stroll to this end of the beach."

"Really? This is the first time I noticed him," I said with genuine surprise.

Inspired and flattered, I lay back onto my elbows and, as nonchalantly as possible, widened my knees, eventually flopping them to the sides while keeping the soles of my feet together. It was an impulsive, brazen manoeuvre that unfurled me, providing the man an explicit view of my vulva. Indeed, I was so aflame that I lost control and, before I even knew I'd done it, slid a finger through my thickened lips to separate them. I then left myself in that position, thighs apart, exposing my rifted labia to both the sun and the stranger with the intention of outlasting the latter.

My crotch churned with excitement as the man's eyes now openly probed me, and I wondered if my wetness was visible, if it glistened for him. After several minutes of staring, he squatted and ran his hand through the sand. He then rose, smiled at me, and left.

"Caroline, you naughty girl," Chris chuckled quietly as I adopted a more modest position.

"I can't help it," I giggled, "Besides, he's quite handsome."

Now it was Chris's turn to express surprise. "Really?" he said, taking a quick look at the retreating man, "So you like older men? Did you ever… you know?"

"Have I ever been with an older man? Is that what you're asking? Yes, I have."

"I feel another story coming on," he said in a singsong voice. "Tell me about it, baby!" Chris pleaded.

"When we get back to the cabana, sweetheart. I'll tell you there."

It was a sweltering day; Chris announced that he was going for more drinks. I encouraged him with enthusiastic nods. In the meantime, I longed for a skinny-dip, so I rose and walked to the water's edge.

I almost stepped on it before realising what it was. Written in the sand at the spot from where the elderly man had spied on me, in neat printed letters, lay a simple message: Danke. I smiled while thinking about my high-definition exhibition for the gentleman and was glad that I'd done it.

My nipples tightened in response to these thoughts and to the soothing water into which I waded. Once I was waist deep, I swam out energetically, beyond the breaking waves, and then floated on my back, looking up at the clouds and savouring the coolness caressing my body. I then aimlessly propelled myself with lazy kicks, stopping occasionally to pop my breasts and crotch above the surface. After a while I trod water and touched myself to reconfirm my excited state. My finger ran the length of my mucous slit with ease, splitting apart the puffy labia. I sighed but stopped my probing and gazed towards the shore.

From the water, I saw Chris holding two drinks, standing and chatting with the buxom blonde who'd cruised by us earlier. She was still topless, and I wondered if Chris was keeping his eyes from wandering. Knowing him, he was failing miserably. They spoke for a few more moments before he returned to our blanket and began fumbling with his backpack. Eventually, he excavated his camera and then scanned the ocean, presumably searching for me. I waved at him and smiled, suspecting that he was getting ready to film me emerging nude and wet from my swim.

When I'd finished my skinny-dip, I walked up the beach towards Chris, pausing every few steps. After posing for a few shots, I re-entered the water to wash away the sand that clung to me from lying in the surf for Chris and his camera.

We continued tanning, enjoying the sounds, sights, and smells of the beach. Chris, while rubbing some lotion onto my back, commented that I'd started a trend—several women now lay nude on the sand. He then massaged the fluid into my bum and the backs of my legs, which I eased apart so that he could cover their insides.

"In fact," he elaborated, "You know the woman who ogled you earlier today? The blonde in the blue bikini bottom?"

"Don't forget her big tits, Chris," I said in an attempt to make him squirm and then lied, "And I'm sure she was ogling you."

"Yes, you're right—she does have nice tits. You noticed them too, huh? But it was you she was watching." Before I had time to react, he said, "Flip over and I'll do your front."

I chuckled at his deft escape as I spun onto my back and was immediately squirted with lotion. Chris worked the sunscreen into my skin, starting on my legs. He knelt beside me, and I watched his familiar genitals dangle like tropical fruit, a brown banana cock and a pair of passion fruit testicles… I guess I was hungry. Meanwhile, his hands swirled across my thighs, progressively inching their way upwards. I tensed, expecting him to rub my crotch, but instead he moved to my arms.

"Anyway," Chris continued, "what I wanted to say was that she made a point of telling me that she admired your bravery and that perhaps she'll work up the nerve to go nude tomorrow."

My husband's hands were now busy on my torso, smoothing the cream over my tummy, shoulders, and breasts. I watched his arms and shoulders work, admiring their thickness and width.

"Good," I said, "We could do with a few more nude women on the beach."

"Well, I won't argue with that," he responded and then ended the massage by saying, "You do your crotch. I'll watch."

I sat up facing Chris, opened my legs, and spread a dollop of lotion over my vulva and inner thighs while listening to my husband groan. Once I'd finished coating my crotch, I shut my legs and lay on my side, looking at him. Chris turned onto his front to hide and smiled contentedly. He too, it appeared, was enjoying the vacation.

We continued relaxing on the beach, but by late afternoon, I'd had enough sun. We scooped up our belongings and shuffled through the sand back to our cabana. Chris stopped on the path, squeezing my ass under my kimono as he hugged me. "You were fabulous today," he said. "Thank you!"

"My pleasure," I murmured once I'd returned his kiss.

Once inside, we dropped our belongings on the floor, disrobed, and headed into the shower to remove the sunscreen, sweat, sand, and salt from our bodies. I especially wanted to wash away the cream that I'd applied so liberally to my crotch. Chris's talented mouth was on my agenda, so I cleaned myself well.

We giggled and whispered while soaping each other, our hands slipping, sliding, and gliding over backs, breasts, buttocks, legs, and loins as the water sprinkled over us. After a prolonged rinse, I towelled myself down and lay on the bed. Chris, meanwhile, dug into his suitcase and, with much fanfare, produced a bottle of red.

"Where'd you get that?" I exclaimed. Wine was not the strong suit of the little palapa bar at the resort.

Chris smiled and uncorked the wine, creating a pleasant little pop, at which point he said, "I packed it from home."

"Yummy!"

"Yummy, my dear, is exactly what it'll be," Chris pronounced while pouring two glasses.

He handed me one, but, instead of lying next to me, he knelt on the floor beside the bed and gingerly tilted his glass above my belly. A thin stream of ruby liquid cascaded into my navel, causing me to shiver. Chris then bent his head and lapped the wine.

"Hmm. Balanced. Elegant, yet earthy. But with a distinct puckery component," he said while plucking one of my nipples between his fingers. His other hand drifted to my knee and inched up the inside of my thigh while enthusing, "Lively and lush, with excellent legs."

I sighed. What a sweetheart.

He picked up his glass and poured more wine onto me, this time into the hollow of my neck. I tilted my head back, relishing his kisses to my throat while he gently sucked up the fluid. His hand, meanwhile, had found my vulva, causing my thighs instinctively to widen and my wetness to greet his fingers.

"Definitely ripe," he moaned. Chris then displayed his finger, sparkling with my juices, licked it, and said, "Rich. Perfumed. Opening to yield complex flavours. Try some." His finger entered me again and, once re-coated, approached my mouth. My lips clasped onto his digit, and I tasted myself while gazing up into his brown eyes.

With his other hand he poured more wine on me, in the depression between my breasts, drank, and said after nibbling on my nipples, "But with one minor flaw: a sun-blocky aftertaste. Now, would you like a description of the wine?"

I smiled and touched his face as he climbed onto the bed. Between sips of wine we kissed and enjoyed the dying light of another wonderful day. When darkness came, we lit candles and continued to relax on the bed in the warm glow of the flickering light.

After a while, Chris lowered his head and gently sucked in my nipples, one at a time, making them hard and triggering the mysterious, tingling connection between my breasts and pubic region.

"Caroline," he whispered between suckles, "Tell me about your time with the older man while I drink from your body."

"Mmm, that sounds heavenly," I said, "but with one constraint, honey."

"What's that?"

"Not from my pussy. I don't want it irritated by the alcohol, and the last thing we'd want is a raging yeast infection. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chris smiled and acknowledged my request. He then turned me onto my front and filled the small of my back with wine while I luxuriated in his decadent attention and began my story.

"I'd just finished my degree, so it happened shortly after starting a twelve-month sabbatical replacement contract in Vancouver at UBC".

"So this was before your one-night adventure with Rob?" Chris asked between sips.

"Yes," I nodded, "about a year or so; I was twenty-six."

"How did you meet?"

