It seemed to cling to me, particularly focusing its wet mouth—if such a thing even had a mouth, which I’m pretty sure it would—directly on my pussy as my knees threatened to collapse from the sheer force of its intensity. I knew it would be hot in the middle of August, I knew the humidity in the southernmost part of Mexico would very likely be uncomfortable, but this was almost inhuman. What had I been thinking, agreeing to a vacation in such tropical weather? With a sigh of dismay I noted that my long, curly hair was morphing into a mass of unmanageable frizz. I shot a disapproving look at my sister, Marga, who stood next to me with our luggage, grinning back at me like she’d just unwrapped this paradise on Christmas morning. When we were kids, she was the one who had always managed to wake up first, desperate to see the toys Santa left her, and then she’d drag me sleepily out of bed to follow her to the Christmas tree. She was always in a hurry, rampaging through her gifts like someone might cancel the holiday any minute, while I preferred to take my time and savor each wrapped bundle.
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