Sun, Sex, and Mommy: Taboo in Cancun

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events are imaginary and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of 18.

It was 7am, Friday, and I was paddleboarding with my mom Coco on the river by our house.

Paddleboarding was required summer recreation at least five days a week, and she never missed it.

We started by doing a half-hour of SUP (stand-up paddle) sprints on the longboards.

Coco’s “TikTok starlet” bikini didn’t keep her F-cup gazongas from jiggling on her little frame, which I liked to watch. She thought I wasn’t looking.

I told myself it was just hormones. Any nineteen-year-old would check out boobs like hers. But the truth was ugly and hot. I liked that they were hers. I liked that she was my dad’s wife and she didn’t care.

Each powerful paddle stroke made her F-cups strain against the micro lime triangles, and I swear to God the left one was inching downward every time she bounced.

When Coco caught a wave and came down hard, her top peeled back, exposing a disc of pink areola, the center where water beaded on her nipple.

She caught me staring and didn’t correct it—just turned with a smile and bit her bottom lip.

“Eyes on your own board, Chaddy,” she teased, flicking the water off her nib through the open hole.

I had to stop paddling and get my erection under control, or the waistband of my trunks would trap me to half the river.

Coco’s funbags were a gift from my dad on her thirty-ninth birthday. She told me he thought she was too ‘innocent church mouse’ with her natural B cups.

Dad was happy to buy her perfection.

Around that same time she also got lazy, as trophy wives do around forty. So she joined me for aerobic activity on the water. I inspire her, she says.

After four years of grueling paddleboarding, tennis lessons, two days of “hot yoga with weights,” and a variety of juicing diets, Coco morphed into nature’s hottest milf with ice blonde platinum hair and a baby face.

43F-22-35, 5’4”. Elfin with legs long for her squat height.

The fake boobs were too high on her chest, but who cared. She looked similar to Elsa Jean if you want to Google her. Only with an ass bubble-ier and rounder than her boobs.

We finished SUP sprints and arm/ab routines, then cooled down with yoga stretches on the private dock that had been built for us.

The dock was warm and toasty from the sun, and Coco smelled like citrusoil and sweat, with slippery skin under my hands on her hips. Every time she exhaled, I was treated to the smell of mint tictac on her breath and the salt of the river on her neck.

This was Coco’s idea. I went along to keep her motivated and to enjoy her various positions, which are very impressive for a woman her age.

Coco twisted into a standing split, which should’ve been impossible for a woman with bolt-ons. Her bikini bottoms rode so high up the sides, her cameltoe were hugging the inner seam, and the floss rode deep in her butt crack.

“Spot me, Chaddy?” she asked, arching so hard her back was curved into a U.

I hovered behind her, hands poised at her hips, and she swung her ass into my groin to “find her balance.”

My cock twitched on her tailbone before I could stop it.

“You’re getting powerful, baby,” she purred, rolling her hips at me one time. “Feel that stretch?”

I felt something all right. There was a log poking out of my shorts.

When we were finished, we cooled down with protein smoothies on the dock chairs. “So, how’s college?”

Coco was a sophomore at