"On the ferry from Victoria to Vancouver. I was returning after a weekend of sightseeing and hiking on the island. It was a gorgeous fall day, so I was out on the deck getting some sun and fresh air with many of the passengers. I stood at the railing, and he happened to be next to me and started a conversation.

"He was terribly handsome, with thinning sandy hair and grey eyes. The lines on his face didn't detract from his appearance—if anything they enhanced it. He was very nice, a real charmer, and seemed intrigued that I was a professor, albeit for only a twelve-month contract. Anyway, we got chatting and it turned out he was a bigwig corporate lawyer headed into downtown Vancouver to meet with a client."

"You'd think a guy like that would fly instead of taking the ferry," Chris commented and resumed sipping wine from my back.

"You know, that's exactly what I said. He claimed that the hassle of airports put him off, he wasn't overly fond of flying to begin with, and, ultimately, he just loved the ferry ride. It slowed him down, and he liked that."

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-one."

Chris whistled and then gushed, "Wow, almost twice your age."

"I know," I laughed, "but that added to the fun, I'm convinced. However, I'm getting a little ahead of myself."

"I wouldn't mind getting a little head myself," Chris leered as he caressed my inner thigh.

My husband could also be wonderfully crude at times. I lifted my head and glared at him with mock consternation.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Please continue."

"Anyway, the ferry terminal is about forty kilometres out of Vancouver, so he offered me a ride into town, which I accepted. Well, he drove a BMW. What a nice car!"

"What model?" asked Chris, as if it mattered.

"Beats me. Several numbers and letters. But I do recall how gorgeous it was compared to the museum piece I drove in Sydney. I'd just finished my studies, was flat broke, and here I was in this luxurious sedan.

"Anyway, he asked where I lived, but I didn't want him driving me home; I wasn't that trusting. Instead, seeing as he was headed downtown, I got him to drop me off in Gastown."

Chris moved to my legs to consume some wine from the back of my knees, but he poured too much, spilling some onto the sheets.

"Chris, the sheets!" I exclaimed.

"Fuck the sheets," Chris said flippantly, and then mischievously added, "Better yet, let's fuck you."

He made me laugh, but when he yet again slopped more wine, I repeated my concern about the sheets.

"Caroline," he said calmly, "I'll pay the hotel for the sheets. Just relax, honey. Enjoy."

I relented and—once I felt his lips on the back of my leg—moaned with pleasure, stretching and extending my toes.

"To be honest, I forgot about him almost immediately," I continued. "But about a week later he phoned me at work wanting to know if I was interested in lunch the next time he was in Vancouver."

"He tracked you down? This sounds like stalking," Chris said with disquiet.

"Oh, hardly. It doesn't take much of a sleuth to find the phone number of Professor X in the Department of BS."

"True," Chris acknowledged. "What was his name?"

"Doug. Douglas Parsons. Anyway, I accepted his invitation. It was delightful, so I ended up having lunch with him several more times over the next month. I discovered that he'd married at a young age and still loved his wife, but the marriage had gone stale after thirty years. Apparently, she'd lost interest in sex.

"Sounds like you were having intimate talks?" Chris oozed.

"Yes, by about the third lunch date, I felt comfortable enough to flirt a little, and that, well, expanded our range of topics."

Chris turned me onto my side and filled the indentation of my hip with the Rioja. I stretched on the bed, giving myself over to his care.

"After about a month of lunch dates," I went on, "Doug called to ask if I'd have dinner with him the next time he was in town. I agreed, but I also sensed that we'd probably end up having more than dinner."

"You sensed? You mean you wanted to have sex, yes?" Chris pressed.

"Yes," I confessed, "I wanted to sleep with him".

"Mmm, that's good. What did you wear?"

"The staple that should be in every girl's closet: a little black dress with spaghetti straps."

"Very nice. So what happened?" Chris whispered between tastes from my armpit. His fingers, meanwhile, rediscovered my nipples and rolled them to rock-like hardness. They throbbed, sending sensations shooting to my crotch.

"We went for dinner at the Hotel Vancouver. The meal was superb; his company charming. A real gentleman."

"Only dinner?" Chris quizzed.

"No. We had cocktails before and some wine during the meal. To make a long story short, I went back with him to his room, which was in the hotel. He was wonderful, but I think he was a bit shocked with me—pleasantly shocked," I added with a laugh.

Chris smiled and urged, "Do tell," as he refilled my hip with wine.

"Doug was amazed that I not only did oral sex but actually enjoyed it. Dumbfounded, really. Apparently, his wife would neither do oral nor have it done on her. If Doug were to be believed, I was the first woman ever to have swallowed for him."

"This is making me hard," Chris moaned.

He confirmed his aroused state by taking my hand and placing it on his erection. I gripped it lightly, savouring the velvet hardness, and stroked.

"So he went down on you as well, I hope?" Chris questioned.

"Oh yes, he enjoyed doing that. Our relationship became quite oral, in fact. I think Doug was trying to make up for lost time," I chuckled.

Chris guided my fingers off his cock, poured some wine onto my hand, and lapped the Rioja. The feel of his tongue on my palm made me quake with excitement; I longed for him to do the same between my legs.

"We started seeing each other once every week or two, whenever it fitted our schedules," I continued. "He was perfect for me at that time. I wanted to concentrate on my career; the last thing I needed was a boyfriend complaining about all the time I spent at work. And the times that Doug and I did meet, I could forget about work, shut off my mind, and play a sex kitten. I loved him for that. All I had to do was be pretty and sexy; it was a marvellous diversion from my job. Likewise, I'd like to think that I was ideal for him as well. I never put any pressure on him to see me, nor was I interested in wrecking his marriage. When our timetables coincided, we'd meet for some fun. No more; no less."

"Fuck buddies," cooed Chris while refilling my palm.

"More like suck buddies," I quipped, "We'd fuck sometimes, but Doug just loved blow jobs."

Chris stood and bent towards my face. His penis stood erect with the foreskin back to reveal its dazzling, blood-engorged, luminous head, seemingly begging for attention. Still on my side, I propped my head with my arm in anticipation of his cock. He eased it to my mouth and I drew it in, gripping with my lips while my tongue massaged the underside of his shaft.

Between his sighs, Chris praised me while stroking my hair, "Mmm, you do suck cock so well, Caroline. I'm not surprised he liked it."

I mouthed my husband's dick a few moments more and then let my hand take over, allowing me to resume my story.

"Doug was somewhat of a sugar daddy," I admitted, "But I'd have still seen and spent time with him even without the gifts—though they were a nice perk. He seemed to enjoy spending money on me, buying me gorgeous clothes and shoes in expensive stores that I'd only window-shopped in before. I loved the attention he showered on me during our times together. And he was fun, too. Often, when he picked me up, there'd be an open bottle of iced champagne waiting in his car—little things like that. He just made me feel so sexy and special when we were together."

"So the money didn't bother you?" Chris whispered.

"No, it didn't. To be honest, the clothes and money added a delightfully naughty dimension to our relationship. Besides, Doug was very generous. Once, before I went away to a conference for a few days, he gave me a thousand dollars spending money for that trip."

Chris moaned, turned me onto my back, poured the ruby liquid into my belly button, and begged for details.

"Doug and I rendezvoused a few days before my trip. He decided to have some fun by pulling out some money and pretending he was a client. He told me to strip and gave me a hundred dollars every time I peeled off some clothing. God, that was exciting! I took my time, stripping off my blouse first, then my skirt, followed by my bra and finally my panties.

My husband explored my body, the pads of his fingers inching up my thigh. Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on his brow. His teeth gleamed through his full lips while his nostrils seemed to flare at each of my words.

"After gawking at me for a while, Doug placed six hundred bucks in my hand, undid his pants and dropped them. He didn't need to say anything. I fell to my knees, pulled down his boxers, and sucked on him as best I could. It didn't take him long to cum. Honey, it was such a rush pretending to be a high-class call girl!"

Chris's finger tickled my clit. In response, my fingers pinched my nipples, squeezing and tugging them. I heard Chris whisper, "So you sucked his cock for money?"

"No," I answered. "I pretended to suck his cock for money. Big difference, Chris. It was a game and it was fun. Doug would've gifted me the money regardless. Chris, it wasn't like I'd never given him a blow job prior to that; it was a game—that’s all, just a game."

