Promises

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual situations are at least eighteen years old.

As always, any political, social or religious views in this story are those of the characters and their circumstances, and don’t necessarily reflect those of the author.

*****

PART TWO — Getting Naked with KIRA

I pack on Sunday morning. I do own a large suitcase, but when I lay out everything I think I might need, it all fits in my carry-on. That’s good, because now there’s no chance the airline will lose my luggage. I dress appropriately for the flight, then dive into an epic programming session. I’ve envisioned a way to streamline a routing process and now I want to see if it’s going to work. The flight doesn’t leave until eight, so I’ve got time.

I work through lunch, excited with how well the new way of routing is coming together, but then decide to take the rest of the afternoon off to wind down a little and get into a vacation frame of mind. I’ll be taking my laptop with me, though, just in case I get bored.

I look at the time down in the corner of the screen, expecting to see 3 or 4pm, but it reads 7:08. Shit! I’m late!

Two minutes later I’m backing out of my garage, quite upset with myself. Nine minutes later I’m sitting parked at the curb of one of the city’s larger thoroughfares, receiving a speeding ticket that I’ll admit I richly deserved.

After blowing twelve minutes and $178, I’m back on the road, being more careful, but now in even more of a rush. I bite the bullet and leave the truck in the more expensive of the general parking lots so I can save time by not having to ride the tram. Even so, it’s nearly flight time when I reach security.

Fortunately, the line at this hour on a Sunday evening is rather short, and I manage to avoid any TSA anal probes this time. I slip my shoes back on and pull an OJ Simpson down the concourse. (The running through the airport thing, ala Hertz, not the decapitating thing.) I can see my gate down near the end and it looks like the last person is scurrying in. Sure enough, the attendant is closing the door as I get nearer.

“Hang on!” I yell, pride and sense of decorum be damned. I really need to make this flight since everything else is booked. The idea of a little slip of a girl like Kira arriving alone in Mexico at one in the morning bothers me too. I doubt she even has the information she needs to get to the resort, which is supposedly a good hour from the airport.

The attendant turns to me, ready to tell me that I’m too late, but when she sees my size and the desperate look on my face, she quickly speaks into her microphone and opens the door for me.

I hand her my boarding pass. “You’re lucky we were short one standby,” she says as she scans it. “Now run!”

I do, and the flight attendant at the end of the jetway gives me a frankly annoyed look as I duck through the door and into the plane. It’s still nowhere near as annoyed as the looks I get from the two fat guys in seats 16a and 16c, though, when I show up to take my seat in 16b.

The overhead bins are bulging, so I have to stuff my carry-on bag under the seat in front of me, using up the space where my size sixteen feet would have gone. My knees are planted solidly in the hard plastic of the seat in front of me and my feet are tucked up under me. I won’t be able to move them from that position for the duration of the flight. My hips are pressed so hard against those of the guys’ next to me that I can count the keys in their pockets. There’s no way we’re going to bring those armrests down.

It’s only a four-hour flight, but it’s going to be a long one.

I didn’t see Kira when I boarded the plane, but if she had been even a couple of rows back, I wouldn’t have. I do find myself hoping that she’s made the flight. Logically, it would be a lot less hassle to have the hotel room all to myself, but even the prospect of a pint-sized girl with a sharp tongue sleeping in a bed on the other side of the room sounds better than being alone at night in a strange place.

When the plane finally lands, I groan and unfold myself. None of the three of us sharing the seats spoke a word to each other during the flight. If they were like me, it was out of resentment that the other two were so big.

I grab my case and hobble to the top of the ramp, enduring the sharp pins-and-needles feel of the return of circulation to my lower legs, then stop and wait for Kira.

The last passenger files out. No Kira. I actually find myself kind of sad that she didn’t come after all. But then, just as I’m turning to go, she hurries around the corner in the jetway, pulling her carry-on. Compared to her, it looks like a full-size case. I find myself smiling at the sight.

She’s not dressed as heavily as the last time I saw her, but her clothes are still more Minnesota than Mexico. Still, without the scarf and with light makeup, she looks like an adult.

“Sorry,” she says with a chagrined look on her face, “I was clear at the back, among a group of Frenchwomen. I couldn’t reach high enough to get my bag down, and they had no interest in helping me, so I finally had to get assistance from the flight attendant.”

“At least you had legroom,” I grumble.

“You’re not making short jokes, I hope.” She’s bemused, not upset.

“No, just letting a little envy show. It’s not easy being my size when plane seats keep getting smaller.”

“And it’s not easy being the size of a nine-year-old in an adult world.”

“I’d imagine not. Well, fellow freak, what do you say we try and catch up to the other passengers?”

She grins. “Lead away.”

I do, but that means when we hit the Immigration line, I go through before she does. The officer stamps my passport, takes my customs forms, and waves me through, with Kira joining me thirty seconds later, so I don’t get to see her passport or hear her real name. I’m okay with that, though, knowing that the big mystery will be revealed when we check in at the resort.

Kira says she has checked baggage, so we go to the carousel. I insist that she’s not going to pull a suitcase off the moving belt as long as I’m around, so she points out her case. It’s a big one, and it’s full.

“Good God, Kira. How long were you planning to stay?”

“Hey, a girl never knows what outfit will be appropriate. It’s best to be prepared.”

“If you say so, but keep in mind that you could spend a quite a bit of this vacation on the beach, wearing nothing at all.”

She blushes. “I don’t think I’m going to be that brave. Besides, no one would want to see too much of this anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

She gives me a look. I belatedly grasp that I may have stepped in it a little by basically saying that I want to see her naked. “Well, not me, but I’m sure someone…” I come to a stop, realizing that I’ve just made it even worse. “Uh…”

She giggles. “You’re really cute when you do that, Peter. Don’t sweat it, I know what you meant.”

I’m not used to being called “cute,” but that’s the second time she’s used the word in connection with me. I grab the handles of my small bag and her big one, ready to go, but she has a guilty look on her face.

“Uh, Peter, there’s more.” She’s pointing at another suitcase that’s coming around the corner. It’s as big as her other one, and just as heavy, I find.

“I know it’s none of my business,” I say, “but this must have cost you a mint in extra baggage charges.”

“Trust me, Peter, it was worth every penny.”

