Mack Zack
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May Story - Miami MILF (Chapter 5)
🕑 Added 2022-07-29 01:29:06 +0000 UTCI actually didn’t listen to music on the drive up to West Palm Beach. I was so warped into my thoughts that I didn’t need music to be occupied.
The assisted living facility look like a resort, much more than any other assisted living facility in New Jersey. It was really weird walking down squeaky-clean tile floors and passing by lavish fountains. I got to walk through the courtyard and murmured, “Damn. This is pretty nice.”
A nurse was already waiting for me at the front porch. She was middle-aged, cute and short, and nodded with approval when she noticed that I had brought flowers.
“Aw, how lovely! You’re such a good grandson!”
After the usual pleasantries, she brought me inside. I was surprised at how modern the room was. I would have thought they would try to make it more traditional for the older folks. But it wasn’t like my abuela minded, I guess. Her memory came and went. Not Alzheimer’s but not exactly dementia either. Sometimes she would remember things and other times not so much.
I shuddered when I entered her bedroom. I last remembered her being an active, hovering grandmother who was still nimble enough to climb a ladder and fix a roof tile. Now she was in bed with a shriveled look and looked so frail she probably couldn’t even lift a roof tile.
The nurse went up to her and said, rather loudly, “THIS IS YOUR GRANDSON LUCAS.”
Martha immediately spat, “Yes, I know. I know. I KNOW!”
The nurse retracted a bit and tried to smile through the awkwardness.
Martha then turned into the softest, most amiable old lady and reached out for me. “Aw, Lukey. Little Lukey. Come here and let me see you.”
I had to admit, I was fighting back tears. I didn’t think I’d get an urge to cry like a bitch but it came instantaneously once she started talking to me. I hadn’t heard her voice in over ten years.
I visited her for that entire day, until visiting hours were over at 9 PM. Martha had managed to hold back questions about my love life until the very end. I sighed and shook my head with a grin.
“Well?” she said. “What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you have anybody? Are you gay?”
“No, grandma, I’m not gay.”
Before I could try to tell that there was nothing wrong with that, she snapped, “Because if you’re gay that’s fine. Just get with somebody.”
I sighed. There was a lot I wanted to say but it got caught up in my throat.
She leaned forward and said in a low voice, “You know, your abuelo was twelve years older than I was. When the times changed, we kept it quiet. We didn’t want people getting ideas.”
I raised a brow. This was the first I heard of it. “How old were you when you first met?”
“I had just turned twenty when I first met him. He was already thirty-two by then, with a job and prestige. We met through a friend’s family gathering. I thought he was the most handsome man I ever saw. Oh, I talked to him so much! He kept his distance like a good gentleman and didn’t want to start anything. It wasn’t until I graduated college that he was fine with us seeing each other.”
“Was he divorced? I thought mom said he was.”
“Oh no. Engaged though. But he broke it off. I just think he was born at the wrong time. The first compliment he said to me was ‘Maggie? I love how quick-thinking you are. All of my peers are as dumb as rocks.’”
I sat in silence taking this in.
“Is something the matter?” she said.
“Abuela…what do you think about the reverse in a situation?”
“How do you mean?”
“If an older woman…er…gets with a younger man.”
She shrugged and raised her hands. “Who am I to say if that is acceptable or not? All I know is that sometimes people just don’t connect with their generation. Marco felt really lonely until he met me. His mind was just ahead of others.”
When I fell silent again after that, she made a face and said, “Why do you ask?”
“No, no. I was just wondering. People talk about it nowadays. Double-standard and whatknot.”
She reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t mind those silly things. I never led my life following any of that nonsense. That’s what got me into trouble with my generation too, and I guess Marco and I were meant to be in that sense.”