Chris kept polishing my clit, smiling and watching my hips gyrate with need; I'd been aroused all day by our stories and especially with my nudity under the sun. I thought of the man for whom I'd cracked open my oyster earlier in the day, and my legs compulsively rose and spread. Chris, meanwhile, spoke in earthy, breathy tones about how I sucked Doug and how he must have loved my mouth wrapped around his rod while cumming in it.

Thoughts of the elderly man and Doug were the seed that I required. I bit Chris's shoulder in response to his words and his fingers toiling in my furrows. At last, I sensed the kernel of an orgasm germinate, grow, bud, and suddenly flower, blooming within me with kaleidoscopic vibrancy.

My husband's wet lips were next to my ear and his hand cupped my crotch. I heard him salivate, "I love it when you cum, baby. Tell me more about Doug. What was the hottest thing you ever did with him?"

Once my orgasmic aftershocks subsided, I regained my breath and, easing myself into a post-climactic glow, resumed my story.

"My contract was expiring; I'd accepted a similar position elsewhere. Both Doug and I knew that our little affair was coming to a close. So one night near the end, we went to dinner with some dancing afterwards. It was a dress-up affair. I remember wearing a light green silk dress that he'd bought for me—knee length, fitted to show my curves, with a scalloped neckline. I wore a garter and stockings that night and got adventurous with my bush, shaving away everything except for a thin stripe directly above my clit. But the best part were the new shoes he'd bought for me a few weeks earlier, a pair of Manolo Blahniks. They were so gorgeous! Light beige, ankle straps with a three-inch heel and a closed pointy toe."

"Mmm! Yummy! What colour stockings? Black?"

"Green dress, light beige shoes, and black stockings?" I asked incredulously. "If I were a streetwalker, perhaps. The stockings were sheer, matching my pussy."

Chris broke up laughing, and I continued my story.

"We had a riot, dancing and partying until late into the night. During one slow dance, Doug whispered something about his suite while his hand slid to the top of my ass, pressing me into him. I pushed back against his crotch and whispered that I had a surprise for him. So before we left the club, I excused myself, and, in the washroom stall, made sure that my panties were overtop of my garter."

"By the time we reached his room, we were raring to go. In the elevator, we kissed and groped each other and kept at it as we staggered down the hallway and into his suite. As soon as we got inside though, I pushed him away, and ordered, 'Lie down!'

"Doug smiled but obeyed, laying his frame on the floor. I walked around him, clicking my heels while he stared up at me, peering up my dress when the position was right. At one point I placed my foot on his chest and dug my heel in slightly. Even though he was smiling, I saw that his breathing had quickened. Eventually, I stood over him, straddling his chest to give him a view of my crotch. Then I stepped back, slipped off my panties, and flung them at his face. He laughed, but his eyes were glued to me. My pussy was tingling, Chris!

"I stood over him again, letting him have a long look up my dress at my shaved pussy before lowering myself onto his face. Then I squatted and growled, 'Eat me. Eat my cunt!' and began to fuck his nose, mouth, and chin. It felt so amazing! Doug was trying frantically to consume my pussy while I ground it into him. I'd squat, go to my knees, and then go back to squatting. Every now and then, Doug's tongue wandered to my anus in exploration. It sent shivers through me! My hands stretched my ass cheeks apart so he could dive in as much as possible. He'd tug at my garter straps, occasionally snapping one against me. Meanwhile, his hands roamed all over my thighs and bum.

"I was building to a climax and started fucking his face in earnest. His finger found my ass and slipped in. That drove me over the edge! I rode his face as hard as I could. Oh Chris, it was such a tremendous orgasm!"

My husband's hand meandered to my crotch again and caressed my vulva, playing lightly with my still-sensitive clit. His cock had hardened into granite and shone with pre-cum in appreciation of my story.

"After recovering, I stood—my legs were shaking from cumming so hard and from the effort of squatting for so long. Doug also rose, stood back, and barked, 'Strip!'"

"So now it was his turn?" Chris enthused.

"Yes. It was all unsaid. Doug had picked up on the game that I'd initiated. Anyway, I obeyed, slid out of my dress, and removed my bra while he stood back and watched. When I began fiddling with my garter and stockings, he ordered, 'Stop! Leave those on. They suit your shaved pussy. Very nice!'

"Doug strolled around me, examining me as I stood wearing only my heels, stockings and garter. The dirty talk then started, with him saying things like, 'Great legs… Nice tits… Gorgeous cunt.' Then he went on about my shaved pussy, commenting on how lush it looked and how I was going to show it to him. His talk was turning me on! My nipples puckered 'til they ached, and I shook with anticipation. Every now and then he'd snap a garter against my thigh, making me jump. It was all deliciously exciting. Then, while walking behind me, his footsteps stopped. Suddenly, he gave my ass a sharp, loud slap and leered, 'Nice ass!' I'm not sure what startled me more—the actual smack or its sound."

Chris interrupted his moaning with a laugh, and I continued my tale.

"Doug walked around me some more and pretended to talk to himself, saying things like, 'Hmm, what shall I do? Fuck her or have her suck my dick?' Finally, he pointed at the couch and commanded, 'Lie down!' I obeyed, but he said, 'Not like that! Move up so that your head hangs down, over the armrest.' I did as told and lay prone on the couch, on my back, my head hanging down, looking at him upside down. Doug then told me to spread my legs and get ready to show him my pussy.

"He moved to the other end of the couch and slowly stripped out of his suit while staring at my crotch. Then his instructions started. Oh Chris, it was such a rush! He told me to finger-fuck myself, directing me to use two fingers, then three. After a bit, he'd order, 'Stop! Spread your cunt with your hands.' He'd look at it up close for a while and then tell me to finger myself again, always dictating how many fingers I should use. When he had me fucking myself with three fingers again, he murmured, 'Nice… now stop and stretch your pussy open so I can finger-fuck it.'

"He was free of his clothes by this point, so his erection bobbed as he walked up to me. He took a prolonged look at my clam while I held it open for him, telling me how wet and pink it looked. Then he sat next to me on the couch, eased his fingers into me, and churned slowly. I searched for his cock with my near hand, but he stopped me and ordered me to keep using my hands to spread my twat for his finger fucking.

"God! I elevated my hips as much as possible so that he could really hump me with his fingers. It was fabulous. He was still talking, informing me that my cunt was steaming and dripping—as if I didn't know it—that I was an excellent fuck, and that he was going to reward me. I just wanted him to keep talking and fingering me, it was so fantastic!

"But then he stopped, walked 'round to my head, put his cock on my face, and snapped, 'Suck!'"

"Fuck, this is hot!" Chris bubbled. Meanwhile, his tongue and hands grew more urgent, prodding me to go on with my story.

"Oh, it was a sizzling situation, honey, and so was my unusual position, sucking his cock with my head upside down. Doug was really getting into it by this time, squeezing my tits, scratching my extended throat, and still talking dirty to me. He said things like, 'That's it, suck my cock. Slurp it up. Let's fuck that mouth of yours.' Meanwhile, I split my thighs wide and rubbed my clit for all it was worth.

"Every now and then Doug took his dick out and painted my face. Both my hands were working my pussy—one attacking my clit, the other burying two or three fingers into my gash—so I had only my mouth with which to re-grasp his cock. I'd reach out for it with my lips and tongue, but he kept teasing me.

"He'd tantalise my mouth, smear my cheeks, nose and forehead, and then feed me the underside of his shaft. Once, he moved closer and lowered his balls onto my mouth to suck. Finally, Doug gave me the head of his cock; I craved it by that time and gobbled him up, sucking it in as deep as I could.

"He started fucking my mouth, pumping with a steady rhythm. A couple of times I almost gagged, Doug was so deep. It was insane, Chris! My position let me watch his balls swing as he jabbed his cock into my face, and that sight, combined with my busy hands, brought me to the brink of another orgasm.

"Doug was also close to cumming. His thrusts got forceful while squeezing my boobs hard. He grunted, groaned, and then stopped jabbing and convulsed. He twitched for a second in my mouth but withdrew. The first spurt partly hit my tongue and lips, but most of his cum showered my tits and neck. He drizzled the rest of it across my face. God! I was on fire! I stuffed four fingers into my pussy and polished my clit like mad while Doug sprayed me with his sap. It was the final blow; I had a mind-blowing orgasm a few seconds after Doug had bathed me in his cum."