I can’t help but shake my head and smile. I grab the handles of her two big bags while she takes our two carry-ons.

We feed our bags through the x-ray machine, then press the button that randomly assigns people to luggage inspections. Luckily, we both get green lights and are free to go.

At this hour, the airport’s stores and concessions are mostly closed, but I can see a couple of cabs parked outside. I start to lead the way in that direction.

“Hang on a sec,” Kira says. “I need to powder my nose.” She takes her carry-on and swerves into the restroom. I sit and watch the other three bags while she proceeds to take forever. At last she reappears, but I have to do a double take to make sure it’s really her.

She’s totally transformed herself, but not in a way that pleases me at all. She’s wearing bright pink sneakers, little girl jeans with sequins, and a My Little Pony T-shirt. Her long brown hair is up in honest-to-God pigtails and she’s subtly changed her makeup to appear much younger. If someone didn’t know, they’d assume she was nine.

“What? You don’t like it?” she says innocently, seeing my expression.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but why are you trying to look like a child?”

“All will become clear in time,” she says mysteriously. She will say no more about it. I’m starting to worry that I’m about to share a room with a woman with psychotic tendencies.

After a long taxi ride, it’s after two in the morning and the hotel lobby is quiet when we arrive. Even the late-night revelers have evidently packed it in. The online brochure says the desk is open 24/7 for whatever needs their guests might have, but there’s no one in sight.

I ring the bell. Thirty seconds later, a sleepy-looking fellow comes through a door and steps up behind the counter. His crooked name tag says “Raul.”

“Checking in?” he asks in heavily accented English, obviously irritated to have been woken in the middle of his shift. He’s also assumed we’re English speakers, even though, according to the reviews, this place is just as popular with continental Europeans.

Then he takes a closer look at Kira. He obviously sees through her disguise because, though he tries to hide it, the lust is plain to see. Despite myself, and even knowing that Kira and I are here as strictly platonic fellow vacationers, my jealous bone is tweaked. I take an immediate and visceral dislike to the guy. If Raul wants to be rude to a guest, especially to Kira, I can make his job a lot more difficult.

“We are here to check in, and you will not look at her that way,” I growl in the fluent Russian of my childhood. The sound of my low, gravelly voice echoes in the large space.

His eyes get big as it becomes obvious to him that I’m not at all happy with his insulting service. It’s also obvious that he speaks no Russian. The moment stretches as he tries to figure out what to do. He’s desperately uncomfortable now, but that’s the idea.

Kira eventually comes to his rescue, but not in the way I would have imagined. “We is Malakhov,” she says in hesitant English with a fake Russian accent that she actually pulls off quite well. I’m pleased that she’s decided to join in the charade and impressed by how seamlessly she’s done it, but I’m a bit confused as to why she’s trying to pass herself off as my wife. That’s certainly not her name on our reservations.

“Very good,” Raul says, belatedly standing up straight and looking attentive to the point of solicitousness. He smiles nervously and looks at his screen, then clicks his mouse a few times. “Here it is. Pyotr and Kira Malakhov. You are in room 735.” He butchers the pronunciation of my legal first name, but pretty much everyone does. He looks up at me hesitantly. “May I see your ID please?”

I stay in character and look down at him uncomprehendingly. Then Kira looks up at me and says something in Russian-sounding gibberish which I pretend is her translation of his request. I nod and pull out my wallet. From the look on his face as he surveys my driver’s license, he must assume Minneapolis is a suburb of Moscow. Surprisingly, it seems to suffice for both of us. I wonder about that until he looks down at her. “Would you like me to call a porter to help you and your father with your bags?”

He actually thinks she’s my daughter? I’m about to break character and suggest that he check my companion’s ID as well, but Kira doesn’t miss a beat. “Is okay,” she says, seemingly having difficulty with finding the correct English words. “Papa and me, we take bags.” It’s all I can do to keep a straight face as we head for the elevator.

“What’s with the Russian?” Kira asks me when the doors close.

“He looked at you rudely. I decided to make his night a little more difficult. Nice work on the assist, by the way.”

“Oh, I always love a good practical joke. I think Raul will remember the Malakhovs.”

“Speaking of which, why on earth did you use my last name to make your reservation?”

“Well, part of it is that I didn’t want to have to deal with any looks from the staff, sharing a room with a man with a different last name.”

“Seriously? This is the 21st century. No one cares about that anymore.”

“Yeah, I know, but my folks always told me I should never share a room with a man unless I was married to him. This is the first time I’ve gone against that advice, however innocently. I know it’s silly, but it just made me feel more comfortable.”

“But you obviously don’t have any ID with my last name on it. What if he’d asked for it?”

“That’s why I dressed like this. Since you’re like, thirty, I figured I could get away with posing as your kid. I checked ahead. They don’t ask for a child’s ID here.”

“You’re not going to dress like this all week, I hope?”

“Nope. This was just for check-in.”

“By the way, I’m actually only twenty-eight.”

She looks up at me closely. “Hmm, I can see that now. You’re just so big and imposing that I thought you were older.”

“Speaking of which, just how old are you, anyway?”

She gives me an enigmatic smile. “A woman never tells.”

“Well, at least you could finally tell me your real name.”

“Kira Malakhov,” she says innocently. “It says so right there on our registration.”

“Ay caramba.” I can tell that I’m not getting any more out of her now.

Only then do I connect the dots and realize that Raul was visibly lusting after Kira despite thinking she was my young daughter. A shiver of disgust goes through me.

Our room is large, clean, nicely decorated, and has a private screened balcony with a great view of the ocean. It has a beautiful bathroom with a tiled walk-in shower big enough for four, a well-stocked mini-bar, and a huge flat-screen TV. There is an intricately inlaid mahogany table with two comfortable looking padded chairs, and along the wall, a king size bed. Just one king size bed.

“Oops,” I say. “Looks like someone screwed up. I’ll call Raul and get this fixed.”

“No way. You don’t speak English, remember?” She grabs the phone and dials the front desk while I take the opportunity to really look at her for the first time.

Kira’s face is fascinating. At first glance she really does look like she’s nine or ten years old, but my closer examination discovers the small lines and signs of maturity that say, to my relief, that she’s probably in her early twenties. She’s quite pretty, too.

