I’d hit a rough patch in my personal life. So I book a week at a Club Med, hoping to get lucky with a willing partner. To find an uncomplicated woman. And I have a few questions weighing on my mind.I do get lucky. Ridiculously lucky. Twice the first day.Wendy is twelve years my junior, a tight little Boston University freshman. She’s all of five feet tall and her three favorite words are, “Fuck! Yeah! Daddy!” The Daddy thing is weird, but who wouldn’t put up with a shit-load of kink for an eighteen-year-old with a flawless body and more tricks than a $1,000 escort?In one sense, Wendy is the very definition of uncomplicated. She’s never thought about security or commitment or everlasting love. But her intense, obsessive need for a father-figure? That’s the very definition of complex. A psychological complex of the first order.Oh, and Wendy’s bi. She and her roommate Laurie make that explicitly clear.Now, about Gina. A single mom pushing 40, so maybe eight-or nine-years my senior. Six-feet tall, svelte, blond and elegant. Perhaps a little petulant at times, but she’s not looking for any romantic involvement right now, and is grateful for a guy who can show her how to connect with her seven-year-old son. Her life is complicated. But not her unfulfilled desires.Gina’s not bi. But I’m guessing she’s curious.How did I hook up with Wendy and Gina within 24-hours? Well, that is complicated. For now I just chalk it up to an improbable alignment. The intersection of sex and myth and magic.Not that it couldn’t have happened anyway. Wendy was going to satisfy her Daddy fetish one way or another, and as one of the few older guys around during Spring Break Week, I didn’t have much competition. Gina was there for the same reason as me, and I was also the one guy who could help with her baseball-obsessed kid.Wendy and I were drunk, horny and looking for a little privacy when we stumbled into something that sent our libidos into overdrive, our inhibitions on vacation, and amplified the sensations of arousal and orgasm to a level of such unbearable ecstasy that we were exhausted and confused for hours afterward. There was also a beautiful French-speaking girl. But more on her later.It was the same with Gina, except we started out stone-cold sober at 10 AM, and there was a girl with flaming red curls who decided not to get involved, but still brought our arousal to a roaring boil.It all happened in a secluded palm grove behind the Club Med nude beach. If there’s feng shui for casual sex, this place is at the epicenter. And there’s something else. The complicated part. I found an old rug with an embroidered image of the Greek god Pan — half man, half goat, and perpetually toasty. There is magic in that rug. Without a doubt.So there you have it. The perfect conjunction of sex and myth and magic. And I can’t help feeling there’s more to it than random luck. When your senses come alive like this, in ways you’ve Ankara bayan escort never experienced, there has to be a purpose. Some kind of meaning. I want to know. Need to know. But so far, it’s like a Rubik’s Cube. Every time I think I’m close to the solution, the next twist takes me to another dead end.Anyway, I’m still trying to sort it all out when I join Gina and her son Johnny at the batting cage where I promised to play baseball with Johnny. After swinging through a few dozen pitches, he runs off to explore the playing fields. Which leaves Gina and I to explore what went down this morning.“I’m still shaking like a leaf,” she confides.“And wet as a mountain stream?” I ask.“That, too!” she laughs.“I wish it were all me. But it’s not,” I confess. “It’s something else. Something about that clearing in the palm grove.”“Can we bottle it up and take it home?”“I doubt that.” I don’t mention that I already tried. Twice. The second time was after we returned, and I locked the Pan Blanket in my bungalow safe. I wagered my left testicle it would be gone by dinner. An impulsive bet that I’m beginning to regret.“When can we go back?” she asks softly, folding her fingers between mine.“After dinner. But there’s one thing…”“I know. Wendy. Will she mind… sharing you?”“Hardly. But I better warn you, she swings both ways.”“She told me,” Gina sighs. “She wants the three of us to fuck.”“I thought I noticed the two of you flirting at dinner.”“She’s a very alluring young woman. And I’ve never been with another woman,” Gina sighs. “Well, not since high school.”“High school?”“Catholic school sleepovers. Raging hormones. We called it ‘make-out practice.’ So we’d know what to expect with a boy. My friend and I got a little carried away and had our first orgasms.”“And you’ve always wondered?”“Yes,” Gina whispers. “And there’s something so sensual about Wendy, even though…”“She’s young enough to be your daughter. I know. She calls me her ‘Daddy.’”“So, if I join you tonight?”“You and Wendy are going to hook up. I guarantee.”“And you, Jason?”“It’s every guy’s fantasy. Two beautiful women.”“But you have feelings for her. I can tell.”“Perhaps. But it’s very fucked up. Her ‘Daddy’ thing.”“It could just be her way of dealing with masculinity.”“Maybe. But I think she really wants a Daddy.”“Daddy?” we hear Johnny ask from behind us.“Yes, Sweetie,” Gina says, giving me a conspiratorial look. “We were just saying your Daddy should spend more time playing baseball with you.”“That would be cool,” Johnny replies with wide smile.—At 7 PM, I knock on Wendy’s door. She pulls me inside, wrestles me onto her bed, and has my shorts pulled past my knees before I can object.“What about Laurie?” I ask, looking at her roommate, who is grinning at us like the Cheshire Cat.