Spring Break Arrangement (MF)

I'm not sure what made me pause and take a second look at the wavy blond-haired
man sitting in the booth in front of me. I just felt the urge. That little
personality flaw of mine, always taking things a step too far, has put me in
more embarrassing positions than I care to admit.

I was sitting in an international airport waiting for a flight to London. How
many people passed through here everyday and I thought I knew the man in the
booth in front of me. How rare is that? Over an espresso and the Wall Street
Journal I would glance up every now and then. How many curly heads, viewed from
the back no less, could possibly be familiar? More than one, unfortunately. I
glanced at the back of his tanned neck, a somewhat thick neck with a light
strip of skin just below the hairline, like his hair had been newly trimmed and
the sun hadn't quite browned him. It bothered me. I wanted to ask if he needed
sun screen or maybe a hat. Anything to make conversation or get him to turn
around. With a mental shrug I continued on with my morning paper, trying to
bury myself in some serious-minded article or stock quotes. It was no use. That
curly blond head reminded me of someone. 

It was spring break, seven years ago. I was a Junior in college at Syracuse. 
He was a Senior at Syracuse. A few times a week I would pass him by in the
student union and drool. He was so ruggedly handsome. He was always surrounded
by the silliest group of coeds, all dubious sorority sisters. I was no skank
but he never seemed to notice me. Why would he? He had the pick of the best of
the best. It didn't really bother me much. Besides, I was seeing someone.
Honestly, I only fantasized about Scott. Tall, broad-shouldered and
narrow-hipped, he oozed sex. He also had this endearing little dimple in one of
his cheeks; absolutely melted me when he smiled.  More than once I would catch
myself studying the way his faded button-fly 501's skimmed his thighs. Was he
really packaged that nicely or was it the clothes? It didn't matter. He was
only a fantasy. That's what I told myself.

But every once in a great while, usually when I felt things weren't going well
with my ongoing relationship, my fantasies would become bolder, almost
desperate. I wondered how Scott would react if I threw myself at him. Would he
just dodge aside with those slim and sexy hips and leave me nose-down on the
floor?

Spring Break at Daytona Beach was always a wild ride. My girlfriends and I
hadn't missed a year since our senior year in high school when our parents
unwittingly let us take off on what was the beginning of a very hedonistic
tradition for us. We had a pact. Our pact was to have the wildest, craziest
week we could manage, all in the name of fun, before we buckled down to finish
out the rest of the year away at school. It was our reward for keeping up our
GPA. The week was always filled with all-night parties, dancing naked on
balconies, flashing any and all guys we ran across, just for the wolf whistles
and grabs. It was crazy. We were crazy. A varying diet of liquor and not enough
food kept us from becoming too concerned about how we appeared. Everyone was
riding the same boat. It was a time none of us would ever forget. 

Tammy, my best friend since third grade, always managed to get laid first.  She
was a scream. She was very open and never shied away from sex in the oddest
places. We had hardly settled into our room when she ran into some hard-body
sophomore from NCU who happened to be passing by our room at the exact moment
Tammy declared the holiday had officially started. We all watched as she
propositioned the guy, telling him she would fuck him for the beer he was
carrying. She had one condition, though: He had to do it with her on the fourth
floor balcony with all of us watching! Did he turn her down? Hell no. It was
Spring Break, sort of like a free love Woodstock of the 90s. All six of us
staying in that room, not to mention about forty people partying around the
pool, got a show they weren't soon to forget. That was Tammy. She always put me
in the mood to make mischief.

That's what started that fateful day. Management threw us out of the hotel,
right on our asses. We had no place to stay except my old 87 Pathfinder. That
wouldn't do. All six of us, one or more of us drunk at one time or another, had
to come up with a plan. Leave it to Tammy to think of something. 

We had parked my truck and started to walk the beach. Halfheartedly we tried to
come up with a plan, anything to get a place to sleep. There was no chance of
finding a hotel room anymore, everything was booked solid. We didn't have the
money to afford a condo or private home and staying a hundred miles away in
some small town wasn't an option. That's when Tammy stopped me in mid-hip-swing
with a forearm across my belly. "Look at that." I followed Tammy's eyes and
nodded.

"Yeah, cool, but how in the hell can we afford that?" I asked her.

"Money is not necessary."

"What's that supposed to mean?" But I was beginning to understand. This was
coming from Tammy, my sex-hungry best friend. My eyes focused on the group of
sun-bronzed gods guzzling Corona and rocking to Metallica.

Leave it to Tammy to think of something. "Follow me," she said, tugging at her
bikini bottoms.

"Hold on," I said, gathering more courage from the Big Gulp of a poor college
students idea of a screwdriver, orange soda and vodka, heavy on the vodka. I
shrugged and followed Tammy's lead, the others not far behind. My inhibitions
had slipped away after the first liter of screwdrivers. I was well into my
second Big Gulp by then.