Chris's lips nibbled my ear lobes. His barely audible mews spurred me to begin playing with his cock.

"Doug slumped but supported himself with his hands on my tits. He started massaging his sperm into me, working it into my breasts, neck, and face. When his hands brushed over my mouth, I sucked in one of his fingers and licked it clean. Our eyes then locked while he fed me his cum-soaked fingers, one by one. It was so sexy, Chris!"

"Shit, Caroline, I could cum listening to this! Did he help you clean it up?"

"You mean did he eat some of his cum? No. I knew he was uncomfortable about that. He cringed at his own cum."

"I'd have licked you clean, baby," Chris offered with a moan.

"I know, sweetheart, but you're special. Doug was so nice to me in other ways—and not just money—so I didn't try changing him. I was young, foolish, and content with making him happy the times we met. Don’t get me wrong; he didn't shrink away from me in revulsion, like some jerks. After a blow job, he'd kiss and cuddle with me, but he'd never lick up any spillage. Many of my lovers were terrified of it, actually. It amused me, to be honest, and it's not like he was the only man I had who was reluctant to taste his own cum, never mind someone else's."

As soon as I said it I realised my slip-up and held my breath. It was a story I had no intention of telling to Chris. Thankfully, he missed it. I breathed easier and quickly moved my story along.

"Anyway, I caught my breath, got up, and went to the bathroom to clean myself. When I returned, we sat on the sofa, Doug still naked and me in my heels, hose, and garter. We snuggled and talked, and soon began kissing. The events of the evening had made me incredibly horny. I wanted to get Doug hard again—I really needed to screw—so I lowered my head into his lap and mouthed his dick. It was soft and limp, but I kept at it, making it rise and stiffen. He got quite hot again, moaning and grabbing my hair while I brought his cock back to life.

"But then he raised my head, stood, and led me towards the bedroom. I thought he was taking me to bed to fuck me. Instead, Doug got behind me and pressed me up against the bedroom door opening. His cock pushed against my ass while he angled my crotch against the door frame or jamb—whatever it's called. Then he told me to rub myself against the opening, so I hung onto the door frame casing with my fingertips and rubbed my clit against the frame, masturbating like that for him."

Chris's face bore a confused expression, so I elaborated on my position.

"My legs straddled the door opening allowing me to grind my cunt against the frame. Capisci?"

Chris's leer indicated that he pictured the scene.

"Doug lay on the floor, positioned himself, and gazed up at my pussy as I massaged it against the jamb and worked myself towards an orgasm. It was such a turn on! He coaxed me, saying things like, 'Mmm, come on, Caroline, rub your pussy against the frame; come on, fuck it; I want to see you cum,' while he stroked his cock."

My husband was moaning but managed to emit a soft, "Tell me more."

"I started with long, slow glides, wiping my cunt along the wood, bending my knees deep at the bottom of my strokes. I slid and gyrated my crotch against the frame, just like a stripper against a brass pole. But soon my thrusts quickened, and before long, my hips oscillated with short, steady jabs. The pace kept increasing until I was thrashing my clit against the frame as fast as I could in an effort to cum. But I knew I couldn't maintain such a tempo for long. It was frenetic! So although I was building to another orgasm, I almost gave up. But then I crossed that magic barrier and was home free; I knew I was there. Several more pumps and I went off like a firecracker! God, it was incredible!

"I collapsed, exhausted and trembling. Doug crawled over, flipped me onto my back, slid his cock into me, and, placing my legs on his shoulders, started banging me where I lay. My tits swirled and jiggled as he gave it to me with a steady rhythm, my feet and legs kicking up and down in response to the movement of his shoulders.

"My third orgasm, the one against the doorjamb, opened a gate; I began cumming in clusters, climaxing several times while Doug ploughed me. I was incomprehensible. Small orgasms washed over me every few minutes—I lost count. My pussy was pulsating! And I was in a quandary; I wanted to clamp down on his cock yet, at the same time, open my cunt to him as wide as possible."

"Jesus, Caroline, I can just imagine you, hot and horny, fucking him the way you do," Chris grunted into my ear. His stiff cock brushed against my thigh, leaving a smudge of pre-cum, and I ached for him to fill me.

"Can you, Chris?" I whispered back, "Can you imagine it?"

Chris moaned a confirmation as his fingers found my entrance, filling my hole, while his mouth migrated to my breast, sucking my nipples to the boundary of pain.

I was on the edge but managed to end my story. "Doug's plunging gradually sped up until he was finally pounding me. I was soaking; juices poured down my ass like a busted pipe. I don't remember doing it, but Doug told me later that I was loud, begging him repeatedly to fuck me hard and to cum in my cunt. God, it was wild and wonderful! And when he did cum, watching him was so beautiful, especially when he threw back his head to push hard and burst inside me."

Chris's tongue at last completed its journey to my pussy. He knelt on the floor with his head bowed, as though in prayer, mouthing my vulva. It was a ritual I adored. I opened my altar for him, and my pelvis shook to his flicks of consecration across my button. The throbbing grew, my inner sanctum swelled, and I sensed my transfiguration, my crossing of the mystical threshold.

With his face buttressed against my crotch in worship, I anointed Chris's mouth and chin. He drank my holy waters while his fingers rolled my nipples like rosary beads. He knew me like a high priest knows the sacred verses and pressed his chin into my cunt while focussing his suction onto my clit. His trance-like adoration guided my climb up the temple steps, urging me to ascend until I reached epiphany and quivered in salvation against his lips, tongue, and chin.

Chris then rose and approached my face. I took his offering of blood and flesh, erect and hard, within my lips and bobbed my head, longing to empty his pillar of its salty fluid into my body and soul. My tongue played with his column's ridges and veins, returning often to tease the orifice from which his passion would emanate and commune with me.

I continued feasting on him, increasing his frenzy, milking his cock with my mouth, coaxing him to release his nectar. He shuddered and spoke in tongues, lolling and shaking his head in ecstasy. Then, when his rapture finally arrived, he withdrew his staff and, aiming it at my face, erupted and ejected three or four fiery blasts, baptising my cheek, mouth, chin, and neck. What remained oozed and dripped from his cock, and he used that to smear my nose and forehead, blessing me with his bodily fluid.

Upon expelling his cum, Chris keeled over top of me. Then, slowly, he arranged himself to lie with me and began to lick my face, scooping, collecting, and then kissing and sharing with me his honeyed milk that had started to gel against my skin. I clung to him like a lost soul at sea would claw at a raft and, with my mouth cravenly open, consumed the sperm he fed me and returned his savoury kisses.

Finally, Chris whispered, "Caroline, you bad girl. That was superb. I can't wait 'til tomorrow's story!"

 

[Caroline Covington]

In addition to any general comments you have to offer, I have some specific questions:

1) The title… "Cabana Capers" just seems too light and uninteresting. Any other suggestions are welcomed. From what I understand, the Spanish term in Mexico for a sugar daddy is papito, but I couldn't come up with anything snappy that used that term.

2) Does the story's pace flag in places?

3) Note that the protagonist's name is Caroline, just like my pen name. This is a shameless attempt to give the story a memoir-like feel and to entice the reader. However, it can result in some readers being put off by the narrator, causing them to see her as a conceited, pompous, pretentious bitch. I'd be interested in your opinion.

4) Chris is a prop through which the narrator tells her story within a story. Should he be less or more intrusive? Is he irritating? Is he a doll?

5) Most importantly, is the story hot? Given that it is a piece of light-hearted fluff, then it should, at the very least, be arousing.

Thanks again for your interest and for your valuable time.

Caroline

 

[Penelope Street]

Hi Caroline,

Overall, I like the story and the series idea too. I'm a little pressed for time, so I'll stick the questions for now and post more general comments in a day or two.

1) The title… "Cabana Capers" just seems so light and fluffy. Any other suggestions are welcomed. From what I understand, the Spanish term in Mexico for a sugar daddy is papito, but I couldn't come up with anything snappy that used that term.
Yeah, Cabana Capers does seem a little light- but aren’t you aiming for light? Something tying in Vancouver would be nice. "Mi Papito" wouldn't be bad- but is Doug really a sugar daddy?

2) Does the story's pace flag in places?
Yes, more so early than late. I think the major issue is the beach scene. While it has some nice moments, aside from the older gentleman ogling the narrator, it's separate from the focus of the story. A simple solution is to have her tell half of the story on the beach when Chris asks and the other half in their room later.