“You can do Laurie, after you fuck me,” Wendy says, which isn’t at all what I had in mind. Eventually, I convince Wendy to Escort bayan Ankara put on her pareo and go to dinner, with a promise that afterward we’ll go directly to the palm grove.Gina joins us, this time without Johnny who’s spending the night with a new friend. While I’m talking to a French couple seated with us, Gina and Wendy do a lot of whispering and giggling. After too many carafes of wine, the three of us wander past the long beach-front veranda, and follow the rising full moon to the edge of the palm grove.“Are you sure about this?” I ask them.No reply. But they gaze into each other’s eyes. Then, without a word, they are kissing. With Gina almost six-feet tall, and Wendy barely five, it’s an interesting exercise in feminine contortion. But their lips lock in a deep, soulful tongue kiss. When they come up for air, Gina takes my arm and whispers, “Don’t worry, Jason. You’re going to love this.”Why wouldn’t I?We enter the grove with enough moonlight filtering through the palm fronds to easily find our way. Very symbolic, all this dappled darkness and light flowing like a restless river beneath our feet.Darkness and light. Mix the two and what do you have? That is the eternal question, isn’t it? Where is the sweet spot between guilt and innocence? The Goldilocks zone where good and evil cancel each other like a pair of equivalent expressions in life’s complex equation. The place where Yin and Yang attain perfect harmony.And how would I know if I find it?We’ve only gone a few yards when Gina stops and listens. After a moment, Wendy and I hear it too. A faint melody, barely audible above the rustling palms.On my previous two visits, I’d been drawn by the sounds of love-making to a clearing that was more or less in the middle of the grove. Tonight is different. We walk for a long time, too long for this small grove, but we never get any closer to the music, which seems to be from some kind of flute.When the melody finally does grow louder, the sand has turned to rocky soil with the coconut palms giving way to tall pines. Soon, a steep and craggy hill looms into view. More like a Greek Mykonos or Hydra than French Martinique. A winding footpath leads to the crest, where there’s the flickering glow of a fire.I’m about to ask if they want to continue when I feel it. Shivers running down my spine, butterflies in my stomach, a warm tingling between my legs that has my cock slowly unfurling. It only takes one look at the gleam in the their eyes to know Gina and Wendy feel it too.We climb the hillside under soaring pines, and smaller trees that I don’t recognize, until the path brings us next to one. The trunk is ancient, gnarly and twisted with young, egg-shaped fruit hanging from the branches. Olive trees.The scent of burning wood is on the breeze. Reflected firelight dances in the upper pine branches, and we hear the crackle of flames. Overhead, a stream Bayan escort Ankara of red embers floats toward the hovering full moon.At the summit, clothes have been discarded on both sides of the trail. Some folded neatly, others hurriedly dumped in messy heaps. Wendy tosses her pareo on the ground, with her sandals and thong piled on top. Gina and I take the time to fold our things into bundles. In the pale moonlight, the girls’ naked bodies are as perfectly proportioned as a pair of classic Greek sculptures. Wendy, the eager wood nymph, Gina, the mysterious Delphi oracle. Moisture shimmers on their thighs. Their nipples are twisted taught and stiff. So is my cock.We walk onto the flat brow of the hill, and the beautiful French girl with the dark, soulless eyes greets us. I avoid her eyes, but can’t help but remember how my hot cum glistened on her full lips last night after Wendy and I found her fucking in the grove.“ Suis moi,” she says, leading us toward the bonfire where a ring of naked figures are holding hands.I recognize the curvy red-head with bright green eyes, and her lover, from this morning, as well as the two cute and slightly chunky college girls. There some other women I haven’t seen before, and three young guys whose most remarkable feature is not so much their ripped musculature, as their rock-hard erections.Beyond the circle of light, a small figure with wiry hair, a dark beard, and a lascivious expression, reclines on a tree stump blowing into a set of Pan pipes. The old Greek blanket is spread across his lap, but it’s not big enough to conceal hairy legs that are bent at an unnatural angle. Or that where he should have feet, there are cloven hooves.The thing about overpowering lust is that it represses all those warnings from the logical, critical corners of your consciousness. Little things like, what the fuck am I doing on a Greek hilltop covered in olive trees under a full moon in the Caribbean surrounded by naked strangers holding hands around a roaring bonfire while some dude dressed like a man-goat plays the flute?I hear those words, but they mean nothing. They provoke neither anxiety nor fear. All I feel is a white-hot sexual longing in my gut. Does it occur to me that only hours after the most powerful, soul-wrenching orgasms of my life, I should be a little sated with sex?Not at all.The French girl starts us moving clockwise. Somehow, I know her name is Natalie. The same way I know the red-head and her lover are Fiona and Virginia, and the two nubile college girls are Mary and Patty. There’s another tall, willowy blond who could easily be Gina’s sister, and I’d bet my right nut she’s from Atlanta and her name is Debbie. Same with the the brunette with a pixie haircut and gymnast’s body. Her name is Rhonda and she grew up near Philadelphia. Nothing weird. I feel as if I’ve known them forever.Once we fall into a rhythm, and are moving together in time with the sinuous flute melody, Natalie adds a little hip grind to our movement on every third step. When I imitate her, the sensation is immediate and electric. A spasm that begins in my brain and ends with my cock bouncing and twitching without any physical stimulation, save the warm breath of the sultry night wind.