She spends about a minute talking with the guy, trying to explain the problem in broken Russlish, but she finally gives up and switches to Spanish. The comprehension suddenly gets a lot better, but from the look on her face, there’s still no satisfactory resolution in the offing. Finally, she sighs and hangs up.

“You speak Spanish?” I ask. It must have surprised Raul as well.

“I had a Cuban nanny until I was eleven. My parents asked her to only use Spanish with me, so I’m basically a native speaker. Still, it was a new challenge for me just now, speaking broken Spanish with a Slavic accent. Where did you learn Russian?”

“I was born in Kiev and moved to America when I was seven. Even after we got here, we mostly spoke Russian at home.”

“I wondered. I catch just the hint of an accent every now and then.” She nods at the phone. “There’s a men’s retreat here until tomorrow, so they had an unusual number of requests for multiple beds. All of the beds are taken, even the little rolling ones. Raul says maybe they can set us up with two beds tomorrow.”

“Then they can get me a different room for the night. This is their mistake, not ours.”

“I tried that, but they’re full to the rafters. It’s a good thing you warned them we’d be getting in late or they’d have given our room away.”

I look around. The furniture is beautiful, but other than the bed, it’s all hard surfaces. There’s not so much as a couch to sleep on. “I guess I’ll take the floor,” I say.

“Don’t be silly. It’s tile and you’re big. I’m so light that I can sleep fine on anything. I’ll take the floor.”

“Kira, I’d sleep out on the sidewalk before I’d make a woman sleep on the floor.”

“Then we’re sharing the bed,” she says, a note of finality in her voice.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. For all practical purposes, we just met.”

“So? Weren’t you just telling me that this is the 21st century? No one cares about that anymore, I seem to recall.”

“But you said you’ve never even shared a room with a man, much less a bed.”

“I never said I haven’t shared a room with a man, only that I haven’t shared a room with a man I wasn’t married to.”

“You were married?”

“I am married.”

Oh shit! “Does your husband know you’re here?”

“No, and that’s the bigger reason I didn’t want to put my own name on the hotel registration. I’ve left him and I’m sure it’s going to get nasty. I don’t want to give Angelo and his pit bull lawyers any ammunition. If they could prove I was sharing a room with some guy in Mexico, it would make things, uh, more difficult.”

“I’d imagine.”

She walks over to the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony. I follow her. In the reflection of the glass, our extreme size difference is finally brought home to me. I’m able to see how Raul so easily bought into the idea that Kira was my daughter. The top of her head barely makes it to my lower chest and she’s incredibly slender. She can’t possibly weigh more than seventy pounds.

“Peter,” she says with a determined look on her face, “I’m past all this talking about sleeping arrangements. Just promise me you’ll behave.”

“I promised you that I’d be a perfect gentleman, and I will be.”

“And I promise to be relatively ladylike myself.”

“Fair enough,” I say.

“I’m sure I’ll take a lot longer than you to get ready for bed, so why don’t you take the bathroom first.”

“Sure.” I snag my carry-on case and get ready, pulling on the long pajamas I’d bought the day before at my favorite big & tall store. The bathroom has no door, just an open doorway. It doesn’t face into the room, but I feel rather strange dropping my boxers with her just around the corner.

Getting ready doesn’t take long. “It’s all yours,” I say, a bit unnecessarily, as I step back into the bedroom.

“Thanks.”

I pull the heavy drapes closed and climb into bed, leaving her the side nearest the bathroom. I’ve noticed that most women are particular about that. She grabs her own carry-on and slips around the corner.

Despite her warning, it probably doesn’t take her any longer to get ready than it took me. She comes out with her hair down and her face freshly scrubbed. She’s wearing a set of long (on her) Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas. Unlike mine, they look to be well broken in. Perhaps she doesn’t usually wear pajamas either and these are from when she was an actual child.

She slips into bed on the other side, seemingly miles away. She’s so light that I barely feel the bed move.

“Good night,” she says, turning off the lamp on her nightstand, the only remaining light in the room.

“Good night,” I say, fighting the sudden urge to give her the kiss that usually accompanies saying those words to the woman in your bed. But then I have a question for her.

“Kira, why do you trust me? You don’t even know me. I could be a serial rapist for all you know.”

“You promised me you’d behave.”

“Promises are easily broken.”

“Not for you,” she says with finality.

I lie awake for a while, considering that.

I have strange dreams that night, but the last one before waking has me holding Destinee in my arms in bed. It doesn’t feel right though, because even in my sleep I remember that she doesn’t allow that. She always jerks awake if I touch her, even inadvertently. Now, though, she’s spooned to my chest, not too hot, not too cold, but just right. If only this wasn’t a dream, I think to myself. It really would be nice to hold someone while I slept.

I open my eyes and realize that it’s no dream. I really do have a woman in my arms, but of course it’s Kira, not Destinee. I don’t move a muscle. She’s still asleep, snoring lightly and peacefully. I know I should move away from her, but my back is already up against the edge of the bed. She obviously came to me in her sleep, probably assuming I was her husband.

The back of her head is inches away, sharing my pillow, and her long hair smells of henna and lemons. Her butt is pressed to the upper part of my stomach. My elbow is resting on her waist and I can feel how incredibly narrow it is.

The morning light shows a little around the edges of the heavy drapes, but the gentle red glow of the bedside clock says that it’s only been four hours since we went to bed. I’m not planning to get up just yet. I continue to hold her, waiting to fall back asleep, but enjoying this little intimate interlude in the meantime. I just hope she doesn’t wake up and get upset with me. In my defense, she is on my side of the bed.

Ten minutes later, Kira’s steady snoring suddenly stops, and I can feel that she’s woken. I keep my breathing steady, as if I’m still asleep. To my relief, she doesn’t freak out at being in my arms.

Eventually I feel her relax back into sleep and her light snoring resumes. I smile, but then after a few minutes, fall back into sleep myself.

I wake to the sound of the shower running. For a moment, I wonder if sleeping with Kira in my arms was just a dream, but my pillow smells of henna and lemons. It really did happen.

Twenty minutes later, she walks out into the room. Her long brown hair is damp and loose, hanging down her back. She’s dressed in a cute, but still kind of baggy pair of shorts and a rock and roll concert T-shirt.

“You’re a Styx fan?”

“Big time. My dad used to listen to 70’s and 80’s music incessantly when I was a kid. I guess I kind of imprinted on it.”

