Summer Nights

SUMMER NIGHTS
Christin Lovell

Editor:
Susie Hatfield

***

SUMMER NIGHTS

Copyright 2012 by Christin M Lovell

Cover Images Copyright
Information:
Iakov Kalinin -
Fotolia.com
nmcandre - Fotolia.com
Andrei vishnyakov -
Fotolia.com

***

This is a work of fiction. The
characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s
imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

***

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***

This book is dedicated to all the women with
excess sexiness. Regardless of our size, we all deserve the man of
our dreams: a man who melts our insides as he loves our
outside.

***

SUMMER NIGHTS

Chapter 1

“Where the hell are the sea breezes
everyone talked about? Damn. I feel swindled,” Stella grumbled,
stepping out of the busy airport and getting her first breath of
hot, humid San Juan air.

“Do people really use the word swindled
still?” I asked, lifting my brow in amusement.

“I do.” She was curt, matter of fact,
but then again, Stella always spoke her mind.

“You have a point though. I expected
San Diego breezes several degrees hotter. Instead, I feel like I’m
inhaling a gallon of water with each breath. I hope and pray that
the cab has A/C.” I fanned myself with my free hand, but it did
nothing for the temperature rising inside my full figured body. Fat
was an insulator, which only made me want to strip and jump into an
ice bath, with no one around of course.

We crossed two parallel pick-up lanes
with concrete medians between. Upon arriving at the last median,
which acted as a drop off/pick-up hang out, several men offered to
help us with our bags.

“No, gracious.” Stella flicked her
wrist, dismissing the young male.

“Gracias, pero no
necessecita
,” I offered in my broken
Spanish. I smiled softly at the boy, hoping to make up for the
mispronunciation and sheer rudeness of my friend.

He smiled. “Where are you
from?”

“You speak English?” I knew my face lit
up at that.

“Most of us speak a little, and since
I’m from New York, I speak a lot.”

“Oh, wow. This trip just got
better.”

He chuckled. “Where are you from?” he
repeated.

“A place that has more breeze and less
heat,” Stella stated, shifting back and forth from foot to foot,
her wide hips swaying with her movements.

“We’re from Atlanta, Georgia,” I
replied, cutting my eyes at Stella.

“Sorry. The heat makes me cranky. Get a
couple drinks in me and the PMS will subside.”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess that’ll be
first on our list after we check-in.”

“Where are you staying?” He took a
casual step closer.

“Caribe Hilton?” I looked to Stella for
confirmation since she was the one who had made all the
reservations.

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing but the best for
our splurge weekend.”

“Nice hotel. The celebrities stay there
when they come to town.”

“Yeah?” I turned my attention to my
fidgeting friend. Her coffee colored skin was covered in a layer of
perspiration. She at least had the decency to blush despite her
shrug.

I was taken aback by that. I knew the
hotel was nice, pricey too, but hadn’t expected Stella to splurge
to that degree. Of course she was booking it with my credit card,
which she knew wouldn’t have a balance since I tended to pinch
every penny.

“How long will you be
visiting?”

“Four days. Honestly, given how shallow
my breathing is right now in the shade, I don’t know if I could
survive longer.”

He laughed. “You get used to it. Once
you get caught up in the city and the atmosphere, you’ll forget
about the heat.”

“This coming from someone half my size
and twice my height with no sweat dotting his brow,” Stella
mused.

“You’ll have to excuse her. I think she
lost her manners on the flight over.”

“It’s okay. A lot of people are cranky
after flying. My name’s Manny by the way.” He extended his hand out
towards me.

“I’m Summer, and this is my friend,
Stella.” I shook his hand, praying that he didn’t notice my sweaty
palms.

“Have fun,
senoritas
.” He smirked,
tipping his head before walking towards an elderly couple
struggling under a mountain of suitcases.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” I
scolded, the second he was far enough away not to hear.

“Honey, with a waterfall between my
thighs and breasts already creating a rash, being polite was the
last thing on my mind.” I frowned at her, pushing her into
compromise. “Alright, alright. If we see him on the way back, then
I’ll make nice.”

“Deal.” I sighed. “Now where the heck
is the hotel pickup?”

“Hell if I know, but you know what I do
know?” She grinned devilishly, pulling me into her sweaty side; my
suitcase struggled to roll with me.

“What?”

“It’s going to be a Stella
Summer!”

“Ugh, not that again.” I laughed,
rolling my eyes.

Thankfully a black van with the hotel’s
monogram engraved in gold on its side pulled up right at that
moment.

***

“I call dibs on the shower first!”
Stella yelled the second we dropped our luggage on our
beds.

The view of the ocean distracted me
from her claim. I bypassed the beds, covered in crisp white linens
with a yellow and gold comforter draped across the foot of each
one, as I marched over to the sliding glass doors to gaze out at
the unbelievable sun-drenched scene. It was one thing to look at
pictures but completely different to see it with your own eyes and
realize the actual beauty. It was truly breathtaking.