All six of us sashayed up to the nicest beach cabin for miles. There might have
been enough fabric between all of us to make one size 8 t-shirt. Heads turned
as we stepped over a passed out redhead, a few blow up dolls and a couple of
studs in Speedo bathing suits intent on oiling themselves to a sheen and
frying. My eyes, and I'm fairly positive all the eyes of my friends, were on
the group of six hunks partying around the stocked bar. And wouldn't you know
it, Scott was standing second from the right, eyeing me from behind his
upturned Corona.

"Hey, what's up?" Tammy flirted. "I was wondering if we could, like, borrow
some ice?"

"Sure," one of the guys said. "Help yourself. The ice chest is right back
here." 

"Thanks. Oh, my name is Tammy and these are my friends." She smiled, daintily
stepping over his leg to open the ice chest. I smirked when Tammy leaned over
to open the ice chest on the ground without even bending her knees. She was
good. She also had all their attention.

"Ronni, come here. You're the one who was so hot." I blushed a little and
smiled, stepping over to Tammy, almost afraid of what she was going to do next.

Tammy turned around, an ice cube in both hands. "Here, hold still." She started
to rub the ice cubes on my neck. I was a little shocked at first but decided to
follow along. I arched my neck back and groaned. "Oh, yes. That feels much
better."

Tammy smiled, turning to the guys with another sweet request. "Excuse me, could
you hand me another ice cube? She is so hot, look how fast the ice is melting."
Tammy was working it. She rubbed lower with the ice, the sliver now
disappearing between my wet cleavage. My cleavage wasn't overdone, but it
helped when I squeezed my arms closer together against my sides, something I
was doing at the time. Tammy giggled as the chip of ice disappeared beneath 
the string of my bikini. "Thank you." She reached for the offered ice cube and
continued to rub me down. At the time I was wearing a baby blue string bikini,
the kind where the tops were little triangles slid onto a string. Tammy was now
sliding the little triangles farther apart on the string, giving a really great
view of my breasts.

"It's such a shame. She could get heat stroke or something." I moaned again on
cue. "Could you help me please?" Tammy quirked one eyebrow behind her glasses.
"I think someone should do her back."

Scott was the first to offer his services. Before I could say "more, please" he
was coating my lower back with melting ice. He lifted my curtain of straight
dark blonde hair away from my shoulders and rubbed with the slivers of ice.
"Did something happen to you guys?" Scott asked, just a little concern in his
voice.

"We were kicked out of our hotel room and we have been forced to walk the beach
all day, for hours really, and we just can't find anything available. We're
desperate." Tammy answered. The other girls nodded their heads in agreement. I
noticed from the corner of my eye that two of them were being handed drinks by
the guys. "I mean, we are really at the end of our ropes.  Ronni could have
like, permanent damage or something. That old manager at the hotel just didn't
care."

"I think we caught it, whatever it was, in time. She seems just fine," Scott
replied, a cold hand stroking the back of my thigh. "So, you girls have no
place to stay?" 

Tammy nodded, taking an offered beer. "Thank you." She rubbed the remainder of
an ice chip on my lips. My tongue slurped it up thirstily. Maybe I should
consider changing my major from marketing to theater. 

I felt an arm slide around my waist and guide me towards the pool. "Why don't
you just rest here a minute. Let me get you something to drink." It was Scott.
I stared up into his blue eyes dreamily, hoping he didn't recognize me behind
my sunglasses. 

"You're so sweet. Water will be fine for now." I slid into the pool, dipping my
head back to wet my hair. Suddenly and on purpose my chest was on wanton
display. The ice had hardened my nipples, slipping into the unheated pool had
kept them that way. I knew they were visible. I always had such lengthy erect
nipples anyway. I was positive Scott had a good look at them nearly piercing
through the wet, clingy fabric of my bikini top. I took my time standing up
straight, making a show of squeezing the water from my hair. 

"We're at the point right now that we would do anything for a roof over our
heads for the rest of the weekend. Just anything," Tammy pouted.

"Anything?" This brought a few nudges and smiles from the guys.

Tammy opened her mouth in a little gasp, her glossed lips in a little "o". She
then bit down on her bottom lip. "No, that wouldn't be a good idea."

"What?" Dutch, a stocky guy with a Cubs baseball cap asked.

"Well, I was thinking, this is Spring Break and things can get a little, you 
know, crazy. And my friends and I, well . . . " Tammy paused for effect. "Our
parents would be so worried about us if they knew about that misunderstanding
at the hotel."

"Yeah?"

"What if, for the weekend only, you could give each one of us a job to do, in
return for bathroom privileges and a place to sleep, like the living room?"
Tammy bit her lip again. I snuck a glance at Stacy, Renee, Desiree and Gina to
see their reaction. They were smiling.