#
My abuela’s backstory lingered in my mind for the rest of my time in West Palm Beach. I went to my AirBnB and went back and forth visiting her, playing checkers and walking with her in the courtyard. On my free time I ventured out by the beach, the nightlife (pretty expensive in West Palm Beach), and the Hard Rock Café Casino. When I was there, I was reminded of Joan again. Casinos tend to attract cougar-types. I saw many attractive middle-aged women, but at times my heart jumped thinking I saw Joan, only to realize it was someone else.
I think I was in love.
I didn’t know what to do because Joan was obviously married. But she was a boatload of fun nonetheless, and I enjoyed being around her, even if it meant just being a friend.
When my time in West Palm Beach was up and it was back to drive to Miami, I knew what I had to do. I had to text Joan and ask if she could hang out. I sent that risky text right before the long drive down the Florida turnpike. I sent it and ignored my phone when I heard the text notification go off.
I arrived at my AirBnB in Miami. I checked my phone and expected the worst.
Instead, she had replied, “yay!!!! Come by around 11AM tomorrow!!! Can’t wait!”
#
I was a nervous wreck driving back to Sunny Isles. I made sure I looked my best. I probably combed my hair like a thousand times, self-conscious about any stray hairs. I brushed my teeth twice AND rinsed my mouth with Listerine. My mouth was practically sterile at that point. I wore my best aviator sunglasses, my best shorts, my best button-down shirt.
I knocked on her door.
No answer. I looked around at the hallway hoping to find her. I then found the door that led to the walkway out back where the boats were. I looked towards where her boat was and sure enough, she emerged from the deck in a two-piece bikini with sunglasses and holding a couple wine glasses. She noticed me and waved enthusiastically, shouting, “EYYY! OVER HERE!”
I walked down the docks and spotted a mustached, burly, tan man untying the boat. That must have been Morgan. I nodded at him hello but he seemingly ignored me.
“That’s the captain!” Joan shouted from above. “His name is Paco! Paco this is our guest, Lucas!”
Paco looked up and smiled. “Hola!”
“Hola, senor.”
I walked up the steps and my knees buckled at the sight of Joan in her bikini. She was waiting for me right at the edge of the ladder, so her breasts jutted out in my face as I climbed over the last step. I wasn’t expecting her to stand so close, so I let out an awkward, “Ope,” and she backed away giggling. She hugged me.
“Hi, mijo” she said, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek, “good to see you again! I’m so glad you can make it. You are going to LOVE it. Champagne?”
“Y-yeah. Sure!”
“Bueno. Aqui.”
She directed me to the front deck where a couple lawn chairs were laid out and a few towels. She sat on one of them and poured our glasses, talking something or another about how back at the liquor store someone was giving her a hard time trying to find the right brand she wanted. I wasn’t paying attention because it was still sinking in that I was on Joan’s fucking boat and she was right in front of me half-naked with her bikini. The boys back at high school would have killed me to be in my place.
“What are you zoning out for?” she snapped. “Come on! Sit! Paco is going to set off soon.”
It hit me that there were only two chairs. I looked around for another, or any sign of Morgan.
As she poured me my glass, I said, “Is Morgan coming with us?”
She casually said, “No. He’s still asleep. Hahaha! He brings his work with him so he was up all night. I tell him he needs to just let it go but he doesn’t listen to me.”
I eyed her apartment from there. The blinds were drawn in all the windows.
I jumped when Stella barked from nowhere. She hopped up on my lap and started pawing at me and trying to lick my face, making me spill some champagne.
“Stella!” Joan said. “Get down! Come over here you silly thing.”
“I guess she’s coming with us then,” I said.
“I ALWAYS bring Stella with me.”
Paco finished untying the boat and told us he was going to set off. Joan was putting on sunscreen. She struggled putting some on her back, and then she asked, “Ay, mijo, puedes poner esto aqui?”
She turned her back to me and pointed to where she couldn’t reach at the center of her back.
Ho boy.
This was like something out of a classic movie trope. Hot woman asks the nerdy shy guy to squeeze some sunscreen on her. Shit was unreal.