3) Note that the protagonist's name is Caroline, just like my pen name. This is a shameless attempt to give the story a memoir-like feel and to entice the reader. However, it can result in some readers being put off by the narrator, causing them to see her as a conceited, pompous, pretentious bitch. I'd be interested in your opinion.
Can't say I even noticed. Why would readers find the narrator more conceited simply because she shares the author's name?

4) Chris is a prop through which the narrator tells her story within a story. Should he be less or more intrusive? Is he irritating? Is he a doll?
Yeah, he's a prop, but I think you handled him well.

5) Most importantly, is the story hot? Given that it is a piece of light-hearted fluff, then it should, at the very least, be arousing.
This is one of the better 'happy couple' sex stories I've ever read. Though hardly serious, it's not nearly as light and fluffy as I expected. I realize the story within the story is a bit of a device, but you made it work.

Happy Halloween.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[Otto26]

It's taken me a while to read this all the way through. It was worth the effort. I very much enjoyed the story. It is arousing, positive, and didn't leave me with a bad taste in my mouth.

The story could do without the beach scene entirely. This would tighten up the story and make it pace much better. On the other hand, I enjoyed the beach scene. It was a nice portrait of a couple at play.

I really didn't make any connection between the female lead and the author. I probably wouldn't have noticed it unless you pointed it out.

Some of the language didn't work for me, but that's purely personal. I felt that the story sometimes read like a thesaurus of sexual slang. Clam... just turns me off. I emphasize that this is personal opinion/preference at play here. The religious terminology used in the final portion of the story felt over done to me. It was interesting, then amusing, then off-putting. But not enough to make the scene any less arousing.

Oh, Chris. I agree that you handled him well. He advances the story nicely and doesn't become a distraction.

As for the title, I can't think of a better one and Cabana Capers has the virtue of being memorable.

 

[Caroline Covington]

Hi Caroline,

Overall, I like the story and the series idea too. I'm a little pressed for time, so I'll stick the questions for now and post more general comments in a day or two.

I'm glad you liked the story, and I look forward to the general comments.

1) The title… "Cabana Capers" just seems so light and fluffy. Any other suggestions are welcomed. From what I understand, the Spanish term in Mexico for a sugar daddy is papito, but I couldn't come up with anything snappy that used that term.
Yeah, Cabana Capers does seem a little light- but aren’t you aiming for light? Something tying in Vancouver would be nice. "Mi Papito" wouldn't be bad- but is Doug really a sugar daddy?

True, "Cabana Capers" probably fits the mood of the story. But it has no reference to an older man. "Mi Papito" might work. But then Otto gave me an idea: "The Old Man and the Clam"? (just kidding, Otto; apologies to Hemingway).

Is Doug really a sugar daddy? I tried to leave that ambiguous and for the reader to decide.

2) Does the story's pace flag in places?
Yes, more so early than late. I think the major issue is the beach scene. While it has some nice moments, aside from the older gentleman ogling the narrator, it's separate from the focus of the story. A simple solution is to have her tell half of the story on the beach when Chris asks and the other half in their room later.

That's an interesting idea. I'll give it serious thought. I certainly felt that the story bogged down in several places.

3) Note that the protagonist's name is Caroline, just like my pen name. This is a shameless attempt to give the story a memoir-like feel and to entice the reader. However, it can result in some readers being put off by the narrator, causing them to see her as a conceited, pompous, pretentious bitch. I'd be interested in your opinion.
Can't say I even noticed. Why would readers find the narrator more conceited simply because she shares the author's name?

Long story. I guess I'm gun shy (to use the military metaphors in "The Mexican Stand-off"). But I agree with you; it's just a name.

4) Chris is a prop through which the narrator tells her story within a story. Should he be less or more intrusive? Is he irritating? Is he a doll?
Yeah, he's a prop, but I think you handled him well.

Thanks.

5) Most importantly, is the story hot? Given that it is a piece of light-hearted fluff, then it should, at the very least, be arousing.
This is one of the better 'happy couple' sex stories I've ever read. Though hardly serious, it's not nearly as light and fluffy as I expected. I realize the story within the story is a bit of a device, but you made it work.

Thanks again; you're extremely kind to say that.

Cheers
Caroline

 

[Caroline Covington]

It's taken me a while to read this all the way through. It was worth the effort. I very much enjoyed the story. It is arousing, positive, and didn't leave me with a bad taste in my mouth.

The story could do without the beach scene entirely. This would tighten up the story and make it pace much better. On the other hand, I enjoyed the beach scene. It was a nice portrait of a couple at play.

I really didn't make any connection between the female lead and the author. I probably wouldn't have noticed it unless you pointed it out.

Some of the language didn't work for me, but that's purely personal. I felt that the story sometimes read like a thesaurus of sexual slang. Clam... just turns me off. I emphasize that this is personal opinion/preference at play here. The religious terminology used in the final portion of the story felt over done to me. It was interesting, then amusing, then off-putting. But not enough to make the scene any less arousing.

Oh, Chris. I agree that you handled him well. He advances the story nicely and doesn't become a distraction.

As for the title, I can't think of a better one and Cabana Capers has the virtue of being memorable.

Thanks for the very kind comments, Otto. I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

That's an interesting idea, leaving the beach scene out. I'm not sure I'd go that far, but I definitely think that it needs to be tightened and used to focus onto the main story, Doug and the narrator. One of the traps I fell into, I think, is using the beach scene to set up future stories. Yes, the blonde will reappear, as will the old man.

"A thesaurus of sexual slang"... I like that. But in all seriousness, I understand your point. Some slang can be a turn off.

When I wrote the final passages, I was initially uncomfortable with the religious terms (I know that some readers may indeed be offended), but time and a zillion re-readings deadened it for me. The religious metaphors/similes/allusions at the end were an attempt to tie in with the discourse on Borobudur in the beginning of the story. Also, it was an attempt to say, "Hey, maybe a sexy holiday like this is mindless slumming in the gutter, but the sex can nonetheless be uplifting." As I'm prone to do, I may have over done it. Thanks for your honest opinion!

Cheers
Caroline

 

[Otto26]

Well, if the beach scene is introducing characters that will reappear later on then it obviously can't be dropped. No skin off my nose, I enjoyed it.

I'm not uncomfortable with the religious terms, I just felt bludgeoned by over-use. I quite like the idea of using those terms to describe religious experience sex, I just wish they were a little more subtle. Again, personal preference speaking.

 

[Penelope Street]

Some of the language didn't work for me, but that's purely personal. I felt that the story sometimes read like a thesaurus of sexual slang. Clam... just turns me off. I emphasize that this is personal opinion/preference at play here. The religious terminology used in the final portion of the story felt over done to me. It was interesting, then amusing, then off-putting. But not enough to make the scene any less arousing.

Oh, Chris. I agree that you handled him well. He advances the story nicely and doesn't become a distraction.

As for the title, I can't think of a better one and Cabana Capers has the virtue of being memorable.

Some of the sexual terminology rubbed me the wrong way too. Clam is kinda corny, but crotch is the one that I find less than appealing- although I thought it interesting that both the character and the narrator both love that word. I can't help but picture some athlete adjusting himself. Not sexy. Unless maybe it's Brett Farve. Yeah. He can get away with it. Like Otto said, it's a personal thing.

The religious analogies kinda made me roll my eyes too. I'm not sure it was quite a turnoff, but it did strike me as overwritten. For me, the issue isn't that it's a religious analogy. I read the end of the first story too and I think there was something about cannons? Same thing- just a little too much, you know? Hardly major though, it didn't disrupt my reading.

P.S.
That is just the cutest frog! The way he keeps looking at me with those big eyes, I can't help but think he wants to do the squelchy.

I'm glad you liked the story, and I look forward to the general comments.

A few things bothered me just a little about the setup for the series. The tagline for the first chapter is Husband pesters his wife about her past and then the first line of the story is For the last several years I'd been under siege by my husband to divulge some carnal secrets from my past.
Like the narrator, I found Chris's fascination with this topic intrusive, if not inexplicable. So, yeah, it's a bit of a turnoff that he presses about it. Did you mean for me to find him so? Also, they've been married how long? This strikes me as the sort of things discussed earlier in a relationship. So why does Chris wait so long to inquire about her past? Is it some kind of midlife crisis? Was a reason given and I missed it? I understand that he has to ask about her past for the series to work, but I think it could have been set up so that the timeframe makes more sense and he doesn't seem such a lout for asking. If there was something incident that stimulated his interest and if she had found his interest arousing, then it would have worked better for me. Probably just food for thought at this point since the first chapter is already posted.

