May Story - Miami MILF (Chapter 6) (Patreon)

The rest of our venture was nothing short of divine. I relaxed, read my book, and enjoyed being with Joan. She read from a Kindle for a couple hours and continued to casually belch in front of me. They ranged anywhere from quiet puffs to grotesque roars.

After one of the bigger ones, Joan opened a bag of chips and said to me, “My family would hate it when I burped at the table.”

“Yeah?”

She cackled. “I just always did it. I think it’s more gross to hold it in. If it’s THAT big, I don’t want to hold it in! That’s not good for you. Sabes?”

I hid my boner. “Si.”

“All that bad air. Gotta let it out.”

This was getting too much for me. Holy shit.

I had to excuse myself and run to the bathroom to squeeze one out. All those burps and all that talk about burping really set me off. My cock was literally a rocket ship ready for launch. I sprayed my seed all over the bathroom sink, and I nearly cried out her name. Deep down, there was more in me, but the ejaculation did me good. My nerves calmed and I was able to endure the rest of the trip without being a nervous wreck.

We returned to Sunny Isles in the late afternoon. Once we docked, Joan yawned and stretched like a cat. Her lithe, juicy body glistened in the sun.

“That was so wonderful,” she said. Out of context, she looked and sounded as though she had just had sex. She looked at me with a killer smirk, and it was difficult to tell what she was thinking under her sunglasses.

“So what are you going to do now?” she asked, as we went down the ladder to the docks. “Are you going to go out tonight and party like you should?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

We were standing in the dock, both dressed by now. Me in my t-shirt and her in her maxi dress. She seemed subdued for some reason. I was expecting some brash, haughty answer. She instead looked off to her apartment window and said, “Nothing. Probably going to make dinner now and watch TV. It’s good to do nothing.”

The blinds at her apartment window were still closed. “Morgan is probably hungry by now. He’s lazy like me. Haha. We’ll probably go out to eat. So where you going to go tonight?”

“I don’t know. Is there a place you recommend?”

She said in a hushed tone. “Sweet Liberty. Miami Beach. They close at 5AM. You’re going to love it!”

A text message interrupted her. She didn’t disclose what it was about, but I could only assume that Morgan, probably what to do for dinner. She read it briefly and murmured disdainfully, “Ay, Dios. Este hombre no se hace nada. Hahaha.” She hugged me briefly. “Bueno. Hope you have a good time. If you want to hang out later again, let me know! Adios!”

She hurried to her apartment carrying Stella. I watched her enter and close the sliding door behind her.

#

I sat in my car for what felt like an eternity. It was around 9 PM and I parked down the street across from Sweet Liberty. I was dressed to the nines. The only problem was, I was nervous as hell.

I knew deep down I really wanted to just hang out with Joan again, but that would be weird. That would be really weird. I had to let go and actually mingle with my generation.

I finally got the courage to get out of my car and walk to Sweet Liberty. I expected to get carded but the burly bouncer simply nodded at me and ushered me in with a simple wave of his hand.

Cool, I guess.

Right away, I knew that Joan had sent me somewhere touristy. The crowd was mostly white people, but there were Latinos as well. The walls were lined up with decorations that could best be described as “Live Laugh Love”. The music was so loud that I could not understand the bartender when he asked me what brand of rum I wanted for my Rum and Coke. When I asked a third time what he said, he legit stood up straight and looked like he was ready to smack me. The guy probably could bench a thousand pounds. He barked, “CAPTAIN MORGAN OR BACARDI?”

“Bacardi,” I said, very calmly, letting him know that I wasn’t intimidated. I mean. I was. I just didn’t want to show it.

He gave me a stink eye as he reached down to make the cocktail.

A blond girl my age was sitting next to an empty seat. This guy with a leather jacket was standing next to her talking excitedly with friends. The blond girl turned to me and patted on the empty seat next to me. Right away I knew how drunk she was from how her voice wavered. “Oh! YoU cAn SiT hEREEEE!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! It’s fine!”

I shrugged and sat down. When the bartender returned with my drink he pointed and said, “You need to get up! That’s his seat!”

I leaned forward so he could hear me. “Oh, she said I could sit here.”

The bartender again gave me a stink eye. The hell was up with this guy? I just got there, asked for a drink, and already felt some tension. Was it something I wore? Something on my face?

The blond girl turned to me and randomly chatted up with me a conversation about where I was from and what was up. The usual stuff. She was a grad student at Miami University. Everyone here was on spring break.