“That’s cool. I started listening to KIRA back in junior high because I hated all the crap the other kids were listening to. Pop, country, hip-hop, rap, I just can’t get into that stuff. It’s either rock or the classical Russian composers for me.”

“Amen to that,” she says. Then, her brow crinkles endearingly. “I hope I didn’t crowd you during the night.” Her question appears to be completely innocent. Maybe she doesn’t remember waking in my arms, or perhaps she thinks it was a dream.

“Not at all, and I don’t remember the last time I slept so well.”

“Yeah, I slept unusually well too. Look, Peter, since neither of us has had a chance to get to know anyone here yet, you wanna come with me to get some breakfast?”

“Sure. Give me fifteen minutes.”

I’m in the shower when the phone rings. A few seconds later, I hear Kira’s voice from the bathroom doorway. I’m tall enough to see her over the shower curtain, which, luckily for propriety, is a solid fabric.

“It’s the front desk,” she says. “They say they can set us up with separate beds today. You want me to tell them to do that?”

“Well…”

After last night, I really want to keep sharing a bed with her. It’s honestly nothing to do with any expectation of sex, especially since I’m quite sure that our size difference would make that awkward, if not actually impossible. I just really liked holding her.

When she’d woken in my arms, she’d gone right back to sleep, so I figure she hadn’t minded either. On the other hand, she doesn’t know that I know that she slept in my arms, and it might be a bit presumptuous of me to turn down separate beds. For just a moment, I’m in a bit of a quandary.

Kira speaks again quickly. “You know, Peter, you were indeed a perfect gentleman last night and I guess I don’t mind our current arrangement. I’m all for sharing unless you want your own bed.”

I calculate that, since she’s put it that way, it would be almost rude of me to request separate beds. “No, that’s fine. If you’re good with it, I don’t see any reason to change.”

“Great, I’ll tell them.”

Hidden Springs offers a choice of inclusive dining options, and we hit the casual place just off the lobby. It turns out they serve breakfast all day, so I’m able to get my standard eggs, over easy, with lots of bacon. I somehow expect Kira to do something vegetarian, but she gets just what I do, the only difference being her choice of having her eggs scrambled.

She immediately notices that the spa is right across the lobby from us. “Ooh, I’ve gotta try that out tomorrow,” she says. “I haven’t been to a spa in a long time.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say. “What are you planning to do today?”

“There are some ancient Mayan ruins over on the mainland, near Tulum. I’m signed up for a tour to go check them out. How about you?”

“I think I’m going to try parasailing.”

“Wow, that sounds exciting. I may have to do that tomorrow.”

As we talk, I suddenly realize that I’m not having to work at it nearly as hard as I normally do. I’m not calculating every response or concentrating on deciphering every expression. Somehow, with Kira, conversation is relatively easy. I’m still keeping my head in the game, but it’s fun this time.

We walk out together, and I have the sudden urge to take her hand. Of course, I would have to bend way down to grab it and I don’t think she would welcome that familiarity anyway. I do notice that we’re getting glances. I’m used to it because of my size, but most of these are at Kira. I suppose people are trying to figure out if she’s my wife, girlfriend or daughter. It’s weird.

We go back to the room to get ready for our respective activities, then head out for the day.

I do indeed walk over to the parasailing place and put my name on the list. There are quite a few people waiting to fly today. Even with two boats doing runs, it’s going to be at least an hour. In the meantime, I practice socializing by talking with a group who’ve come down from South Carolina together on vacation. There are three couples, and then two girls who appear to be unattached.

The first is plain, stocky, has a couple of sleeves of frankly dreadful tattoos, and is only a head taller than Kira. She’s the only member of the group that doesn’t seem to like the idea of my hanging out with them. Even so, this might have been enough to make me move on, if not for the second girl.

She’s got long, blond hair, a pretty, girl-next-door sort of face, a nice hourglass figure, and an endearing number of freckles. She introduces herself as Anna, and I quickly find that she’s got a very down-to-earth personality, a quick wit, and a bright, ready smile. And she’s tall. At a guess, somewhere between six-two and six-three. Even better, she seems to be as interested in talking to me as I am in talking to her.

The South Carolina group is just ahead of me on the waiting list, but Anna says they’ll stick around and watch my flight if I want to hang with them. I quickly agree.

One by one, the group is yanked off the beach and sent skyward by the crews in the speedboats, but at the last minute, Anna chickens out. I walk over to see if I can encourage her. “It looks like a lot of fun,” I say.

“I guess so, but I get scared of thrill stuff, especially if it involves heights.”

“Sometimes you just need to put yourself out there and try new things that may be outside of your comfort zone. You never know what you’ll find out about yourself.” I realize as I say it, that it’s kind of the story of my life.

“Maybe so, but I think I’ll take my new experiences with both feet on the ground.” Her mind is made up, so the next person in line is me.

I find parasailing as exhilarating as I’d imagined. It’s nice to be able to turn off the analytic social computer for a few minutes and just enjoy the experience. The group is indeed waiting for me when I’m done, and Anna even gives me a chaste hug. I’ve never embraced (and don’t think I’ve ever met) a girl as tall as she is. Her body feels really nice against mine

“How was it?” she asks.

“Completely awesome.”

She sighs. “I really should have done it.” She looks back at the entrance wistfully.

“There’s always tomorrow,” I suggest.

Anna and I get to talking as the group heads for our next activity. I quickly find out that she’s a graphic designer. She uses the same software that I use to put together the presentations I do for my industrial clients. It gives us something interesting to launch our conversation.

It turns out that we have quite a few things in common and I really enjoy talking to her. We stay with her group, but more and more often during the afternoon, Anna and I pair off at times. Our conversation takes some concentration on my part, of course, but nothing like as much as I always had to use with Destinee or my other girlfriends. Amazingly, it’s a lot like talking to Kira.

Maybe it’s the tropical climate and attitude that’s allowing this free and easy(er) exchange. In any case, my careful analysis tells me that she’s displaying all the signs of enjoying being with me.

At the same time, there’s something subtly different about the way she responds to me compared to any of the women I’ve pursued in the past. From her reactions, I know she’s definitely a sexual being, yet with me she’s very reserved in that way. Sensing it, though not knowing what the issue is, I modify my responses a bit in a way that seems to put her more at ease.