The biggest shortcomings of this particular chapter are, to me, are little technical things instead of the characters and their behavior.

Adverbs, particularly ones at the end of sentences or involving dialog, should be big red flags indicating a possible weak sentence. Examples:
Chris turned onto his front to hide and smiled *contentedly*.
"Fuck the sheets," Chris said *flippantly*, and then *mischievously* added...
"Caroline," he said *calmly* ...
Here's a site explains a bit more about why these are weak and how to fix them:
http://www.users.qwest.net/~yarnspnr/writing/adverbs/adverbs.htm

The story has a subtle reliance on telling instead of showing. A couple examples:
... he looked at me questioningly as to why I hadn't lain down yet.
The befuddlement on Chris's face was priceless.
He too, it appeared, was enjoying the vacation.
Chris's face bore a confused expression ...
It's almost always better to show me an expression and allow me to deduce a character's underlying emotion. It forces me to participate in the story and, to some extent, share the character's experience. Notice how this diminishes the moment when she removes her kimono.

The opening is a little telly too:
After telling my husband about a one-night-stand adventure that I'd had before marriage, a door opened through which there was no going back. Chris's hunger for more tales and his positive reaction to them encouraged me to reveal more of my past. Indeed, my recollections excited me, and I took pleasure in formulating the events in my mind so as to tell them smoothly when the time came. We'd uncovered a new vein of sexuality, and we mined it in earnest.

While a nice set-up for something on the light and titillating side, I'd like it a little better if I saw Chris react to the previous story- so I even went back and read the few lines of the previous story:

"Oh, my sweet, sexy baby," Chris said, returning my kiss. "You were terrific! What an amazing night! Tell me about another time, honey."

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Tomorrow; maybe tomorrow."

I really like that- getting to see his excitement. Did you consider repeating those two lines to start this chapter? The rest of it, I think, would flow pretty well after this, especially if she falls asleep imagining what story she'll tell next.

I got a little confused with the Mayan ruins and the Indonesian temple. Which one does the rain poor off of? The tense suggests the former, but my intuition says it's the latter. More important, do I really need to know about six levels of this and three levels of that? Since the characters are having lunch afterward anyway, can't they just tell me what I need to know? Do I really need to know anything more than the characters find the ancient culture's overt sexuality exciting? I think if they chatted a little about their interpretation of the exhibits, it might stir their own earthy needs and then Chris's inquiry about her first time won't come so much out of the blue?

For the most part, I liked the conversations between the couple. A few places it seemed a little forced- but for me only a few. I enjoyed the dialog so much that I felt cheated in the few places where conversations are paraphrased. Examples:
Chris then told me about his first time. At the age of eighteen, while dating an older girl...
Chris burst out laughing while assuring me that he didn't...
I really do want to hear all the words- except where the narrator is telling her story about Doug, her paraphrasing of the past is perfect!

Oh, just a side note, but I loved this:
"Neither of us knew what we were doing. We had quickies in the most unromantic and uncomfortable of places. As for orgasms, he certainly had them, but I didn't. Yet I knew I was capable of them from my solo efforts. And don't even mention oral sex. What on earth was that? Anyway, at least from my young perspective, I was convinced that sex was hugely overblown. Sorry, honey, you picked a rather unremarkable topic."
Too real! I like it a lot- gives the story just that little extra layer of believability.

Some other excerpts and the reactions I had while I was reading the story:

I delayed answering him, concentrating instead on protecting my skin.
It’s a little thing, but this line struck me as odd. Why can't she answer while she rubs? Even something like, "The blue one," would do. Just ignoring him seems, well, rude.

My crotch was still silky smooth from my Brazilian wax of less than a week ago. I'd been nude on public beaches before but never with all of my pubic hair stripped away. Like I might have mentioned, crotch isn't exactly my favorite label for that part of my anatomy, but I really like the little thrill she's getting here.

"Surprised?" I asked. "I forgot my hat on purpose. That's when I took off my thong," I confessed as I leant over to peck him.
Oh! I so want her to rub it in a little here~ something like, "What's the matter, don't you like my endless preparations?"

Although Chris, like me, was forty-eight, he looked thirty-two...
This manner of numerical analysis tends to rub me the wrong way. I can't help but wonder if she's thinking, "Does he look 32, or 33? Let me measure that wrinkling around his eye." The God, he still had it! in the prior sentence was good enough for me. There's a bit more of this when the older gentleman admires her.
Despite his grey hair and ageing body, I could see that not too long ago he was a handsome man.
One can easily read into all this that the narrator doesn't believe an older person can be sexy unless that person looks much younger. That's fine, the narrator being shallow, but if you're planning to put this story into the mature category, I'm not sure it's a good idea that she be shallow in this way.

My mind drifted back to France...
I don't care if her mind drifts back, but I'm really not in the mood to drift back with her- you know? I think a little less here would be better- just bits and pieces, the highlights, like their first kiss.

The next three days were spent in bed. ... Friends and family from both sides declared us insane. But they were wrong. It turned into a twenty-year one-night-stand.
Shouldn't that be a three-night stand?

Chris seemed to be reading my mind. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach to hide his burgeoning cock.
A nit, but how does she really know why he rolled onto his stomach?

Instead, we spent the afternoon lying naked, people-watching and whispering sweet promises to each other. As the afternoon went by, the sun and tropical drinks worked their magic, unlocking my thighs as I tanned. On our blanket, I sat or lay in positions that were comfortable, not caring whether my insouciant attitude exposed my labia to the other beach goers. Indeed, it was quite the opposite; the public baring of my waxed vulva thrilled me, so from time to time I even sat cross-legged or with my knees scrunched up and apart, facing the ocean and enjoying both the light breeze that cooled my body and the stolen glimpses of the occasional passer-by that ignited it.
Nice little summary! I guess this is telling instead of showing too, but the good kind, imo.

... when I returned to my sitting position, the woman had vanished. Although one part of me was pleased by her departure, another was disappointed.
I like her sense of thrill at the possibility of another woman admiring her, although can the woman really have *vanished* so quickly? Seems to me it'd be nice to have the narrator roll over and discover the woman has just turned and looked the other away. I'd like to see her disappointment- can she pout or frown or cross her arms or something?

"Really?" he said, taking a quick look at the retreating man, "So you like older men? Did you ever… you know?"
Nice lead-in.

"When we get back to the cabana, sweetheart. I'll tell you there."
Right here is where I want her to start telling the story. I think it'd be better to swap the order so that the older gentleman comes by before the woman in blue- that way you can get to Doug that much sooner.

I then aimlessly propelled myself with lazy kicks,
Minor, but this sounds more like a pool instead of the ocean.

... dangle like tropical fruit, a brown banana cock and a pair of passion fruit testicles … I guess I was hungry.
Nice.

We giggled and whispered while soaping each other, our hands slipping, sliding, and gliding over backs, breasts, buttocks, legs, and loins as the water sprinkled over us.
I wanted the shower to last longer. Don't they say*anything*? How about a little teasing or foreplay?

"Hmm. Balanced. Elegant, yet earthy. But with a distinct puckery component," he said.
I like. Very sexy.

It was a gorgeous fall day,...
If I recall, a sunny autumn day in Vancouver would be a treasure- an excellent conversation starter.


... I was the first woman ever to have swallowed for him."
This kinda rubbed me the wrong way too. Can't she swallow for herself?

I gripped it lightly, savouring the velvet hardness, and stroked.
That sentence is just plain clumsy.


buying me gorgeous clothes and shoes in expensive stores that I'd only window-shopped in before. I loved the attention he showered on me during our times together. And he was fun, too. Often, when he picked me up, there'd be an open bottle of iced champagne waiting in his car—little things like that. He just made me feel so sexy and special when we were together."
Nice. But where's the chocolate?

As soon as I said it I realised my slip-up and held my breath. It was a story I had no intention of telling to Chris. Thankfully, he missed it. I breathed easier and quickly moved my story along.
This is good- you're setting up another story, right? However- how does she really know he missed it? Wouldn't it be better to say he seemed to miss it?

