Hello, before we begin I'd like to take a moment to provide a brief introduction to the story. There are some dark undercurrents to the story, nothing involving physical abuse or non consent, but dark nonetheless. This isn't erotica without eroticism but there are some negative feelings that intrude on the sexuality at points.
I think stories can be a useful tool to process dark feelings, like we follow a character as their inner life impacts their outer world and then show how their experiences change their inner life. They can show how a character makes it through the turbulence of their own interior storm to get to clearer skies.
Hope this gives you some expectation on what to expect. It's about 5k words to the first sex scene. Hope it also goes without saying that all characters are over the age of 18. Very special thanks to Bajero for providing invaluable editing.
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I never really did the summer vacation bender bash festivities before. I was born with a young face, if I had gone to one of those it would've been a farce I tell ya. It would've been an absurd mockery of everything that summertime holds near and dear to itself. I had to age into the part, even though the age gap between me and the people I'd be interacting with is now vast enough to be troubling. I can't very well lie about my face though, but I can lie about my age. So lost time awaits, can't very well keep this shindig waiting. That would be awfully rude.
I park a mile away from the Hotel del Ardid. Not giving those bloodsuckers a hint of a penny, even for parking. I'll use the cardio it takes me to walk there instead. Yes, I'll even bear the embarrassment of wandering through this dump in my vacation shirt and sandals. That's the price I'm willing to pay to uphold my virtues. If I come back and have found my car's been chopped shopped to smithereens well then I can rest easy knowing that whatever was taken from me has gone to good honest hardworking American youths.
A mile walk through an area can tell you a lot about it. In this case, it's the monotony, the longing to escape that is squashed by the many blocks that surround one's vision. The endless blocks of low rent suburbia that offer no escape and tells you that hope is just a delusion, not many people are making it out of this one. And the quality of the houses that surround me are all same type of slapdash but in many different ways. As if the idea of the worker putting care into their creation is just a dream that capitalism had long extinguished. The draw of the Horatio Alger myth had neglected any pride in one's effort, just obsession over upward mobility to distract from the task at hand. And those who couldn't pull themselves up were left in these houses. A blatant socioeconomic fuck off to those who were designated as undesirables.
Yet this is just the journey I'm on and in this case, the destination defines the journey, for hidden away in this poverty-stricken land lies a bastion where excess and decadence mix and match to their heart's content. The Hotel del Ardid, a beachfront hotel where the spawn of the not-quite elite and the too rich for their own good are sent to experience the true meaning of summer, take back that knowledge with them and let it haunt them for the rest of their slow and dithering lives. A place to experience without growth.
In some way, I am dooming myself along with the rest of these fine young stooges through my own efforts to find the dream of summertime for myself. Oh, I have my ideas about what the meaning of summer really is but none of them are concrete. My idea of summertime is still malleable in its essence, waiting for experience and inquiry to shape it into the psychological epitaph it is destined to become.
I arrive at the hotel after a long and mentally vicious walk through the streets of the surrounding area. Don't have a room booked here. Like I said I'm not giving any of these parasites an inch of me. My only hope is to become the parasite myself, feed off these other transients here who have their own hosts sponsoring their stay. If I can't then the punishment will be worse than death, having to leave here earlier than planned.
Luckily I have my own goods and services to trade here. I waited long enough, I look like a CW fuck. If I keep my story straight and bear the burden of the fabrication of my age, then that will put me in rare breadth indeed. A novelty that few women will be able to resist, a face that shows knowledge and experience without an age that would be a complicating factor at best.
I will become the shiniest paragon of virtue that this rinky-dink place has seen, a prostitute, one that asks for room and board only. These fucks won't know what to do with me, and that's why I'll slide by undetected. It's hard work being a gigolo, especially one as surreptitious as I'll have to be. I'll need to sell myself mighty well if I dare stand a chance of getting the position I just invented for myself.
I walk through the gates to this repository of the possibility that will soon reveal itself to be just another enclosure. A person accosts me with a greeting. "No thanks, I'm just meeting a friend," I say, passing the first test, at least with the staff. The staff have better things to do than to be on the lookout for a strange transient who wants to con the world and then blowout while the likes of them lay dumbfounded in the dust, like think about whatever's going on in their own strange sad world.
The hotel lobby, the world between worlds. Someday somebody will write a book exposing the intrigue that is hidden among such monotony. What metaphors lie waiting to be uncovered in a place that nobody particularly wants to be in? A phrase that finds its way into the national conversation will surely come from this book. Some lucky son of a gun will most definitely write his way into a spectacular life through a subject as thick as this. Sadly though, that person will not be me as I am using this area simply as the passageway to the pool area.
Well here's the heartbeat of a resort such as this, the pool. A very beautiful pool indeed, the kind that would look morally repugnant if contrasted against a picture of the slums of India. Thankfully the Christian sense of morality most of us have been indoctrinated with has a respite in a place like this. No, pure hedonistic relaxation is the name of the day and there's no sense in judging a hedonist, it's obvious where they're coming from.
It's almost a shame that my shirt's going over well, people are looking at it at least. Nice big and garish is what it is. Not Hawaiian shirt type garish, something unclassifiable. Not going with blue for this bitch, no gold and red is what I'm after. Not even just plain yellow, gold, actual gold. Yes, a shirt like this requires a certain type of standard, and I think I'm going to more than live up to it.
It's time to take off this shirt of mine though and reveal thyself before the world. I do my workouts and whatnot. I don't and won't have a world-class torso, I like the sweets far too much for that. But I can work with what I got, no ladies are going to reject me on bod cred alone. I might not measure up to some of the other hunks patrolling the area, but I'll let my words and wiles fill the gap for me.
Six women find their way into my eyesight. Target here we come. Don't get me wrong, no way am I aiming to bed all of them, don't have the work ethic for that, but at least one of them must be easy pickings. Someone who with just the right finger on her pulse will be persuaded to put me up for the night with some sweet hot loving on the side.
One lass dips her toe in the pool, already I see my opening. She has not yet grasped the false promises of the pool. The emptiness in life and the lack of imagination one must have to believe that the pool holds salvation from boredom have domain over her. Yes, the lessons of narcissus go unlearned by her. At least it's an opportunity to get away from her pitiful friends, good on her for taking it.
And for me it provides an opportunity to meet her before she returns to her friends defeated in her quest for something better. If I time this right I should intercept her while acting as if I'm merely on course toward the swim-up bar. Diagonally, of course, it's the only way to approach a girl. It's neither front or back, she won't know what hit her. And in this confusion, many a feeling can subconsciously make their way through her.
Right on target. I get to the point where I have to maneuver around her. Poke my head up and say "Hey."
