Like Casa Bonita, Only Different

When I was in elementary school in Colorado, a field trip to Casa Bonita was nearly the erotic highlight in my vaguely conservative upbringing. I was an eleven year old, a lanky (ok, towering.) vessel of curiosity. On the long, overheated bus ride that took us to this culinary institution, couples suddenly grew like bad weeds, plans were made. By fifth grade, the year we went there with our class, most everyone had already been to this legendary Mexican restaurant with their families. We were elated, hooting and screeching, well aware of the abundance of possibilities to escape adult restraint in the Disneyland atmosphere that reigned at the sexually charged Casa Bonita.

No one goes to Casa Bonita for the food, as the cuisine is similar to a frozen Mexican TV dinner meant to be heated in the oven that you unfortunately choose to heat up in a microwave. It isn’t really awful but it’s not good either. They do make excellent sopapillas served with honey that you order at the end of your meal by raising a tiny Mexican flag on your table. Raising that flag always made me salivate, but I don’t intend to write about food. In this Mecca of Tex-Mex, there are huge waterfall, divers, Mariachi bands and Black Bart’s Cave. (!!!)

Colorado is an arid state but at Casa Bonita, there is an ocean-side, tropical humidity in the air. The turquoise colored waterfall, the sexy high divers, the dim lights, the music, it all seemed to be a perfect lieu for falling in love. At the time anyway. Or maybe I was just incredibly influenceable and I haven’t really changed much. I was kissed in that cave in such a passionate way, a kiss that resembled oral surgery. A tonsillectomy. It must have been one of the first times that I was felt up and I thoroughly enjoyed the darkness of the cave, the urgency of my young friend, the pervasive feeling of doing something that ought to be more carefully hidden yet was not.

Which brings me to what I wanted to write about.

Yesterday, continuing in a long string of experiences I never expected to include in my life, I was invited to an adult sauna. To my surprise, it was far less sleazy than I had imagined, but then again that is maybe only because of the summertime heat. We were alone except for the sauna employee. If my initiation to this truly erotic place had been witnessed by loads of other sweaty fornicators, I doubt that I would have had what it takes to stay. I am not an exhibitionist and not much of a voyeur either, as I have already said here before.

The lighting, the humidity and the sultry feeling in the air all made me remember my fifth grade field trip to Casa Bonita. Inhabited by unmentionable desires, I seized the day when I was eleven and I seized the day yesterday as well. I’ll leave the gory details to your imagination…I have skinned knees and my mind is still overflowing with erotic smut today.

(I have a 500 word limit with myself. Without it, I would ramble on forever.)


  1. Dawn D

    Ah, saunas! Reminds me of an experience last fall, very interesting. I do think I am a bit exhibitionist (I never would have thought before!), but still feel usually very uncomfortable in such environments. It was the first time I felt comfortable in my own skin more than half of the time I spent there. And this was a regular sauna.
    I had dreamt of visiting the local adult sauna here with my ex, but that is not something he was remotely interested in. I think he has an even worse body image than I have.
    I’m glad you enjoyed the experience enough that you have scraped knees to remind you of it 🙂

    • pivoine68

      I wore my bikini! Maybe I was the first and only covered body in that establishment. It did come off eventually. It’s funny having scraped knees. I’m not sure how that happened….


  2. Etoile Henri

    Vous avez donc testé la grotte sèche dans un environnement végétal (planche en bois), un peu rêche oui, pour vos genoux sensibles……., tentez le Hammam avec un carrelage portugais (les meilleurs poseurs viennent de là-bas, mais ça, en Amérique, ils ne le savent peut-être pas…….)

    • pivoine68

      I know….a scraped knee seems unlikely yet I still have one a week later! It all started in the jacuzzi. I was wearing my favorite bikini, black with a shiny snake texture. The first thing I noticed (after thinking of every possible germ in the tub) was how rough the surface of it was. Like sandstone. So I was starting to sulk about how my swimsuit was going to be sacrificed in this adventure…and then I don’t know what happened to my knees. I forgot about the germs and my fancy bikini. I forgot my name and almost everything that ails me. Life is good!

      Bises to you Mike with raised eyebrows,
      Dawn with skinned knees.

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