Chapter 1: Cabos Unspoken Rules
The sun was a white-hot coin in a perfect blue sky, hammering the manicured pool deck of the resort. The air smelled of salt, coconut oil, and chlorine, thick with the bass from a distant speaker and the shrieks of people cannonballing into the water.
On a prime lounger, Lissy lay perfectly still, a study in golden skin and oiled contours. Face down, her head was turned to the side, her straight blonde hair fanned out over the towel. Her top was untied and pushed aside, the full length of her back exposed to the heat. The only article of clothing was a scrap of black fabric, a thong so minimal it seemed more a suggestion than a garment. It did nothing to contain the spectacular, rounded architecture of her ass—two firm, massive hemispheres that dominated the sightline, so sculpted they seemed almost separate from her otherwise slim, athletic frame.
Megan, swathed in a gauzy blue cover-up and a wide-brimmed hat, flicked another glance around them. She dabbed more sunscreen on her nose. “Liss, don’t you think you should… I don’t know, turn over? Or put your top on? You’re going to burn.”
“I won’t burn,” Lissy’s voice was muffled by the towel, flat and bored. “I’m cultivating a glow. And my top ruins the lines.” She shifted slightly, the movement making the muscles in her lower back flex and the curves of her glutes tighten. A guy walking past with two beers nearly tripped over his own feet, his gaze locked on her. Lissy didn’t see it, but Megan did, flushing with secondhand embarrassment.
“It’s just… there are families here. I saw a kid earlier.”
“Then the kid gets an early education in classic sculpture.” Lissy finally pushed up on her elbows, not bothering to cover her chest. She swept her hair back, squinting against the light. “God, I’m bored. And frustrated. This is our last spring break, Meg. This is it. And it’s been a total bust.”
“We’ve been here two days,” Megan said, her voice softening into pacification. “The surfing was fun yesterday.”
“The surfing was fine. The company has been trash.” Lissy sat up cross-legged, still unabashedly topless. She reached for her water bottle, took a long sip. “I’m talking about the dick, Meg. It’s been subpar. Actually, no. It’s been pathetic.”
Megan’s eyes darted to the family setting up three loungers over. “Lissy, please,” she hissed.
“What? You asked why I’m frustrated. I’m telling you.” Lissy’s tone was matter-of-fact, analytical. “Night one, remember Blaine? The finance bro with the boat shoes? Talked a big game. All that ‘I’m a lifeguard, I’m in great shape’ bullshit. Gets me back to his rental, and it’s a sad, skinny little thing. No girth. Zero. Like a pencil. And he came in, like, ninety seconds. I didn’t even have time to get on top.”
Megan stared intently at her own toenails, which she’d painted a shell pink for the trip. She wished the music was louder.
“Then last night,” Lissy continued, her voice carving through the humid air. “Jake. The ‘gym rat’.” She made sarcastic air quotes. “All shoulders, no ass. You’d think he’d understand the work. But he had no idea what to do with this.” She smacked her own butt, the sound a sharp crack that made Megan jump. The solid thud of muscle was audible. “Built this from the ground up. Two-hundred-pound hip thrusts, Bulgarian split squats until I puke. It’s not just for show, it’s a fucking powerhouse. You need a man with a proper tool and the stamina to drive it. Jake… he kept slipping off. Like he was scared of it. Couldn’t get a good angle. I had to do all the work, and then he just… quit. Said he was tired.”
She leaned forward, her eyes blazing with clinical intensity. “I need specific specifications, Megan. I’m not asking for a unicorn. I need length, obviously, to get past the foundation. But more than that, I need girth. Substantial circumference. Something that actually fills me up, that I can feel. And he has to have the pelvic stability and the cardio to go for more than twenty minutes without blowing his load. He needs to be able to handle a serious, aggressive reverse cowgirl without whimpering. Is that too much to ask? For a man to actually be able to fuck me properly?”
Megan’s face was crimson. She looked physically pained. “Lissy, for God’s sake. People can hear you.”
“Let them hear. Maybe it’ll weed out the weak ones.” She flopped back onto her stomach. “And before you give me your worried look, yes, I know. I’m not stupid. I’m on the pill, and I get tested every semester. These guys… you can tell. Blaine was practically a virgin. Jake was too into himself to have anything. It’s a calculated risk, and the math is in my favor. I’m not wrapping up perfection with some mediocre stranger for a disappointing three minutes. What’s the point?”
The blunt economics of it, the cold assessment of risk versus reward, left Megan speechless. It wasn’t just the nudity, or the loud talking. It was the utter, unashamed ownership of her own sexuality, reduced to a set of physical demands and logistical calculations. It felt brutal. It felt terrifying.
“You can’t just… say that stuff,” Megan whispered, her voice strained. “You can’t just do… that… raw. You don’t know them.”
“I know enough,” Lissy said, her voice dropping into a low, frustrated growl. “I know they can’t deliver. And I’m running out of time. I graduate in six weeks. This is the last checkpoint. I will not finish this chapter of my life without one, just one, guy who knows how to use his equipment on mine.”
She fell silent, the anger simmering off her like heat shimmer. Megan said nothing, just wrapped her cover-up tighter around herself, a shield against Lissy’s stark exposure and her own swirling discomfort. The sun beat down. The pool crowd laughed and splashed, oblivious to the quiet crisis on the loungers.
Lissy’s eyes, hidden behind her sunglasses, scanned the pool deck again—not with hope, but with the sharp, evaluative scrutiny of a predator. There had to be something worth hunting here. There had to be.