We rejoin her friends for dinner, but while we sit with the rest of the group, we’re pretty much in our own little world. Anna orders a Mai Tai and I ask for an unsweetened iced tea, finding that I’m not at all worried that she’ll ask me why I’m not drinking.

Anna has evidently noticed though, because after her one glass, she switches to water, even though the rest of the group is imbibing at a pretty good clip. I make no comment on it, just like she made no comment on my drink selection.

After dinner, Anna and I split off and go to one of the resort’s clubs. I discover that she’s an enthusiastic, if not particularly skilled, dancer. I find that refreshing. Most of what the DJ is playing are dance tunes, but every now and then he throws in a slow song.

The first time, Anna seems a bit reluctant to get that close, but then smiles shyly and comes into my proffered arms. We fit together amazingly well, and I know that I would normally be sporting an erection by now, but somehow this just doesn’t feel as sexual as I would have expected, and Mister Happy continues his nap.

We dance for a couple more hours, interspersed with visits to a relatively quiet booth near the back to catch our breath and talk some more. Our conversation is all over the place, touching on college experiences, pros and cons of our respective cities, and even the normally taboo subject of religion and politics. Again I notice that talking with her is a remarkably low-stress activity.

Finally, though, and without either of us having to say so, we decide we’ve had enough. I lead her off the dance floor and we head toward her place, which, like mine, is in the main high-rise building.

We’re walking down the long hall to her room. I’ve got an arm around her waist and she’s leaning into me companionably. I’ve had a lot of fun and it’s been amazing to be with a woman with whom I share so much and can talk so easily. Now we’ve come to that moment when I’d usually be trying to get the girl to invite me in. The only thing is, I know that’s not going to happen. Neither of us seems to have any desire to seal the deal in that way. Besides, I’m already sharing a bed with… Kira.

With a shock, I realize that I haven’t so much as given a thought to my pint-sized bedmate for hours. After having such a magical night with Kira, I know I should feel guilty about spending the whole day with Anna. On the other hand, I know I should feel guilty about dropping wonderful Anna off at her door, then going to spend the night with another woman. The strange thing is, I don’t feel guilty in either case, and even stranger, I’m idly thinking about ways to introduce them to each other. Jesus, am I stupid? This is all very confusing.

“Peter?” A soft voice brings me back into the moment.

Oops. “Sorry, Anna.” We’re standing in front of her door.

“You looked like you were about a thousand miles away,” she says, seemingly more amused than annoyed.

I smile. “Yeah, but I’m back now.”

She slips her card into the door, but before she can turn the handle, it opens from the inside. The other single girl from Anna’s group scowls way up at the two of us. “I wondered if I was going to have to call security,” she grumbles.

Anna rolls her eyes. “It’s only eleven, Mom.” She ignores her roomie’s glare and tips her head up to kiss my cheek. Said roomie turns and stalks back into the room.

“Thanks for a wonderful day, Peter,” Anna says.

I kiss her cheek in return. “I had fun too. Would you like to get together again some time?”

“I would. I’m here until Friday. You know where to find me.”

She winks, then, without another word, slips into her room. The door closes behind her.

I note her room number, then ride the elevator up to my floor. This thing with Kira and Anna has got me mightily confused. I step into our hallway, but then take a detour into the little vestibule with the ice and vending machines. I grab a diet soda and lean back into the privacy of the corner, out of sight of the hall, so I can think things over.

Just what is it that I feel for Kira, a girl who still wants me to refer to her by the call letters of a classic rock radio station? Lord knows I’m attracted to her, despite our ridiculous size difference and the fact that she’s married to a guy who’s evidently going to make her divorce a long and nasty process.

And what about Anna? Amazingly, she’s equally easy to be around, but I don’t ever recall having such a good time around a woman with whom I shared so little sexual chemistry. I think she’s gorgeous and I want to get to know her better, but I honestly have no desire to bed her.

I realize that I just don’t have a clue where to go with this, but I do know where I’m supposed to be next. Tossing my still mostly full can in the trash, I walk down the hall and key my way into our room. Kira’s still out. Sighing, I decide to get ready for bed. I pull the drapes closed and start to change into my long pajamas, then stop and decide that since Kira and I are a lot more comfortable with each other now, I can probably get away with a T-shirt and boxers.

As I slip into what I now consider my side of the bed, I notice that her laptop is missing from the table. So she’s probably not out dancing like I was. I turn out the light and lie in bed, wide awake. Twenty minutes later, I hear a key card in the lock.

Kira slips into the darkened room quietly. Seeing me in bed and logically assuming I’m asleep, she tiptoes over to the table to set her laptop down, then pads into the bathroom. Minutes later, she’s back, wearing a long T-shirt and, I assume, panties. I congratulate myself on making the right decision on my nightclothes. It’s dark enough that I’m quite sure she can’t see that I’m watching her through my eye slits.

I’m on my side, facing the middle, and Kira slips gently into bed. Then, over the next ten minutes or so, the little minx works her way over to me, butt first, until she’s very lightly spooned against me. I moan sleepily, like I’m dead to the world. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her tiny body tight to my chest in my supposed sleep.

Less than a minute later, she begins to snore. A minute after that, I’m in dreamland myself.

When I wake, I feel weight. I’m on my back and Kira is wedged in against my ribs, an ankle hooked over my thigh, her arm over my chest, and her head on my shoulder. My arm is wrapped around her back and my hand is cupping both of her little panty-clad butt cheeks. I remain relaxed and don’t open my eyes, hoping this moment will last.

“Good morning,” she murmurs. How she knows I just woke, I don’t know. I’ve been consistently told that I’m an unusually quiet sleeper.

“Good morning,” I rumble back.

“In case you were wondering, I woke up this way. I didn’t want to disturb you by moving. I hope it’s not freaking you out.”

It’s just barely plausible that she awakened in this position, but I have my doubts.

“No, I don’t mind at all. We all do interesting things in our sleep.”

“That we do.”

I note that even though I’m awake now, Kira stays right where she is. So does my hand on her bottom.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask.

“Like a rock. You?”

I can’t see the clock in this position, but from the angle of a couple of sunbeams that have made it past the drapes, I calculate that it’s been about nine hours since we went to bed. At home I can never sleep more than six.

