True Stories: Vacation Sex, Past A Certain Age

For the purposes of this trip to St. Lucia, let's just say I'm twenty-four.

by Alison Preece

Caribbean rain showers down on us without warning, breaking apart our slow grinding and scattering dancers and musicians alike. Vitor and I duck under a wooden overhang, grasping hands and giggling at each other, our cheeks flushed red. He runs the palm of his hand along my waist to the small of my back, gently but firmly pulling me into him until I can smell the sweet rum on his tongue. "I wasn't done dancing," he smiles down at me as he slowly sways his hips in a languorous figure-eight. He's in luck: the rain quickly passes, leaving the night air damp but no cooler. The guitars and steel drums resume their insistent flow as Vitor leads me back into the street along with dozens of locals. I turn my back to him, pressing against his chest as he wraps his arm around my belly and guides me in an intimate rhythm.


My friend Hannah and I have just arrived in St. Lucia in late September; the off-season timing means cheaper rates, not to mention near-empty beaches. Reveling in the feel of a private paradise, we stake out a spot just where the sand blends into an untamed forest. Behind us is a large orange and white hotel, seemingly abandoned save the lone attendant occasionally crossing in front of the pool on some errand or another. The Caribbean splashes a few feet from our bare toes, stretching languidly for miles.

We're initially wary of these men, assuming they're trying to get into either our purses or our bikini bottoms.

Hannah and I spend long days lounging on towels in the sand, chatting, reading, and trying to tan. Local men frequently wander over, attempting to sell us sea shells or baseball caps, or simply asking whether we're enjoying St. Lucia. Having lived in New York City for several years each, we're initially wary of these men, assuming they're trying to get into either our purses or our bikini bottoms. But, sipping our fruity rum cocktails at a local bar the first evening, we notice that the women are every bit as friendly. A cab driver explains that tourism is crucial to St. Lucia's economy; all citizens can speak English and are encouraged to be warm to visitors.

"Can you imagine this in New York?" I ask Hannah. "Instead of subway ads telling us to quit drinking soda, Bloomberg would be imploring us to 'be kind to tourists.'" Every local we meet encourages us to join them at the street party Friday night, a weekly tradition involving barbecued meat, fish and vegetables, flowing beer and rum, and a live band playing a mix of reggae, Afro-beat, and slow-paced hip-hop.

Friday evening is as warm as the rest, so I wear a short ruffled skirt and a sleeveless top, sandals, and a bit of jewelry. I don't need a jacket, and Hannah and I are sharing a small purse between us, with a bit of cash and not much else. It feels weird to be carrying so little. We left our Blackberries, IDs, and credit cards at the hotel, still worried we were obvious targets for pickpockets.

But as we step out of the small bus and into the throngs of a vibrant street party well under way, my lack of valuables doesn't make me feel safe. I feel quite naked, exposed; unarmed, if you will.  If I were to get into any sort of trouble, I truly don't know how I would get myself out of it. My senses are on high alert; I smell roasted cod and peppers, hear the sound of a steel drum, see laughing St. Lucians everywhere. I feel vulnerable and anonymous, which is actually kind of exciting.

I've always lived in large cities, and was taught from a young age that cultural and racial differences are worthy of celebration. I grew up in Canada appreciating the mosaic of people, and continue to do so living in New York City. In St. Lucia, however, I'm exceedingly aware that I'm a glaring minority. I spot a handful of other white people who I assume are tourists; the other couple hundred revelers are locals unwinding after a week of work. Hannah and I buy two bottles of Piton, the local beer, along with chicken, red peppers, and onions that have been barbequed and speared on long wooden sticks. As we nibble, we make our way down several short streets. We reach the heart of the street party: a four-piece band and a makeshift dance area. While Hannah uses a bar washroom, I look out at the dancing crowd, swaying my hips slightly.

"Would you like to dance with me?" I turn my head to the questioner, ready to utter a polite "no thanks," but then I get a look at him. He's half a foot taller than me, with a mass of dark hair, plump red lips, and the type of warm brown eyes that a girl can get lost in.

"I... oh. Well, um, I'm here with a friend," I stammer, trying to remember her name. "She's, uh, she'll be right back."

"Okay," he smiles at me. "I'm Vitor."

"Nice to meet you, Peter," I say.

"Vi-tor," he says again more slowly, glancing down at my lips and back up at my eyes in a way that makes my blood pump faster. "It's Brazilian."

"Vitor," I smile. "I'm Alison."

"Please to meet you, Ah-lee-sahn." I decide I really ought to move to Brazil.

Hannah reemerges and the three of us head to the bar. As she fends off a stream of approaches from young locals, Vitor tells me about the new job that has him traveling around North and South America. "Maybe I come to New York sometime," he says.

"I would love to show you around," I respond, even though his soft and seductive nature seems completely incongruent with the aggressive dating scene back in Manhattan.