She was so drunk that she hiccuped and burped a few times. That made me more comfortable, funny enough.

Our conversation was broken up by the guy in the leather jacket. He tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Who’s this guy?”

“ThIs is LUCAS!” the blond girl shouted happily. “He’s from NEW JERSEY!”

“Aw yeah? That’s cool.” He then turned serious. “Well then Lucas. Why don’t you get up from my seat?”

“Oh. Sorry. She just said that I could sit there.”

Just then the blond girl glared at me and said, “Whaaaat? No, I didn’t!”

Uh-oh.

I was at a loss for words. There wasn’t really a good way out of this.

The guy shrugged. “You just sit around other guy’s girlfriends?”

“I didn’t know she was your girlfriend, man. Sorry.”

He got closer to me, and I could tell he was drunk too by the alcohol from his breath. Before anything could get awkward, or worse, I just took my drink and went to the other side of the bar. He glared at me for some time as his girlfriend drunkenly laughed and rubbed his back with her hand.

To make a long story short – Sweet Liberty didn’t exactly work out.

I talked to one Latino girl in Spanish, but she laughed at my accent and called me a gringo. That was about as intimate as it got there. I found myself sitting alone staring at everyone either drinking and laughing or dancing. I stayed to watch some white girl get it on with this black dude. I watched because I was entranced at how fluid and easy it seemed for them to do it. I gathered they were strangers because she had entered the club with a friend and were approached by two men. They chatted and flirted and then the man offered to dance with her. They danced reservedly at first, away from each other, until the music picked up and they grew closer and started grinding. He made the first move whispering something into her ear that made her laugh.

This wasn’t for me.

The hell was I doing here?

I closed my tab and left.

The rest of Miami Beach nightlife looked the same – mostly touristy looking places. I drove down to the very tip to South Beach. It was much quieter there, so I rolled down the window and listened to the ocean.

A few dubious characters roamed the beach in the shadows. The hotels in this area hailed from as far back as the 1930’s. You could note the ancient art deco style.

A ton of memories nearly drowned me, so much so that I felt a tear down my cheek. I remembered being there with my grandparents and playing Game Boy. I actually lost my Game Boy somewhere on that beach. Dad made sure to never let me forget that. He was so mad.

I drove aimlessly for maybe twenty minutes before feeling defeated. I suddenly didn’t want to stay up late partying anymore. Maybe this wasn’t for me. I just froze up like a deer in the headlights at a party like that. I enjoyed the thought of being there, but interacting was another story. I wasn’t just gonna sit there like a moron alone watching everybody sipping a drink.

I eventually turned around to head back.

That’s when I saw Joan.

She was in the backseat of an uber right next to me at a red light. She was looking at her phone, so she didn’t bother looking around her. But it was unmistakably her.

I jumped from the person behind me honking because I hadn’t been moving.

The uber took a left turn towards the mainland. I blanked out until the car behind me honked a second time. I decided to follower the uber.

Where was she going? I thought she said she was going to do nothing at all tonight.

I kept my distance to not appear suspicious. We both entered the MacArthur Causeway, a long bridge that stretched across from South Beach to the mainland. I marveled at the skyline of the city as I approached it. Several islands dotted the way along the MacArthur Causeway, such as the Port of Miami. The giant Ferris Wheel in the distance indicated Bayside Marketplace, a popular touristy spot with drinks and amusements.

The uber made a turning signal – they were going to the Port of Miami.

The hell? There was nothing there except thousands of shipping containers and the ports for cruises ships.

I slowed down taking the exit for the port. If I was up on their ass, Joan might surely notice and wonder who else was going to the port this late at night.

The uber dropped her off by a chain-link fence. There were many other areas of chain-link fences surrounding the rows of shipping containers. There was another road to the side that I could take to pretend like I was going somewhere else. I took that road and then double-backed when the uber left.

Yeah - it was definitely her.

Joan was walking alone along the chain-link fence with a small purse. She had changed clothes since the boat ride and looked like she was ready for a night out. I had never seen her dressed so fine before. She wore a tight gray sparkling dress that she adjusted every now and then by the legs. The dress made her ass pop out like nothing I had ever seen before.

No sign of Morgan.

She disappeared around a corner where the fence continued. I drove up carefully and spotted a parking lot with a few cars. I parked where there wasn’t any street light and turned the car off.