“We should go drinking in old San Juan
tonight. Miguel said that’s where the locals go after work every
Friday. It’s the best place to mingle and the best place to find
the singles.” Stella shimmied as she rhymed the last
line.

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure about the
singles, but I don’t mind mingling with the locals,” I said. I
unzipped my luggage and started to rummage for a decent outfit to
wear tonight.

“Damn. You know half my clothes are too
heavy, too long or too something for this dang weather.” Stella
tossed a pile of rejects onto the bed, officially messing up the
room.

“On the bright side, we should sweat
off whatever pounds we consume in food.” I flashed her a sly
smile.

“Ugh. Although my bottom half couldn’t
get much bigger, I’d rather endure the weight gain. I can’t wear
any of the dresses I brought without suffering a damn heat rash. As
it is, my capris will do the same, but at least they’ll absorb most
of the moisture so that the rash doesn’t become yeasty and
irritated by the time we get home.”

“Wow, that wasn’t gross.” I scrunched
my face.

“Girl, please. It’s the fate of every
big beautiful woman.”

I looked down beyond my pudgy stomach
to my plump thighs. Unfortunately, Stella spoke the truth. It
wasn’t easy being a big girl in the middle of July. Hell, it wasn’t
easy being a plus-size woman, period. It seemed like most of the
men I encountered already had a stigmatism against full -figured
women, and half the women I encountered did too. Between the stigma
associated with being a full-figured woman, the dirty looks for no
apparent reason, the questioning glances when I order food, and the
downright rudeness I’m bombarded with just for walking in to
certain department stores, it was obvious that my wealth had no
impact on my placement in society’s food chain. Sadly, my placement
at the bottom was secured simply because I wore a forty double-D
bra and my pant size reached just outside the teens. This also
meant that I couldn’t shop at Victoria’s Secret or any other trendy
store that sold clothes so cute they could provoke envy in the most
level-headed person.

“Stop staring at yourself. It won’t
make the pounds melt away. Trust me, I’ve tried it.”

I chuckled. “A girl can dream. Now,
what are you going to wear tonight?”

“I think I’m gonna go with my white
capris, pink tank, and silver sandals.”

“You’re going to let your arms hang
out?” I teased in mock horror. Stella never showed her
arms.

“I stopped caring when my armpits
became a faucet in the torture chamber of heat outside.”

I laughed. “Sounds good. I’ll find
something while you shower.”

She nodded, carrying her clothes into
the opulent bathroom.

I fumbled around in my suitcase for a
while before I decided to accompany Stella and go outside my
comfort zone too. I pulled out a pair of dark jean shorts; they
were much shorter than I would generally wear in public. I was
hoping to disguise some of my, well… some of my
everything-in-the-middle that jiggled, so I paired the shorts with
a black cotton tank that landed just below my hips. I chose to
accessorize with moderate-size gold hoop earrings and a long
matching gold necklace with a dangling bird silhouette. I hoped to
elongate places that often appeared short and stuffy. At least I
was like Stella; we both had a definitively curvy shape with hips
that were large, feminine and gave the illusion of a smaller
waist.

“Oh, God, that was heaven on earth. I
never knew taking a cold shower could feel so damn good. It was
orgasmic after suffering in that sauna out there,” she exclaimed as
she pointed to the sliding glass doors.

“Are you going to be complaining about
the heat the entire time we’re here?”

“Probably.”

“Uh huh. Good to know. Now let me go
experience what you’re calling orgasmic.” I brushed past her,
clothes in hand.

Ten minutes later I knew exactly what
Stella had meant. The cold water trickled down my scorching, sticky
body, cooled every pore on my massive surface with delight. Usually
the cold caused my muscles to tighten, but today, they relaxed
beneath the frigid water that pounded into a soothing massage. I
stretched languidly as I stepped out of the shower. I rubbed a thin
layer of lotion all over my skin before dressing and throwing on a
pair of gold sandals.

“You need some color. Wear your teal
wrist watch.”

“It’ll slide around in the sweat on my
wrist.”

“Honey, you can wear it and you still
won’t suffer the same drench as me. Besides, your shirt couldn’t
cut any lower without your boobs hanging all the way out and those
shorts, they’re one-third the length of my capris.”

“Point made.” I grabbed the hard
plastic watch, its white face stood out brilliantly against the
bright color of the band. I had to give Stella props; it did look
great with the outfit and contrasted nicely with my bright red
manicure. I self-consciously tugged my shorts down and my shirt
up.

“You are not going to be doing that all
night, are you?”

“No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not used
to wearing so little.”

“We’re in a foreign country
amongst strangers we will never see again. We probably won’t even
see good ole
Handy Manny
from the airport either. Don’t worry about how you
look in the outfit. Now go blow dry your hair so it doesn’t become
a big, brown fro. That never looks good on a white
chick.”

“Yes, mother.” I stuck my tongue out as
I grabbed my blow dryer and round brush. Thank God the blower had a
cool setting or else I’d be walking around Puerto Rico with a
bird’s nest on my head.