Ok, that's enough nitpicking. Really- all pretty minor things.

I'm still stumped for a title. If you mean to leave it to the reader whether Doug is a sugar daddy, then you can't use it as the title, can you? I think Doug has something of a regal air about him, so "Lion At My Gate" might be ok, but then you'd want to work at least a mention of the bridge into the story. And would Stanley Drake be just too corny a name instead of Doug Parsons?

One last thing. Did you intend to subtly reverse the gender roles of the characters?

 

[Verdad]

Hi, Caroline. Your questions are probably thoroughly answered by now, but I'll go through them in a couple words, just for the case that you might still find something useful in my impressions.

The title. I liked the title a lot, and I think its lightness is perfectly appropriate, but I should warn you that the mention of Copacabana completely misguided me. It's quite possible I'm alone in this, but to me Copacabana means Rio, and that conviction was so strong that at the first mention of Mexico I had no idea what Mexico had to do with anything and why you're mentioning it at all. Mayan ruins vaguely bothered me, but I only realized much later that we're nowhere near Rio and that you must be talking of the Mexican Copacabana all along.

Edited to add: Well, I really was determined to read "Copacabana" there, wasn't I? I only now see the title is Cabana Capers. Sorry for the silly comment. With that out of the way, I think it's a good title. (I think maybe it was Barry Manilow's fault. )

Does the story's pace flag in places? In my opinion, the story's only serious hiccup is near the very beginning. The opening paragraph is nice and to the point enough, but then comes the part about visiting temples, and I had to go back and read it twice to understand where we are and what pertains to the present time.

Java flashback and the transitions in and out of it were at fault for this the most. If you want to keep Java, you definitely should smoothen the transitions and perhaps put the flashback in past perfect, but an even simpler solution comes to mind. Why not describe the Mayan ruins at hand instead of Borobodur? I understand you're mentioning the temple to set the connection between sex and worship, but couldn't one temple serve this end just as well as another?

You'd escape the whole confusing loop that way, and besides, isn't it more appropriate that we form images of Mexico for a story set in Mexico? It's kind of unfortunate that one the strongest visuals should be of something that we then have to put aside.

Note that the protagonist's name is Caroline, just like my pen name. If you were telling the story in third person, for me that might have been a minor annoyance, since I don't much care for that memoir-like feel and like to judge the story on its own. It was in first person, though, and I never even noticed the narrator's name.

Chris is a prop through which the narrator tells her story within a story. Should he be less or more intrusive? Is he irritating? Is he a doll? Despite the light subject, I think you set yourself for a very difficult task by telling a story inside the story. I'm wondering if maybe you could have gotten two stories out of it, one about a couple's vacation and one about the woman's adventure with her papi, with both stories having more space to breathe on their own. Still, since connecting them like this is what you chose to do, I believe you handled Chris and the entire task as well as possible.

I'll confess that the recount of the adventure lasted a bit too long for my taste and made me a bit impatient toward the end, but that could be just me, and besides, you've already gotten a great potential solution for that. Splitting the recount between the beach scene and the bed scene might indeed do the trick, at the same time connecting the beach scene with the story better and giving the halves of the recount a more digestible length. However, a possible downside of this is that it might cost the beach scene its immediacy, which I'd regret since the immediacy made that part of the story my favorite.

Most importantly, is the story hot? Personal preferences play a big role here, so I guess it's fair I admit mine are of the "stronger" kind—more conflict in characters, more drama in their sex—and all that makes me a very unqualified judge for a happy couples story. Even so, I enjoyed the beach scene and found it erotic, so I can safely say that's entirely to your credit. Your descriptions there were deliciously vivid, and that alone made the story worth reading.

Best of luck,

Verdad

 

[Caroline Covington]

Wow! Thanks for the very detailed response, Penny. That's a lot of time and effort, and I truly appreciate it. You gave me lots of positive feedback, for which I thank you. To shorten my response, I'll only address the points that need comment.

Some of the sexual terminology rubbed me the wrong way too. Clam is kinda corny, but crotch is the one that I find less than appealing- although I thought it interesting that both the character and the narrator both love that word. I can't help but picture some athlete adjusting himself. Not sexy. Unless maybe it's Brett Farve. Yeah. He can get away with it. Like Otto said, it's a personal thing.

"…love the word"? Hyperbole, but point taken. Also, the narrator is a character in the story so I'm not sure what's interesting about them sharing the same limited vocabulary. If anything, it's consistent.

However, I did do a count on 'crotch'. It appears 18 times. 'Pussy' came in at 17, 'cunt' at 9, and 'vulva' at 7. In my attempt to not overuse pussy, cunt, and vulva, I overused 'crotch'. 'Crotch' is going to get shaved… pardon the pun. Thanks for pointing that out.

The religious analogies kinda made me roll my eyes too. I'm not sure it was quite a turnoff, but it did strike me as overwritten. For me, the issue isn't that it's a religious analogy. I read the end of the first story too and I think there was something about cannons? Same thing- just a little too much, you know? Hardly major though, it didn't disrupt my reading.

Yes, it should be eased up. I'll try to roll back the volume on the final passage.

Adverbs, particularly ones at the end of sentences or involving dialog, should be big red flags indicating a possible weak sentence. Examples:
Chris turned onto his front to hide and smiled *contentedly*.
"Fuck the sheets," Chris said *flippantly*, and then *mischievously* added...
"Caroline," he said *calmly* ...
Here's a site explains a bit more about why these are weak and how to fix them:
http://www.users.qwest.net/~yarnspn...rbs/adverbs.htm

Overuse of adverbs is a persistent weakness of mine. I'll try to eliminate as many as I can.

The story has a subtle reliance on telling instead of showing. A couple examples:
... he looked at me questioningly as to why I hadn't lain down yet.
The befuddlement on Chris's face was priceless.
He too, it appeared, was enjoying the vacation.
Chris's face bore a confused expression ...
It's almost always better to show me an expression and allow me to deduce a character's underlying emotion. It forces me to participate in the story and, to some extent, share the character's experience. Notice how this diminishes the moment when she removes her kimono.

Interesting ideas. I'll re-examine and see if I can incorporate more show vs tell.

The opening is a little telly too:
After telling my husband about a one-night-stand adventure that I'd had before marriage, a door opened through which there was no going back. Chris's hunger for more tales and his positive reaction to them encouraged me to reveal more of my past. Indeed, my recollections excited me, and I took pleasure in formulating the events in my mind so as to tell them smoothly when the time came. We'd uncovered a new vein of sexuality, and we mined it in earnest.

While a nice set-up for something on the light and titillating side, I'd like it a little better if I saw Chris react to the previous story- so I even went back and read the few lines of the previous story:

"Oh, my sweet, sexy baby," Chris said, returning my kiss. "You were terrific! What an amazing night! Tell me about another time, honey."

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Tomorrow; maybe tomorrow."

I really like that- getting to see his excitement. Did you consider repeating those two lines to start this chapter? The rest of it, I think, would flow pretty well after this, especially if she falls asleep imagining what story she'll tell next.

I can't say I'm fond of this idea.

I got a little confused with the Mayan ruins and the Indonesian temple. Which one does the rain poor off of? The tense suggests the former, but my intuition says it's the latter. More important, do I really need to know about six levels of this and three levels of that? Since the characters are having lunch afterward anyway, can't they just tell me what I need to know? Do I really need to know anything more than the characters find the ancient culture's overt sexuality exciting? I think if they chatted a little about their interpretation of the exhibits, it might stir their own earthy needs and then Chris's inquiry about her first time won't come so much out of the blue?

I think severe editing or even deletion of the temple paragraphs is needed. Thanks for pointing that out.

For the most part, I liked the conversations between the couple. A few places it seemed a little forced- but for me only a few. I enjoyed the dialog so much that I felt cheated in the few places where conversations are paraphrased. Examples:
Chris then told me about his first time. At the age of eighteen, while dating an older girl...
Chris burst out laughing while assuring me that he didn't...
I really do want to hear all the words- except where the narrator is telling her story about Doug, her paraphrasing of the past is perfect!

That's interesting because sometimes I feel as if there's too much dialogue, mostly because I have doubts about my ability to write it. So thanks for the encouragement.