"Like, to clean up after us and stuff?" John, the tall, lanky-looking jock
asked.

"Anything. I guess we could clean up, maybe serve drinks to you and your
buddies." Tammy smiled, a fake shy smile.

Dutch shook his head. "I don't know. This is a really nice place. It's  costing
us a lot to stay here. Hell, we had to rent it a year in advance. There's
probably a lot of women that would do more than chores to be able to stay
here." He smiled smugly, licking his lips. Tammy had met her match.

"I never said we wouldn't put out." 

I bit back a smile when we were greeted with "Dudes!", high fives and "All
rights!" 

"Is that a yes?" Tammy asked, beaming.

"I think the plan is workable," said Brad.

"Then why don't we take the time to get to know each other a little first, you
know, like, introductions and in an hour you guys can pick who you want to be
your . . . um . . . personal assistant," Tammy said.  

"Cool."

"Fuckin' A."

"Jammin'." 

The next hour was spent drinking, flirting, kissing and feeling each other up. 

Lady Luck smiled on me that weekend. Scott chose me.  I spent that weekend
doing something I thought impossible. I served Scott's every desire. More
importantly, I enjoyed every minute of it. When he asked me to pleasure myself
in front of himself and some of his friends, I immediately began stroking the
silky wetness between my legs. The thought of doing something so forbidden in
the open with so many watching brought me to climax sooner than it would have
taken if I were alone. And he asked me to go down on him in front of another
woman while she fingered me to orgasm. His shooting sperm and my climactic
groans nearly choked me to the point of unconsciousness. But my best memory of
that weekend was the last time we had sex. He just lay back on the bed and told
me to do whatever I wanted. It didn't matter if he came at all, he said. He
wanted to watch my face as I came. I was only too eager to lay my naked body on
top of him and open my thighs. I slid his penis inside me, not breaking the
contact between our bellies. This was one of my favorite positions. I pushed my
pubic bone into his flat belly and felt my clit rubbing against the rough hair
at the top of his shaft. I moved up and down on him that way, our eyes never
breaking away. 

I'm sure I said things to him. I know I did. I tend to talk a little dirty at
the most exciting times. Like, "my pussy is so wet,""fuck me and don't ever
stop," and "I'm going to come all over you" flowed from my mouth, along with
many groans, growls, and obscenities.

The combination of being the one in control, the slight pain of brutal rubbing
and the thickness of him moving deeper and harder brought me to throbbing
orgasm after several heated moments. The orgasm shook me, and I'm sure I threw
my head back and cried out, sitting back far enough to force him deeper inside
me as he spurted against my cervix. 

It was a hell of a weekend. 

I never felt guilty about it. Not once. It was part of our secret pact.
Besides, it was for good reason we sold ourselves to these guys for the
weekend. The idea that Scott was in control of my every action was exciting. It
was a huge turn-on for me. It was all part of the game that I enjoyed playing
with him and his friends. 

And then it was over. We went back to school and pretended we had never met.
There was a possibility he didn't recognize me. I managed to stay away from the
student union for quite some time. And, while in Florida, my looks were
somewhat different. Normally I'm not much of a sun worshiper although I tan
very easily. At school I usually wore my hair up in a pony tail, ometimes with
a baseball cap. In Florida I kept it long and straight. It was also slightly
lighter from the sun. I also didn't wear makeup during that week. The sun had
tanned my skin to a deep gold and makeup wouldn't have been right. Besides, my
blue eyes stood out even more against my bronzed face. Another thing, I go by
the name Veronica at school. Only Tammy calls me Ronni and she didn't attend
our University.

I suppose it was best we didn't meet afterwards. It would have ruined the
hedonistic flavor of that weekend. We would have actually had to talk and
communicate. I think I preferred it this way.

But now, here I sat, staring at the back of this man's head and wondered if it
was my "master" from all those years ago. 

My reverie was interrupted by the boarding call for my flight to London. I
shoved my unread copy of the Wall Street Journal into my carry-on and slipped
past his booth. As I rounded the corner I braved a look. As luck would have it
he was turned the opposite direction gathering his overcoat.

I boarded my flight earlier than usual since I had a seat near the back of the
airliner. I immediately requested a Stoli on the rocks and a bottle of water,
stashing the water for later. Flying sometimes made me nervous. I nearly choked
on my cocktail when I looked up at the man taking the seat next to me. He was
stashing his overcoat in the overhead compartment but in that instance after
shutting the compartment door and lowering himself to his seat, I got a good
look at his face. It was him. It had to be him. I could never forget his face,
even after several years. Although now dressed as professionals, I still
remembered every inch of that hard body of his. I was blushing, and obviously I
was choking loudly. He glanced over at me, a look of concern on his face as I
continued to choke. I tried desperately to stop, I didn't want to draw his
attention. I willed myself to stop, I begged my throat to calm down so he would
look away. It was too late. Something lit 
up in his eyes. I believe it was recognition.

