Mr. Stick BuriedInHerMouth – British man
Mrs. CatchAGlimpse – wife of Mr. BuriedInHerMouth
Mrs. SlidingPanties – bartender
Mrs. OddFart – old sick aunt
Ms. Winston Che EuphoricWiggle – lady-guest
Mr. PinchingAndGrunting – crime detective
The Hotel Manager
PLACE: Maldives, island “DeadlyDesire”; hotel 4* “HOT COCOON”
x x x
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth boarded the plane to the Maldives with butterflies in his stomach and a heavy heart. The twentieth wedding anniversary vacation was something both he and his wife Mrs. CatchAGlimpse had been looking forward to for a long time. Sadly, her aunt Mrs. OddFart, had fallen sick with a very strange diarrhea explosion. Mrs. CatchAGlimpse decided that her husband would have to fly alone, and she would join him as soon as she could.
To be honest, Mr. BuriedInHerMouth never really liked his wife’s aunt… he was dancing like crazy (from happiness) when he found out about that deadly diarrhea explosion. Unfortunately, his wife was too fond of her OddFart-auntie. Or maybe it was all about the money? Mrs. OddFart was a very wealthy lady.
x x x
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth arrived at the hotel “HOT COCOON” around 4pm. He tried to make the best of his lonely situation by heading down to the lounge to grab a cocktail. The lounge was very modern: surrounded by lush green tropical bushes, snakes, monkeys and mosquitos. Very chic! Mr. BuriedInHerMouth threw himself over one of the chairs, trying to look suave and relaxed. It was difficult. The fancy couch was wider than his bed and higher than his kitchen counter back in Chichester, West Sussex.
After thirty minutes, he realized there were no waitresses. He went to the bar to order a cocktail.
“Hello,” he said to the girl with the name tag Mrs. SlidingPanties. By the time he spoke the words, she had already put his drink in front of him.
“What’s that?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth frowned.
“Your drink, sir.”
“But I didn’t order it… yet,” he noted, confused.
“Oh! Sorry, I thought you wanted our special drink,” Mrs. SlidingPanties took back the cocktail.
“I do,” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth answered. “But I’d like to choose my own.”
“Well, as the sign says,” the girl pointed to a sign hanging at the back of the bar, “we have only two choices: Slide her Panties or Die from Thirst.”
The face of Mr. BuriedInHerMouth melted.
“Blast! I’d like to start with Slide her Panties!” he grinned.
“I guarantee you’ll have a new favorite drink,” winked bartender.
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth looked around the bar. He saw a picture of Mrs. SlidingPanties, on the wall, winning a prize at a Bartender’s Challenge of The Year 1815. Hm. He looked at her again, squinted his eyes, and reached for the drink.
x x x
Mrs. SlidingPanties slowly wrapped her lips around his hard ‘straw’, staring at the smelly socks of Mr. BuriedInHerMouth, who was sipping on his exotic drink. He patted the head of the girl: he loved how attractive she looked when she sucked his ‘straw’, how exciting and big his manhood appeared through the glass of the cocktail. Yes, it was a right choice – the place was
magical, exotic, sweet, tantalizing!
The first pearls of liquid oozed from his tired ‘straw’ into the mouth of hungry Mrs. SlidingPanties.
“You make my taste buds go wild,” she said and left him to watch the stars.
x x x
The lounge looked out towards the ocean, and the view was breathtaking: palm trees and turquoise-colored water under a deep blue sky. It was warm, but the cool seaside breeze waltzed in and got its dervish on. Dreary old England felt a million miles away.
It was either his second or third Die from Thirst-thing. A young long blond woman materialized. Mr. BuriedInHerMouth hadn’t noticed her before but was glad he did now. She was lithe, vibrant, and bubbling. He moved closer to her, hoping she would look at him. As he reached her shoulder, he began to melt from the inside out.
“If you haven’t had one of these cocktails yet,” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth spoke slowly, trying not to slur, “you have to. They’re a religious experience!”