Surprisingly, I kept myself composed. I touched her warm, tan skin and seemingly caressed it as I spread the white substance. It made me think about cumming on her. I shook off the thought and finished spreading it.
“Thank you,” she said, laying back down.
My swim trunks were in my drawstring bag. I was nervous about her seeing me in them. What if I came off as too scrawny? Too young? People often said I looked younger for my age, erroneously estimating as far back as college age.
“You’re not going to change?” she asked, lifting up her sunglasses at me. I was sitting on my chair gazing at the sea.
“Oh. Yeah. Where do I go? Just downstairs?”
“Yes. You can change in any room really. There are a couple bedrooms down there and a living room and a bathroom.”
This was my first time ever on a yacht, so all of this felt fancy to me. In reality, the inside was a bit cramped and could easily be nauseating for someone with claustrophobia or motion sickness. I had neither but was still nervous from being on a boat with Joan Braulio. That was enough to make me feel sick to my stomach.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for an eternity judging my body and if my swimming trunks were too short. I then bit the bullet and went back on deck.
We were now out in the ocean with the Miami coastline visible a few miles away, far enough that you couldn’t make out the people on the shore but close enough to trace the entire city.
Joan laid back taking in all the sun. She was listening to music from her phone and was already two beers in. The cooler between us had all sorts of cheap beer, mostly Spanish like Corona and Dos Equis.
I sat down quickly. My boner would be very noticeable in my swim trunks.
Paco had stopped the boat and was nowhere to be seen. It was surprisingly quiet out there, to the point where I could faintly make out the Pitbull music that Joan was listening to through hear earbuds.
She stirred, and I pretended like I wasn’t looking, so I decided to put on some sunscreen.
Joan grimaced. She sat up straight and patted her chest. She managed to dislodge a coarse throaty belch. She smiled, didn’t excuse herself, and laid back down.
I took out a Stephen King book to read but couldn’t focus. I must have reread the same page like five times, and still nothing went through to my head. My body, my most carnal desires, wanted to have Joan lay on top of me. I wanted her to belch in my face so that I could feel the full force of the reeking stench of alcohol.
Baking there in the sun eventually made me drift to sleep. I lost track of time, and I woke up to the sound of Joan talking to Paco. She was telling him in Spanish that she wanted to jump in the water for a swim, so he should be outside and keep watch.
“Ah, Lucas,” she said, noticing that I was awake. “Want to jump in?”
I nodded. We descended the ladder that hung over the side of the boat. Small waves lapped against the hull, and I got a little nervous thinking about simply jumping into the entire ocean. Of course I had swam in the ocean before but this felt different. It was like jumping headfirst into a void.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She jumped in first. I followed suit after she swam out of the way. The intense cold hit me for a good couple seconds, and then my body felt numb to the coldness. Joan laughed as I resurfaced from the water.
“Feels good, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
She stretched out on her back and backstroked around the boat. I followed suit with a freestyle stroke. She stopped to notice me and said, “Were you ever on the swim team?”
“No. I just learned to swim on my own. I took lessons when I was a kid.”
“Good for you.”
We both wore our sunglasses in the water, so it was difficult discerning her expression, but I think she was flirting with me again. She said that I had the body for swimming. It was a quick comment that sounded like a sidenote more than anything. She then turned to face the shoreline and pointed out all the major hotels and buildings.
“Some of those nightclubs are open until 6 AM in the morning.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. You’ve never been to any of them?”
“No. I only ever been to Miami when I visited with family. It’s not exactly the right time to go out and party.”
Joan reached out to hold onto the ladder. She snickered. “There’s always a right time to party. You’re telling me you never snuck out and got in trouble?”
I looked away, feeling embarrassed. “No.”
But her tone of voice comforted me. She took pity on me rather than make fun of me. “Aw. You know you’re all grown up but you still remind me of that time you were at the school dance. You HAVE to go out and party before you leave. That is an order.” She then leaned forward and said, “Oye…for real though. Just go and have some fun. You will never know the next time you will have the chance.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I went out when I visited my grandma in West Palm Beach.”