“Where are you going?” I murmured. She was heading towards a gate. When she reached it, she waited and checked her phone. The gate opened somehow. Maybe it was electronic or somebody out of my view opened it for her. That was when I got out of my car and followed her.

By this point, I was freaking out. What the hell was she getting herself into?

I tiptoed my way along the fence. I reached the gate without anyone coming out and saying anything. I realized that she must have had a key to open the padlock, and then locked it behind her.

I looked up and noticed her in the distance casually striding down the maze of shipping containers and disappeared from view.

“The fuck?” I murmured.

I looked around. Nobody was watching. I jumped up and climbed over the fence. It was much higher than I had anticipated, so the descent made me nervous, but I did it.

I crept down the path where I last saw her, and that was when I started hearing Latin music. Bass reverberated through the shipping containers. I followed it and knew I was getting closer as I could make out the music.

At last, I stumbled upon a very secret party going on. Right by the edge of the docks there was a particularly large warehouse with people crowded around the open door. A couple sleek black cars were parked by the side, and burly bouncers in tuxedos guarded the party.

This place was legit. Was this where drug dealers hung out or something?

I was relatively poorly dressed compared to everyone else. None of the men wore any shorts. Everyone was in some kind of expensive clothing, whether it be designer jeans or elaborate dresses or ties with button-down shirts.

I crept further hiding behind shipping containers to see a better view of the warehouse. You could see the inside from the open doors. The entire thing inside looked like a nightclub scene from a movie – unreal. It was like a massive studio with white tarp covering stuff for some reason. It looked like the kind of place where artsy-fartsy music videos were filmed.

“Hey. Who are you?”

I froze. A bouncer had snuck up on my peripheral vision and eyed me up and down. He looked ready to act.

“Are you supposed to be here?” he barked. “Where’s your invitation?”

“Uhhhhh…”

He grimaced, ready to apprehend me, until Joan’s voice cried, “Lucas?”

She had just stepped through the threshold of the warehouse, but turned around to see what the commotion was about with the bouncer. She immediately approached me and the bouncer said, “Sorry, Miss Braulio, but is he with you? He isn’t dressed.”

Joan nudged me forward into the club. She slipped an excuse so easily. She waved her hand dismissively at the bouncer and said, “He can do whatever he wants. He’s with me. He’s just late is all. Come, Lucas!”

She took me by the arm and I stepped into the most exclusive party in Miami. How in the world did Joan get herself into here? But moreover, I realized that the bouncer had referred to Joan as “miss”.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, once we were inside. She sounded genuinely angry, the only time I actually detected anger in her voice. She got angry at dumb students in school, but this was something more serious. I really wasn’t supposed to see this, whatever it was.

“I’m sorry. I was out doing my thing and then I—well—I saw you coming here. I thought maybe you were in some kind of trouble. Maybe?”

Joan huffed and put her hands on her hips in a sort of disapproving stance, but then smiled and waved her finger at me. “Lucas, you are full of surprises.”

“What is this place?”

Joan, for the first time ever, seemed hesitant to say something. She bit her lip, looked around at the people dancing, and mumbled. She actually mumbled. I never heard her nor imagined her mumble in my entire life until that point.

It was official – I had caught her in the act of something that she had wanted to hide, and she was at a loss for words.

“Let’s talk about it outside,” she said lowly.

We went back outside and she took me to a quiet corner out of earshot from everyone. She continued to mumble incoherently a couple times, pacing to and fro and putting her hand on her hips and murmuring, “Ay Dios…”

I waited patiently for her to speak.

“Listen, Lucas,” she said softly. “Okay. I am not…” She hesitated again before laying it out flat. “Morgan and I are getting divorced. He was never going to come down here.”

“Oh.”

“You’re not really surprised, are you? You were always a smart kid.”

I shrugged. “I mean…”

She kicked at the gravel. “There’s a lot more to it. I don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“We have been separated for some time now. It was only a matter of time until one of us went through with making it official. I have a totally different life here in Miami than New Jersey. I may have used Morgan’s connections and money to know a lot of people higher up who do these kinds of parties, you know? I am not sure who is going to own what. From the divorce I mean. I wanted to make sure I experienced all the perks as much as I could. Morgan definitely wants the boat though…that bastard.” She laughed nervously. “He also took away my membership to first class. That is why I was sitting in economy. Ugh. Been a while since I did that. But.” She brushed a stray hair from the side of her face and that killed me. I was more than smitten. I dared not think too much about it though. I was afraid to admit it to myself.