“Better than I knew I could.”

“Good. So what are you doing today?”

“I think I’m gonna hit the beach.” I fight the urge to ask her to come with me. Even as close as we are right now, I don’t want to be the one to step over the line on the agreement we made.

“Cool. I’m scheduled for the spa today.”

“Sounds like fun.” Or not. The idea of spending a day being poked and prodded by strangers doesn’t hold a lot of attraction for me.

“You gonna do the Full Monty out there?” she asks.

“Uh, depends on what everyone else is doing. I’ve never been to a nude beach.”

“I admire your willingness to try. I’m kind of shy myself.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I say, with perhaps a touch of mirth.

She tickles my ribs for a second in retribution and I squirm. I’m not usually all that susceptible to tickling, but she’s caught me by surprise. “I should say I’m shy with everyone but you.”

“Really? What’s so different about me?”

“You’re just a great big teddy bear and I know I can trust you.”

“Teddy bear, huh?” I’ve certainly never been called that before.

“Yeah, everyone else looks at you like you’re the toughest bad-ass motherfucker they’ve ever seen, but I can see the real you. You’re gentle as can be, even when you massage my butt.”

Oops! I realize that I’m absently doing exactly that. I guess I couldn’t help myself. It feels so nicely rounded and the whole thing fits neatly in my hand. I desist in the kneading, but continue cupping her.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It felt nice.”

I now realize that I’ve got an erection building. Kira does that to me in a way that Anna didn’t. Under other circumstances I might see if my bedmate and I could do something about that, but Kira isn’t my lover. Besides, I like my women tall, blonde, busty, and single. Kira is none of those things. If I don’t do something quick, though, she’s bound to notice my stiffy.

I give her butt a friendly slap. “Okay, it’s time to hit the showers. You first.”

“Slave driver,” she mutters with a smile. She slowly slides off me. My body cries out at the loss, and I only barely subdue a sudden and powerful urge to pull her back. She hops out of bed and heads for the bathroom. Just as she’s going around the corner, she begins to pull her T-shirt off. She’s out of sight just a little too quickly for me to see her bare chest, but I do get a glimpse of her very taut midsection and hot pink panties.

I lie in bed, listening to the sounds of her in the shower, the thought of her naked in there doing nothing to quell my now raging erection. The shower stops after a while and I hear the curtain slide open. A minute later she calls out, “Okay, Peter, your turn.”

That catches me by surprise. I would have figured that she’d want to be out of there before I came in, but I can be flexible. As I walk toward the bathroom, though, it occurs to me that I’m going to have to be creative about getting myself into the shower, unless she’s almost done.

Nope. She has one of the big, fluffy bath towels wrapped around under her arms, draped nearly to her knees. She’s busy working on her hair and seems to pay me no particular attention as I walk in. I gulp and nearly turn back, but then decide to run with it. I don’t want to be the prude.

I casually peel off my T-shirt, tossing it through the bathroom doorway into the corner, then hang a towel on the hook next to the shower. I step in, strip off my boxers and hang them over the shower rod. Problem solved.

The water’s already warm when I turn it on, but my cock is almost impossibly hard now. My hand automatically goes to it and I nearly jump from its sensitivity. I realize that I’m already on a hair trigger. The thought of doing something about it with her on the other side of the curtain is both terrifying and intoxicating.

I squirt some shampoo into my hand and lather my hair as usual, but then I give in to temptation and grab my bottle of conditioner. I squeeze out a dollop and begin to quietly work my manhood in long, smooth strokes, concentrating on being non-rhythmic. That slows me a bit, but I know it still won’t take long. Naturally, it’s at this point that Kira strikes up a conversation.

“So did you have a good time parasailing yesterday?”

I take a quick breath to make sure I can talk normally first, but I don’t stop my self-gratification.

“Yeah, it was great. I thought it would be intense, but once you’re in the air you can just relax and enjoy the view. How were the ruins?” I hope my voice doesn’t give away my extreme state of sexual arousal.

“They were fascinating. The Mayans were an amazing people. They were so advanced in a lot of ways, yet backwards in others. They built an astounding civilization, all without wheels or metal.”

“Yeah, pretty interesting.” So close, so close.

“The spa won’t be nearly as educational, but when I was online, I found out they have a masseuse who gets five stars on all her reviews. I booked a session with her for eleven. I’m really looking forward to it.”

I feel myself tipping past the point of inevitability.

“Sounds like fun,” I say, using every last ounce of my self-control to keep my voice casual. My release is welling up now, just seconds away.

“Oops, missed a spot on my calf. Peter, would you hand me my razor? It should be sitting on the seat.”

I don’t trust myself to speak now, but I turn toward the back of the shower and snag it. Then, as I turn back, I see that she’s snaked her hand around the edge of the curtain. Simultaneously, I feel the first spasm of my release, but I’m aimed right at her! I begin to turn my hips away, but it’s too late. To my horror, the first rope (the big juicy one) lands square in the palm of her hand.

“Oops,” I say, quickly grabbing her hand and holding it under the spray. My shame and embarrassment have all but overcome my raging release now. “I was holding the conditioner bottle and must have tipped it when I turned.” That’s totally lame, but it’s the best I can do as I pump the rest of my load onto the shower wall.

“Mmm, warm conditioner,” she says with a giggle, and I’m deathly afraid she knows exactly what I was doing. I finish rinsing her tiny little hand and place the handle of the razor in it.

“Thank you, Peter.”

“You’re welcome, Kira,” I say as the last of my issue drips from my balls.

I want Kira to head back into the room proper because I’m not sure I can look her in the face just yet. Fortunately, she finishes quickly again, and I step out of the shower unobserved. It takes a few minutes as I get ready, but I convince myself that she probably doesn’t know what I was doing in there.

When I come out of the bathroom, I’m back on an even keel. Kira is fully dressed and sitting at the table with her back to me, typing on her laptop at a furious speed. She has a pillow from the bed folded in half under her little butt to get her up to the right height. Her heels are hooked on the crossbar under the seat to keep her legs from dangling.

I pad up behind her and look at what she’s doing. It appears to be a page of dialog that she’s currently adding to.

“You write fiction?”

She jumps, then partially closes the lid and looks up at me with an embarrassed look on her face.

