We were nearing the end of our week in Isla Mujeres.
We went to Isla on a "vacation with a purpose," to look at the island as a possible retirement destination. We were part of a group of eight, all of whom were nominally there for the same reason.
Our hostess had originally advertised this as a "girls' retreat." I had suggested to my wife that she make the trip, as retiring in a foreign country was an option we were seriously considering. She didn't want to go without me and our hostess agreed to let me join the group.
Within a day or two, it became clear that several of the ladies in the group had little interest in permanently relocating to Isla Mujeres. They had made the trip to enjoy a guided and hosted tour of the island, nothing more.
One woman who shared our interest in permanently relocating to Isla was Tina. She was about our age. Divorced and with grown children. Teri wasn't looking to impress anyone. She was both content with herself and open to new experiences.
Unlike the rest of us, Tina was staying at a hotel across the street from our little B & B.
After dinner and drinks, the rest of our companions retreated to their rooms for the night. Tina invited us to come to her room for a nightcap.
As we entered Tina's room, she shed the gauzy beach coverup she'd worn all day. Her bikini underneath had string ties at the neck and back of the halter top. And matching ties on the left and right of the bottoms.
Tina poured out three shots of an expensive tequila and bade us to sit. Her room had no chairs, except to one outside on her tiny balcony. She took her seat on the foot of the bed, leaving room on either side of her. My wife sat on her right and I on her left. It felt slightly awkward for me, but Tina seemed to think nothing of it.
After a few sips of the tequila, Tina looked at my wife and said, "I was intrigued by your statement today."
"Which statement was that?", my wife responded.
"Our hostess asked what each of us would do if we learned that we only had a week to live. You said you'd spend the time making love with your husband. Why is that?"
My wife looked down for a moment and smiled a bit. "Because he does it so well. He is passionate, generous, and thorough. He always satisfies me. And usually leaves me drained physically and filled emotionally."
Tina turned her head towards me and looked me up and down, appraising. "What does he do that earns him such high praise?" Here eyes locked on mine for a moment, then she turned back to my wife.
"He makes me cum hard and deeply. And not just once, but repeatedly. He can take me over the edge quickly, or he can build it slowly. And sometimes my orgasms never stop. It's like a wave I ride that he controls."
Tina looked at me again, studying me. "How exactly does he do that?"
"He eats pussy better than anyone you've ever met. Before we married, he would joke that lesbians sent their girlfriends to him for lessons. And it's not just pussy eating. He is a master of my sensuality. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Every part of him focuses on my pleasure."
"You know has some women complain that men can't find their clits? Not him. He takes control of my clit with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, and with all sorts of toys. He's even taught me how to masturbate better."
Tina studied my wife face, then looked at me again. "Much as women seem focused on their clits, there is more to our sensuality and pleasure than that little nub of flesh and nerves. You know that, right?"
