He had no idea what to do. Should he stand up? No, he had an erection. Wearing only briefs, if he were to stand it would be clear to Margaret. There w...uld be no hiding it. Should he try to stop her? Too late, the experience of Margaret had caught Ben well off guard. For now, Margaret was starting to slide her finger under the elastic of his briefs. Ben looked at Margaret and her smile said it all. The juice accident had not been an accident at all. Margaret had meant to spill it. But Ben did. Namely Lorraine, not one of that week’s crop of American tourists, but a fellow resident, whom I had met the previous day with her husband, Norman. Lorraine was short and stout, with a ruddy complexion and freckles all over her chest. And what a chest. Her breasts hung beneath her colorful sundress like warm, ripe, brown, freckled mangoes. I had had great trouble averting my gaze from them during our conversation. I had no problem with allowing her to see what I was so interested in, but when. More

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