“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t mean to snoop.” I feel a bit ashamed of having been caught doing so.

“No, it’s okay, but I don’t normally let anyone watch me write. The creative process is very personal for me.”

“Then I’ll keep my nose out of your laptop.”

She smiles apologetically. “Maybe you’ll read my story when I’m done with it?”

“I think I’d like that.” And I already know I would have read it eventually anyway, because now I’ve figured out who she really is.

I’ve read her stuff before.

Breakfast with Kira is just as agreeable as it was the day before, and I realize that I like being with her simply because she’s fun. It was the same with Anna, though on a more platonic level. This is something completely new in my relationships with the fairer sex.

Is it me that’s changed, maybe because of my ugly breakup with Destinee? Or is it the laidback tropical atmosphere here in Mexico? Probably not, because I’d had to be my usual calculating self with the four other women in the South Carolina party. So maybe it’s something about the girls themselves that’s making everything seem so much easier and more natural?

I don’t know for certain, but in any case, I really feel good about the relationships I’m developing with both of them, which is more fascinating still. I’ve never been involved with two women at the same time and never had any desire to be. Weird.

After breakfast, we go back to the room together to get ready for our respective activities. I let Kira use the bathroom first and she’s quickly ready to head out for her day at the spa.

“Wanna do dinner with me tonight?” I ask.

“You’re not asking me out on a date, are you?” she asks, standing in the open door to the hall and looking a bit concerned.

Oops. Maybe I’ve pushed it too far. “No, it would be as friends.”

“Well,” she says hesitantly, “I guess that would be okay then.”

“How about Águila y Sol at seven? The reviews on that place are really good and the Mexican food is supposed to be super authentic.”

A big shit-eating grin sweeps across her face. “It’s a date,” she giggles.

“Hey!” But the door has already closed behind her.

I grab my laptop and do a little bit of research on the nugget of information I picked up from peering over her shoulder. It quickly confirms my suspicions. I knew she looked familiar, though I wouldn’t necessarily have linked the sophisticated photo on the internet with the tiny slip of a girl who’s shared my bed the last two nights.

I won’t be seeing her again until tonight, so I consider getting together with Anna. On the other hand, if I’m planning on getting naked at the beach, that might be a bit awkward. Besides, she said she’s going to be around until Friday. I’ll look her up tomorrow.

I change into my swim trunks and a T-shirt, then stuff a few items into a knapsack I bought for just this purpose. I pride myself on always pushing to experience new things, and a nude beach is definitely going to be that.

The beach is divided into two sections, one on each side of a privacy fence that stretches from the jungle down to the high tide line. From there, it’s a tall stone jetty that runs well out into the surf. A screened passage through the fence at the entrance to the clothing-optional section bears a multi-lingual sign that says cameras are not allowed. Good idea.

I walk through the opening expecting a nude beach like in the stories I’ve read about them, where everyone is young, buff, tanned and naked. Instead, it looks just about like the clothed side. The only nudists in the crowd appear to be fat, middle-aged men. There are quite a few younger people here, but they’re evidently not in the mood to make the older crowd happy by stripping down. They’re probably here more to avoid the families with noisy kids that dominate the clothed section of the beach.

I sigh and lay out my towel. So much for the new experience. But then I think about it for a second longer. If it’s allowed, then why not do it?

I consider stripping while lying down, so as not to draw attention, but then think about it for a second more. What the hell, go for it. I stay on my feet.

I can feel lots of eyes on me because, like everywhere I go, I’m the tallest person in sight. With no further hesitation, I pull off my T-shirt, then push my trunks down and kick them onto my knapsack. The warm breeze coming from up the beach feels very strange on my newly bared skin, but I continue to act like I do this every day, casually lying down on my stomach.

The sun feels nice and I’m glad that part of my regimen for chasing the ladies has been to visit a tanning salon from time to time. I’m not deeply bronzed by any means, but I’ve got a light tan with no lines.

Tan or not, I don’t want to burn, so I get busy and spread on some SPF 30, but I can’t reach the middle of my back and I’m loathe to ask anyone around me for help. Instead, I cover my whole front and lay down on my back, exposing the family jewels to the sun. I’ll have to figure out what to do with my back later.

For the first few minutes, I’m exceptionally nervous about having exposed myself, but my biggest worry (getting excited and popping a boner in public) now seems to be a non-issue. Gradually I relax until, twenty minutes in, I feel like a pro at this whole nudist thing. It’s just me, my sunglasses and a smile.

There’s an elderly couple in lounge chairs between me and the distant archway. I’m surreptitiously looking through the gap under their chairs, keeping an eye out for the approach of attractive women. I’m hoping that one of them will grace us with a nice view of her naked body. The glare from the white sand is intense, though, and they’d have to get quite close before I could do my analysis.

Children aren’t specifically forbidden on this patch of beach, but up until now, I haven’t seen any crumb-crunchers. Then I spot a lone child approaching. The way she walks isn’t little girlish, though, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that it’s Kira. So much for her day at the spa.

She’s looking around, obviously trying to spot me, but with my being tucked down behind the older couple, she’s not going to see me until she’s close. I suppose I could stand up and wave at her, but as long as she’s heading in the right direction, I’ll wait.

As fate would have it, she continues straight toward me, though that’s actually not all that surprising since I’m on the main aisle. As she gets closer and closer, I belatedly remember that I’m nude and have to fight the urge to grab for my suit. I know that’s silly, but while it somehow feels okay to be naked in front of strangers, the thought of having Kira see me that way makes me feel nervous, and maybe even a little ashamed. I mentally slap myself. This is a nude beach and she’ll be well aware that I could be in an advanced state of undress.

I steel my nerve as she approaches the older couple then comes into view down by my feet.

“Hi Kitty,” I say. Kira turns and sees a very large, very naked man looking up at her. The shock on her pretty little face is priceless. Whether it’s from suddenly finding me, or the fact that I’m buck naked, or the surprise of my calling her by her given name, I don’t know, but I wish I had a camera. She blushes deep red and turns her head away.

“Hey, relax. It’s what happens on this beach.”

“I know,” she says, recovering somewhat and turning her head toward me. “You just surprised me.” Then her brow crinkles. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“How many novels have a character named Maya Windrider, like I saw in that dialog on your screen? You’re the science fiction writer, K.T. Zwilling.”