Before long Hannah decides to head home, taking our shared purse with her; she gives me a bit of cash which I stuff in the side of my bra.

Commentarium (22 Comments)

Apr 13 12 - 9:40am
ms. petro

LOVE it! Sexy and fun.

Apr 13 12 - 1:01pm

So, 29 is now "A Certain Age"?? Seriously? Nice story, but five or six years really doesn't seem like much of a generation gap. Or a reason why it should be astounding for a geriatric 29-year-old to get laid on a tropical island.

Apr 13 12 - 4:09pm

i mean, women are ancient at 29? come on, writer. that is just insanity. you are NOT "old" (or "of a certain age") at 29 and only assholes try to make women believe that nonsense.

Apr 13 12 - 3:36pm
Tommy Migs

As a former recent student of MP, GREAT STORY!! We're in a special club (just got published as well)....and...Congrats!!

Apr 13 12 - 8:08pm

The writing itself was good but I think it lacked depth. When it ended, I felt like there should have been more to it. Also, it's a little cliche -- the colonialist-style "exoticism".

Apr 13 12 - 9:43pm

Poor guy. You wouldn't even let him come with you to the volcano?

Apr 14 12 - 5:07am
All women are whores

Thats all it takes ?
Some creepy, over bearing weirdo with a foreign accent ?

Apr 14 12 - 7:53pm

Worried there won't be any left over for the creepy, overbearing, accent-free misogynists, Mr. ... um, "All women are whores"?

Apr 14 12 - 2:40pm

Fuck's sake, I turned 30 this year and went travelling through Oregon & California. Average age of men I hooked up with? 23.5. No big deal. I just got on well with them; they were very cool guys. Who gives a shit about someone's age when it's just a hook-up? The author needs to take a look at some very limiting beliefs she's got going on!

Apr 15 12 - 10:34pm

God, I just finished reading this story, and rather than sympathizing about the fact that she's aging, I was hit with the detail that she found the guy being half-a-foot taller than her to be some kind of serious turn-on. You see, I'm 5'6" and 32. Aging might not be as much of a problem for us guys, but it seems like height always is. So there you have it ladies.... don't feel so bad about getting older. You'll always be better off than if you had ended up being a short guy.

Apr 16 12 - 12:23am

Part of me thinks this story is lovely and poetic.

Unfortunately, another part of me thinks that she treats the guy a bit like a disposable, fetishized "exotic" commodity, and is a bit callous towards his naivete...and that if the genders were reversed, Nerve wouldn't have touched this story (and people would be falling all over themselves to cry foul if they had).

Apr 23 12 - 8:52pm

GOOD take! And you're right about the gender reversal question, absolutely!

Jul 03 12 - 9:47pm


Apr 17 12 - 1:23pm
mr. man

a lesson to learn if you didn't already know: women have casual sex with men and men have casual sex with women. both sexes do it. you can call it objectification or whatever you like but the truth is it's not gender specific.

Apr 19 12 - 3:23pm

St. Lucia..................Most beautiful place in the world.....Top ten places to visit before u die!

Apr 19 12 - 5:35pm

I'm always dubious of people who say things like this. It very much smacks of naivete and inexperience. I've been to 45 countries and I would never say, "most beautiful place in the world". The world is a big place and there are many places that are shockingly beautiful, and most of them are not island nations filled with obnoxious American tourists.

Apr 20 12 - 4:23pm

Tell us more worldly traveler. Tell us more...

Apr 20 12 - 9:23pm

St. Lucia's official language IS English.

Jul 03 12 - 9:50pm

True - but most of the population speaks St. Lucian Creole French (Patois) in daily life, not English

Apr 23 12 - 12:26pm
Rick H

We were in Jamaica, in the water, sun on us and enjoying the surroundings. The water was up to our necks, and you know how you hold on to each other as you bob in the water. We were kissing, lightly, which turned into full contact deep kissing. It was so hot, both outside and in the water. Lot's of touching, rubbing and fondling of all body parts. I untied my shorts for better access. She reached into my shorts and started rubbing my very hard cock. All of a sudden, she guided me into her very hot and very wet pussy. I was so surprised. We were in the water, 20 feet off shore, 50 people looking out into the water, 20 people swimming withing 10-20 feet of us. As I tried to gently move in and out of her, without making bigger waves or splashes as our bodies came together, I continued to be amazed at what we were doing. We continued to kiss and fuck with people all around us. As we came closer to cumming, our bodies were smashing together, the water was moving around us. I am sure people knew what was going on. When I came, we just held each other until my load was finished. We kissed again, smiled at each other and I slid out of her pussy. WOW, that is still the hottest fuck session we have ever had in our 36 years together. Nature and water are a very sexy combination.

May 24 12 - 9:08am

It seems to me that every other estorie has a brazilian envolved... And none of them are actually in Brazil! LOL Like brazilians became the icon of exotic lover! Geez...

May 25 12 - 1:13pm
khairul azman