“At the end of the day, I am a teacher. If he gets everything then…I don’t know. I guess no more Sunny Isles.” She sighed. “Whatever. Let’s go inside and have a good time, yeah?”

I nodded.

Joan took me by the arm and strutted her way to the club.

#

Christ almighty, Joan knew how to dance.

She danced like she was still in college in her twenties. The fact that she knew how to grind and how to move really flustered me.

I realized that night that I was a date kind of guy, not the kind of guy who goes on the prowl for pussy at clubs. I was much more comfortable going to a club with someone with the intent of impressing them and courting them.

The club itself was vibrant and chill at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it but I didn’t feel pressured to dance or show off. The bar stretched out against the entire wall and hundreds of people sat there talking and drinking. The dance floor meandered through random archways and artsy-fartsy structures and sculptures. Some people danced hardcore, while others hung around bobbing their heads while drinking.

At the dance floor, Joan smiled at me and yelled over the music, “ARE YOUR MOVES THE SAME? OR DID YOU GET BETTER?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“LET ME SEE!”

The only dances I knew were intentionally cheesy ones, like “The Shopping Cart” and “The Lawnmower”. She laughed at me, but I wasn’t embarrassed or afraid.

Pitbull blared on the speakers, and then it happened – she danced up against me. She shook her ass against my crotch, not touching it but dangerously close. We lowered ourselves a bit to get down with the beat.

When the song ended, she stood up and clapped.

“VERY GOOD! COME. LET’S DRINK!”

We sat at the very corner of the bar. Talking was more bearable there, and we didn’t need to shout so loud over the music. Joan nearly bought me a drink but I had to step in and “assert” myself by buying her one instead. She had a Moscow Mule and I went with a Gin and Tonic.

“So,” I began, “how did you end up getting into places like this?”

“You know how I’m a frequent flyer?” She then rolled her eyes. “Well…WAS at least…”

I listened to her tale, enthralled by such a worldly woman. From all her traveling, mostly back and forth from Miami to New Jersey/New York, she garnered a ton of points in her membership to American Airlines. She took first class a few times and one day ran into Bruce Springsteen.

“You’re joking,” I said.

She was dead serious. She shook her head, sipped her drink, and said, “No mentires. He just sat next to me and started talking to me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Talking to you like…”

She whipped her hair playfully, exaggerating the effect. “Flirting.”

“But…he’s married…right?”

Joan widened her eyes and shrugged as she sucked on her straw.

“Wait, Joan…” It was the first time I actually addressed her directly. It felt so intimate, but I was really excited to hear about her exploits. “Did you….”

“Morgan and I were already going through things at the time. One thing led to another and…”

She liked to toy with me, so she never explicitly told me what happened between her and Bruce Springsteen. The minute they landed in Newark Airport people were buzzing around them asking who she was and why Bruce was all over her. She only saw him a couple more times after that in some middle-of-nowhere bars. She didn’t want to risk being some kind of “It Girl”, so she cut it off soon thereafter.

But during their “fling”, if you could call it that, Bruce passed on to her admittance to a more exclusive crowd in Miami. They never stayed in one place, or else people would catch wind of it and crash their parties. Every party was in a different spot in and around the Miami area. Next thing she knew she partied in the same rooms with Lil Wayne, Pitbull, and Nicki Minaj. I was flabbergasted hearing this, and honestly thought she was pulling my leg. She was so nonchalant about it and even shrugged it off. At the end of the day, she considered herself “just a teacher”.

“Naw, come on,” I said. “You’re so much more than that. You’re…you’re a GREAT teacher! You were my favorite teacher, you know that?”

“I was everyone’s favorite teacher,” she said dismissively. “I think you can figure out why.”

Joan seemed to dive into a bit of a funk. She avoided eye contact with me and gazed down at her drink as if she were looking into an abyss, blank and lifeless.

I reached out with a comforting hand, placing it on hers. She looked up at me with timid eyes as I said, “No, Joan. I’m serious. You were always more than a pretty face.”

She didn’t withdraw her hand from mine. She instead pursed her lips and looked away. The tension between us was palpable. The drinks had eased my nerves and made say things slightly daring. The alcohol in me dared me to reach out to her.

Joan downed the rest of her drink. She motioned me to get up and dance, and then whispered in my ear, “You were always my favorite student.”