I delayed answering him, concentrating instead on protecting my skin.
It’s a little thing, but this line struck me as odd. Why can't she answer while she rubs? Even something like, "The blue one," would do. Just ignoring him seems, well, rude.

Funny you mention this passage. It previously had an immediate response to chris's question, but I added in the delay just prior to posting the story here. It was an attempt at adding what I thought was realism. We all get distracted by what we're doing and don't respond right away, especially those of us getting older. Also, it was a poor attempt at showing, as you like to say, as opposed to telling: I imagined the narrator planning her bottomless manoeuvre while this was going on.

"Surprised?" I asked. "I forgot my hat on purpose. That's when I took off my thong," I confessed as I leant over to peck him.
Oh! I so want her to rub it in a little here~ something like, "What's the matter, don't you like my endless preparations?"

Wonderful idea! I may add some needling here.

Although Chris, like me, was forty-eight, he looked thirty-two...
This manner of numerical analysis tends to rub me the wrong way. I can't help but wonder if she's thinking, "Does he look 32, or 33? Let me measure that wrinkling around his eye." The God, he still had it! in the prior sentence was good enough for me. There's a bit more of this when the older gentleman admires her.
Despite his grey hair and ageing body, I could see that not too long ago he was a handsome man.
One can easily read into all this that the narrator doesn't believe an older person can be sexy unless that person looks much younger. That's fine, the narrator being shallow, but if you're planning to put this story into the mature category, I'm not sure it's a good idea that she be shallow in this way.

Sometimes my scientist's hat just won't come off. Twenty five odd years of always being asked to quantify takes its toll. Thanks for pointing that out!

My mind drifted back to France...
I don't care if her mind drifts back, but I'm really not in the mood to drift back with her- you know? I think a little less here would be better- just bits and pieces, the highlights, like their first kiss.

I think the story is too long, so, yes, this could easily be cut.

Chris seemed to be reading my mind. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach to hide his burgeoning cock.
A nit, but how does she really know why he rolled onto his stomach?

Because she saw it. It's implied. Surely the narrator doesn't need to tell that she saw it?

... when I returned to my sitting position, the woman had vanished. Although one part of me was pleased by her departure, another was disappointed.
I like her sense of thrill at the possibility of another woman admiring her, although can the woman really have *vanished* so quickly? Seems to me it'd be nice to have the narrator roll over and discover the woman has just turned and looked the other away. I'd like to see her disappointment- can she pout or frown or cross her arms or something?

Interesting… I have to think about that.

"When we get back to the cabana, sweetheart. I'll tell you there."
Right here is where I want her to start telling the story. I think it'd be better to swap the order so that the older gentleman comes by before the woman in blue- that way you can get to Doug that much sooner.

Yes, I like this idea. It will take a bit of restructuring, but it will be well worth the effort. Thanks!

I then aimlessly propelled myself with lazy kicks,
Minor, but this sounds more like a pool instead of the ocean.

It's funny, but you seem to zero in on many of the passages that I had trouble with. A sign of great editing!

We giggled and whispered while soaping each other, our hands slipping, sliding, and gliding over backs, breasts, buttocks, legs, and loins as the water sprinkled over us.
I wanted the shower to last longer. Don't they say*anything*? How about a little teasing or foreplay?

It becomes a question of how long do I want this story to be? Also, it would have involved more dialogue, which I thought the story had enough of (but you're persuading me otherwise). Finally—and I'm not being argumentative—aren't you asking me now to tell? I thought that with the giggling, whispering, and soaping, all of that was implied? I must be misunderstanding what you mean by showing vs telling.

... I was the first woman ever to have swallowed for him."
This kinda rubbed me the wrong way too. Can't she swallow for herself?

She can indeed. But she can also intimate that she enjoyed pleasing her lovers. The two sentiments are not necessarily mutually exclusive, thank God.

I gripped it lightly, savouring the velvet hardness, and stroked.
That sentence is just plain clumsy.

Agreed.

As soon as I said it I realised my slip-up and held my breath. It was a story I had no intention of telling to Chris. Thankfully, he missed it. I breathed easier and quickly moved my story along.
This is good- you're setting up another story, right? However- how does she really know he missed it? Wouldn't it be better to say he seemed to miss it?

Yes, it's a set up. And yes, 'seemed' can be inserted, although I agree that it's getting nit-picky. My smart-ass response would be that she knows he missed it just like she knows when her husband's not hearing a word she's saying.

I'm still stumped for a title. If you mean to leave it to the reader whether Doug is a sugar daddy, then you can't use it as the title, can you? I think Doug has something of a regal air about him, so "Lion At My Gate" might be ok, but then you'd want to work at least a mention of the bridge into the story. And would Stanley Drake be just too corny a name instead of Doug Parsons?

Clever ideas… maybe a bit too clever. They ring a little like tabloid headlines. But then so does "Cabana Capers". I think I want all the titles in the series to have a mexican ring about them, so I may stick with "Cabana Capers".

One last thing. Did you intend to subtly reverse the gender roles of the characters?

?huh? No. Not at all.

 

[Caroline Covington]

Hi Verdad,

Thanks for reading the story and for taking the time to comment. I was giggling when you were going on about the copacabana. Yes, blame Barry!

Yes, the temple paragraphs should be cut. A number of readers agree with you.

The series started off as an exercise to write a story within a story. I may be caught in a trap by trying to stick with that technique. Thanks for the thoughts and for the kind comments.

 

[Penelope Street]

I delayed answering him, concentrating instead on protecting my skin.
When I originally read this line, I took it to mean that she hears him and understands his question, but then deliberately decides to delay her answer in order to focus on protecting her skin. If she's already focused on protecting her skin to the extent that his question doesn't quite register, then that paints a different picture.


Chris seemed to be reading my mind. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach to hide his burgeoning cock.
Penny: A nit, but how does she really know why he rolled onto his stomach?
Caroline: Because she saw it. It's implied. Surely the narrator doesn't need to tell that she saw it?
I was unclear with my question. I meant to suggest the narrator may have jumped to a conclusion here, however since it is a first person story there's nothing really wrong with that and, now that I read it again, I rather like it.

"…love the word"? Hyperbole, but point taken. Also, the narrator is a character in the story so I'm not sure what's interesting about them sharing the same limited vocabulary. If anything, it's consistent.

Hyperbole? Me? All kidding aside, yes, it is consistent- and that makes it interesting in a good way.

My smart-ass response would be that she knows he missed it just like she knows when her husband's not hearing a word she's saying.

Might be both the smart and smart ass response all rolled into one.

 

[Caroline Covington]

A big thank you to everyone who offered comments and suggestions. The story can't help but be improved!

Special thanks to Penny for her insightful comments and for acting as moderator.

Cheers
Caroline

 

[SimonBrooke]

Some of the sexual terminology rubbed me the wrong way too. Clam is kinda corny, but crotch is the one that I find less than appealing- although I thought it interesting that both the character and the narrator both love that word. I can't help but picture some athlete adjusting himself. Not sexy. Unless maybe it's Brett Farve. Yeah. He can get away with it. Like Otto said, it's a personal thing.

I think part of the problem here is that different words seem to have different value-loadings in different parts of the English-speaking world. Here in Scotland 'crotch' is just a word with no particular overloading; it means a bifurcation. So we have crutches that cripples use and crooks that shepherds use and crucks that support the roofs of houses and it's all essentially the same word; it isn't 'dirty' or 'pornographic'. It does describe the bifurcation of a person's legs but only in the way 'neck' describes the narrow bit that supports someone's head. An alternative 'plain English' word would be 'groin'.

A lot of the coyer euphemisms that seem to be preferred west of the pond are much more offensive, not less offensive, seen from this side.

I think the tendency to strain the thesaurus to find high-flown or obscure circumlocutions to describe ordinary parts of the body is one of the worst literary failings of erotica as a genre, and is a sign of an author who isn't really trying. Euphemisms are particularly nasty. Yes, there can be occasions where a fresh metaphor is powerful; but it seems to me that the best language to use is generally the language that the characters in your story would use to one another in private, or to themselves, and if in doubt plain English is best.

 

[Penelope Street]

I think part of the problem here is that different words seem to have different value-loadings in different parts of the English-speaking world.

Great point!

A lot of the coyer euphemisms that seem to be preferred west of the pond are much more offensive, not less offensive, seen from this side.

May we know a few?