“Why don’t you get me one… and we can take it to the beach?” smiled the woman.
(He was going to, of course, he had already decided he would go with her to the moon, priest or a greeting card shop, but…)
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth checked his own drink. It was half full. If he was going to be on the beach for a while, he would feel silly standing there with an empty glass. He went the sensible route and chugged the rest on the way to the bar. Everything around him went dull and blurry. He forgot what he wanted to say. He forgot what they were talking about. He began to see and hear impressions instead of details:
- the way she swung her blonde hair,
- the light that beamed when she smiled and laughed,
- her glorious butt when she turned or bent,
- the playful dance of her curves whenever she moved,
- the taste of Die from Thirst, new favorite drink,
- the touch of her lips on his arm (was it the arm? really?),
- the passing of puffy, singular clouds across the horizon,
- the sun, marching downstairs into tomorrow.
Night came before Mr. BuriedInHerMouth could cope with it. As it did, even the impressions became less intense and more out of focus. Her words, touch, legs, moans were not making any sense at all. Shortly thereafter, it was all past.
x x x
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth woke up feeling like a truck ran over his head and a camel shat in his mouth.
The fun was merely beginning.
When he tried to get up to vomit, his arm was somehow weighted to the bed. He managed to turn his bloodshot, swollen eyes toward his paralyzed limb and found something laying on it. It had long blonde hair…
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth darted from the bed as fast as his nausea would allow it. Luckily, he almost made it all the way to the bathroom before painting the room with innards. Something groaned behind him, back there – where the bed was. Mr.BuriedInHerMouth turned to see what it was and slipped. Crashing his face onto the tiled floor allowed darkness to swallow the light of day. Once again.
When he finally woke up, he noticed a blond woman standing near the window. She wore nothing.
“Where am I?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth wondered. “Who is this blondie?”
On the inside of one thigh, she had a tattoo of a Church.
“That was incredible, I mean last night!” the woman seethed.
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth grimaced. He didn’t remember doing anything with this woman except looking at her butt on the beach. He hung his head and sighed deeply. What was he doing? He loved his wife and the life they had made together. He loved their little family with all of its surprises and complications. He saw no good reason to throw any of that away. He did not feel unhappy… Yet, here he was – in a hotel room with a naked blonde, playing the womanizing hero in the movie of his life.
The woman pit-patted barefooted to him, squatted, putting a hand on his ‘soft artwork’.
“What’s wrong?” She asked. “Should I make you some Die from Thirst?”
“Die-what?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth asked. His eyes fell, taking in her squatting beauty – down there. He found himself staring at the tattoo – it was the Chichester Parish Church. At least it wasn’t the local Town Hall. Aunt OddFart lived across Town Hall, on East Crescent, and Alex didn’t want to think about her. On the other hand, WTF?
A brand new, uncomfortable feeling spread from his gut and clashed with his nausea that would not abate. He was sweating. Something was going on, but what?
“What was your name again?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth asked, trying not to sound as terrible as he was. “I’m having troubles… mmm, remembering names.”
“Ms. Winston Che EuphoricWiggle” laughed the blonde, getting up to find some clothes.
“Damn, long one. Can I call you Winnie?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth tried to laugh too. His worried face undercut his attempt at levity.
They decided to go snorkeling. He met Ms. Winnie at the lagoon. As soon as Mr. BuriedInHerMouth slid into the water he felt better. It was warm and refreshing. There were no cares, rush, responsibilities, or expectations. Mr. BuriedInHerMouth let himself glide through the depths with the least possible effort. He felt almost in harmony, almost at peace in this world of beauty. Speaking of which, Ms. Winston Che looked pretty sweet in that skimpy bikini of hers. He felt his shorts tighten watching her legs scissor nice and slow, picturing her using a different snorkel.
She turned and took off her bikini. When she did that, it was very easy to forget he was married…
(to be continued…tomorrow/part2)
Next post – Murder in the Hot Cocoon Hotel, part 2