“Pah!” She nearly flung water at me. “This is MIAMI. This is THE number ONE hotspot for partying. NOTHING else compares to it. It’s not as stuck-up as Los Angeles. It’s not as lame or expensive as New York. Anything can happen here. Anything!”
After a few seconds of silence just treading there watching the shoreline, she said, “Is it that you’re nervous?”
“What? No,” I said, maybe a little too obvious in trying to hide it.
“Someone like you who is young and has traveled. It’s amazing that you don’t have anyone of your own yet.”
We stared at each other for a good minute. It occurred to me that she really did believe in me, ever since she was my teacher. I guess that was what made great teachers to begin with – a strong belief in you. It wouldn’t have mattered if I failed her class or done poorly; she would have seen me for who I was and what my skills were, and told me to fashion them into my destiny. There was warmth in that, something that I didn’t feel with anyone else my age. People tended to give up easily and give in to cynicism. Not her. She would keep pushing you and motivating you until the ends of the earth.
We climbed out of the water sometime later, enough for our fingers to be pruned up. Back on the deck, we ate hot dogs and hamburgers that Paco made. I stared in amazement at Joan gorging on food, talking with her mouth full. Disgusting but amusing, nonetheless.
I learned that she loved Pitbull, despite acknowledging how cheesy and how much of a womanizer he was. I talked about my interest in classic rock, and my reading of Stephen King. Her favorite was always Carrie, and she surprised me by saying that she was bullied.
“Oh yeah,” she said, taking a sip of her Coke. “When you grow up outside of the United States, you have no idea what the culture is like here. All the jokes. All the slang. Big culture shock. Everything goes over your head! I had no idea the mentality of the other girls my age. They were all…stuck up and petty and passive aggressive. I couldn’t do that shit. I said what I said and what you saw was what you got. That whole passive-aggressive thing is very American. I hate it.”
“When did you actually come here?”
“When I was sixteen. At least I had my quinceañera in Puerto Rico. I can’t imagine having it here. I would have had no friends.”
I hesitated before asking, “Why did you come to the states?” She drank some more and I quickly added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh no. Not at all. It’s fine. There were just more opportunities here. Not so much there on the island. I go back every so often to see everyone. It’s not like if you were to emigrate from Cuba or Mexico or Colombia. I went to college here in Miami. Fell in love with the city. And the rest…” She trailed off lightly. She picked at her burger and was lost in thought.
“The rest?” I said.
She snapped out of it. “Sorry. I thought I saw a fly on my burger. Haha. The rest is history you know?”
We ate the rest of our lunch in silence, admiring the view. I found it hard not to stare at her for too long. It was just us on the deck. Alone. Eating. Even though it was hot out, my nerves made me shiver as if it were cold.
Joan ate three hot dogs, three burgers, and downed three Cokes. When she finished, she smacked her lips and laid back in her chair again, sighing. She wiped off the crumbs from her hands and face, not caring to use a napkin.
She adjusted her seat to sit up more, and then casually let out a massive belch.
BEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!
Jesus Christ, it was ridiculously loud. You had to be there. Just hearing it told you how relieving it must have felt for her. The depth and the bass. The best part was that Joan hardly reacted to it aside from a satisfied sigh. She picked at her teeth with her finger and that was the cherry on top for me. Gorgeously messy. She then looked at me, realizing that I was staring, and let off a much smaller burp that was still audible.
“Ay, Dios. Perdoname.” She then cackled. “But I don’t need to excuse myself in front of you anymore.”
I smirked. This was the closest I felt to her yet. We were officially friends at that point. She smiled at me and went back to sleep.
Comments
eric ortiz
Also it’s weird that her husband didn’t want to go. I feel like they aren’t together but haven’t divorced yet.
eric ortiz
This is nice! Though I feel like you are teasing showing her with a stuffed belly. I wonder what shenanigans they can get up to at a night club.
