I laughed along with the others, recalling how shocked Jen had looked after my translation. Although my French wasn’t great, hers was almost non-existent. She drained her glass of wine and held her glass out to Lamya for a refill. Lamya’s dark hair was also still in a bun from her massage this afternoon. The stark white bathrobe offset her dusky Middle Eastern complexion, making her look slightly tanned compared to the rest of us. I envied the neatness of her hair; while mine tended to be a frizzy mass, constantly trying to escape the confines of my hair tie, her sleek black hair always looked like she had just come from a salon.
Lamya hadn’t said much about her massage this afternoon, other than to say that she had enjoyed it and was looking forward to the treatments we had scheduled for tomorrow. I had noticed a slight flush to her cheeks when she said it and had made a mental note to ask her about it tonight when we were alone in our room. She and I were sharing the room next door, with the queen-sized bed, leaving Jen and Tracy the king-sized. The rationale for the room allocations had been that Lamya and I had been friends for more than 10 years but she had never met either of the other women before today. We were in a small cabin a few minutes’ walk from the main resort building. Our two suites were on the main floor, separated by a small vestibule, and there were several other rooms on the second floor.
“So what did you do?” Lamya asked, tucking a stray lock of hair into her bun. She perched on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, her bathrobe gaping open with the movement and exposing the smooth line up to her thighs. She was a petite, voluptuous woman who seemed very comfortable in her own skin.
“Well, I’m guessing I put it on the right way–” Jen began.
“I opted for the larger triangle in front – figured I’d rather the wedgie be at the back!” I added.
“Ditto!” Jen continued. “Then the two women come back in – they didn’t say anything, so it must have been fine – and the older one starts explaining everything in French with Kate having to translate. And want to hear the best? Turns out the young one doing my treatment speaks perfect English! I mean – would it not have made sense for HER to do the explanations?” Jen shook her head, her hair swishing with the movement.
“Was it good though?” Tracy asked, picking another strawberry from the plate in front of us. “Mmm,” she said, “These are amazing! I’ve never had a body exfoliation.”
I opted for a slice of pineapple and answered, “Awesome! It felt like a back scratch but over my entire body.” I decided not to mention how the woman – Marie, I recalled – an attractive slim woman probably in her late 40s, had gently circled my breasts with the scrub, just missing the nipples. I hadn’t thought much about it at first, but when she rubbed in the lotion after I’d rinsed off the scrub, she hadn’t bothered avoiding them. I felt a familiar pulse in my groin as I recalled her soft touch and the slight smile on her face when she noticed how hard my nipples became with the attention. She had rolled them with her fingers before continuing to rub the lotion lower into my abdomen and hips. Her fingers had skirted along the strings of the underwear, even moving under the larger triangle to where my pubic hair would have been if I hadn’t been completely waxed.