“You’ve read my books?”

“All three of them. A couple of years ago I saw the feature story that the Minneapolis Star Tribune did on local writers, and decided to give your first book a try. Now I’m eagerly awaiting number four.” I motion at the empty patch of sand next to me. “Grab some beach. I’m hoping I can get you to spill a taste of the plot to me.”

Kira smiles, seeming to have regained her normally self-confident attitude. “Well… I guess it couldn’t hurt to join you,” she says, as if that hadn’t been her plan all along. She knows she’s not fooling anyone.

She sits her floral beach bag next to my knapsack and spreads a beach towel the same size as mine, but the color of the panties I saw her in earlier. It overlaps mine by a couple of inches. Her modest one-piece suit is almost the same shade of pink as her towel, but it’s a good color for her.

When the towel is spread, she hesitates. For a moment, I think (and hope) that she’s going to remove her suit. Alas, she lowers herself gracefully onto her back on the towel. She looks almost lost on it, whereas my knees stick out past the end of mine.

“So what happened to your massage, Kitty?”

“Hikka was under the weather this morning, so I managed to get rescheduled for tomorrow. I figured I’d come down and catch a few rays. And please call me Kira. I hate the name my folks tagged me with.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Not your fault at all, but only Angelo ever calls me that. I was named Kitty Theresa for my late grandmother, but I was ‘Teri’ from birth. Angelo decided that he really liked my first name for some reason, so I gritted my teeth and allowed it.”

“Well you won’t hear me call you that again, but why do you prefer ‘Kira’ to ‘Teri’?”

She shrugs. “Kira is what I’m used to you calling me, and it has kind of an exotic, mysterious vibe to it. Teri is just incredibly boring. When the divorce is final, I think I’m going to legally change my first name to Kira while I change my last one back to Zwilling from Carlisi.”

Wow, she doesn’t mess around. At least she’ll still be “K.T.” on her book covers. “So tell me, Kira, how did you become a writer?”

“Oh, I was incredibly shy and quiet when I was little, er, young, and I never felt like I fit in. I loved to read though, from the time I was four and my dad taught me how. When I was six, I started to write my own tales. I never really got into TV and spent all my free time making up stories. I was typing forty words a minute when I was eight.”

“Wow.”

“Of course it left me a bit stunted in other areas of my life, but while most writers don’t produce stuff that anyone wants to read until they’re at least in their thirties, I’d done so much reading and writing that I was able to self-publish a decent book at nineteen. The sales really picked up after the Star Tribune’s article on me was syndicated, and now I sell enough that I could live on the royalties.”

“That’s awesome.”

“So what do you do, Peter?”

I tell her about my machine shop. She seems to be genuinely fascinated and wants to hear more.

“Well, my latest project is to develop and patent some new ideas in automated warehouse storage,” I say.

“An automated warehouse? What, is everything stacked and stored by robots?”

“That’s the idea, but they’ve been doing stuff like that for years. What my system does is allow things to be packed much tighter, while improving response times, reducing equipment and maintenance costs, and increasing accuracy. All with a lower cost of implementation.”

That’s about the point where the average person’s eyes glaze over, but Kira seems even more interested now. “That sounds like a neat trick. How do you do it?”

I roll over on my stomach and pull my tablet out of my bag. The feel of the soft terrycloth under my package reminds me that I’m naked. I’d honestly forgotten. Kira rolls over as well and gets up on her elbows.

The bright sun is completely washing out the screen. “Well,” I say, “I was going to show you some pictures, but…”

“Hang on,” she says, “I have an idea. Scoot over a bit.”

She bounces to her feet as I comply, then picks up her towel. She gently shakes the sand out of it, then folds it in half. I know what she’s doing now and grab the proffered corner so that Kira can lie down next to me on my towel and we can drape hers over our heads and shoulders. Now we’re in a relatively dark place and able to easily see the screen.

The feel of her tiny body pressing against my bare skin from shoulder to hip is highly distracting, but I fire up the tablet and show her some photos and illustrations of the current state-of-the-art. This is part of the standard presentation I give prospective investors.

“So it’s an entire warehouse where people never even go?” she says after the first few frames. She’s seemingly intrigued by the idea. “All served by robotic arms traveling on these tracks?”

“Yup, but that’s old hat by now. Let me show you where my ideas improve on that.” I begin to show her some more photos and illustrations from my patent applications. The top of Kira’s foot comes to rest on the back of my thigh, but I retain enough presence of mind to keep going, watching carefully for that moment when she will inevitably begin to find this boring.

“But how do you access the rows in the back if there’s no space in between?” she asks.

“That’s very perceptive of you, because that’s exactly the issue. Check this out.”

While I show her the area where most of my patents come into play, I can feel the back of her foot casually slide up and down my thigh a bit. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but it feels obscenely good. I feel my body reacting in a way that’s going to keep me from rolling over anytime soon. Then we get to a photo I’d forgotten about.

“Wow, she’s gorgeous,” Kira says. “Did you hire a model?”

“Um, that’s my girlfriend, Destinee. I thought it might brighten up the photo of my shop if I included a pretty girl.”

“You have a girlfriend?” She’s trying her best to disguise it, but I can hear the dismay in her voice.

“Ex-girlfriend,” I quickly clarify.

“Oh, well she’s amazing.” Kira’s jealousy isn’t disguised any better now, but I can’t blame her in the least. Destinee was perhaps the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. “She’s the one you described to ‘Roger in the Morning’, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I go on to the next picture and continue to explain my system, but it’s immediately apparent that Kira’s mind has gone elsewhere.

“So that’s about it,” I say, cutting the presentation short and sliding my tablet back into my knapsack.

“Sorry Peter,” she says. “I guess I was letting my mind relax a bit there.”

“It’s a beach. You’re supposed to let go and relax.”

“Well, if that’s true, there’s just a little more letting go that I need to do. I want to at least try it.” With that, she gets to her feet and spreads her towel again. Then she steps onto it and begins to slide the shoulder straps of her suit off.

As much as I’d like to see what she looks like naked, I don’t want it to happen for the wrong reasons. I roll to a seated position, facing her. “Hang on, Kira,” I say in as quiet a voice as I think she can understand. “You told me you thought you were too shy to go nude on the beach. I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”