"Ronni?"

"Dammit." I choked louder. I leaned over, turning my face from him, and grabbed
the bottle of water poking from my carry on.

"I'm sorry, you look so much like someone I know," he said.

Must have been my red face. I suppose it could masquerade as a tan. And I
suppose it hadn't been that long since that remarkable weekend. What? Seven
years ago? "Pardon me?" I asked, creasing my brow in question.

"It is you. Oh man, who would have thought. How've you been?" he asked,
thumping me on the back.

I calmed down long enough to lean back and take another sip of my Stoli. "I'm
sorry, I can't remember your name." That was stupid, I thought. Now he'll
really think I'm a bimbo. "I mean, of course I remember. How could I possibly
forget. How long has it been?" I was mortified. Embarrassed beyond belief. He
noticed.

"Scott. That's okay. You were pretty drunk as far as I remember. Then again, so
was I." He grinned. I got the feeling he was going to make me suffer just a
little.

"Drunk? In college during Spring Break? Of course." I paused before taking
another sip of Stoli, opting for the water instead. "Yeah, that was one
bitchin' weekend." I managed a little laugh.

Scott grinned and looked away for a moment before meeting my gaze once again. 
"It was the best weekend of my life so far."

The flight was readying for take-off. I gulped the rest of my cocktail and
handed the empty glass to the stewardess. "Sorry, I get a little nervous when
flying." Excuses, excuses.

He reached over and patted my hand. "Relax. I'll get you another as soon as she
passes by again." He smiled at me. I couldn't help but notice the adorable
dimple. He'd only grown more handsome. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. I looked
away and closed my eyes.  After another hour of conversation I found myself
more relaxed. Scott was easy to talk to. He graduated that summer from Syracuse
and went on to law school. He was on his way to London on business also. 

Still, I had to wonder, how much did he remember of that weekend? The man had
women crawling all over him every time I saw him.  Probably still did. I was
just another notch in the headboard. 

"So, you're a buyer for a major chain of department stores? Seems like you
would have to fly often. You should be used to the routine by now," he said,
squeezing a sliver of fresh lime into an open bottle of Corona. I don't know
why I thought it was funny that he was drinking the same thing he had been
drinking that weekend. I smiled as I watched him take a sip. 

"I manage. Of course, running into old--um--friends sometimes makes me a little
nervous. I don't think it would matter if I was on an airplane or sitting on a
park bench. Unnerving, you know." He nodded, clinking his beer bottle against
my glass. 

"Here's to old and new friends then. Don't be nervous." 

I clutched Scott's hand the moment the plane lurched with turbulence. "Now that
I can't get used to." I fastened my seatbelt, maybe a silly thing to do, but I
had heard of people getting knocked unconscious during unusually rough bouts
with turbulence. Scott did the same.

We continued on that way for the next thirty minutes before the pilot announced
that the plane was experiencing a mechanical problem that will require
immediate attention. We were clear to land at a small airport in the Bahamas.
Estimated time of arrival: ten more minutes. I must have guzzled the remainder
of my drink and handed it to the flight attendant without noticing. 

"Now I'm nervous," Scott commented.

I try not to be the kind of person who worries too much or needs to lean on
other people too often. This case was different. It seemed natural for Scott
and I to hold hands during the next ten minutes and during the tense landing of
the airliner. When all had come to an end without flames, smoke or flying
debris, we actually hugged in relief. We listened as the flight attendant
directed us to an airline host who would see us to some accommodations for the
night. 

We sat together in one of the shuttles to a hotel. We followed some of the
other passengers into the lobby and waited for the reservations clerk to clear
our way to some rooms, courtesy of the airline. 

Unfortunately, it was high season on the island and hardly any rooms were
available. We waited patiently, still a little numb from our experience. "I'm
sorry, Ms. Spell, this is the only room we have left." The clerk looked behind
me at Scott and smiled. "I can place some calls at some other hotels and try to
find you a room, sir. There may be a few rooms available at some of the motels
on the outskirts of town. The night manager is on the phone right now with the
airline trying to arrange transportation to some of the other islands for the
night."

It struck me just then. How brilliant. How convenient, in fact. We were adults
now, unattached and free to do as we please. The past few hours forced us to
question our mortality. Besides, I believed it was my turn to play master. "Oh,
I'm sorry. You must have misunderstood. Mr. Webster is with me." I turned and
smiled back at Scott, reaching for his hand. Instantly I felt his fingers
entwine with mine. "We'll take the room."

Well, it wasn't a complete weekend. Only one night. But he promised me another
two nights so I could get my fair share of playing master. We would meet in one
month in Napa. And my favorite part? The time I told him that I was going to
lay back and let him do what he wanted. All I wanted to do was watch his eyes
when he came.