I didn't move in those circles and didn't care to, but yachts and private planes were the only means of transportation to the resort area at Cabo San Lucas at the southernmost tip of Baja California where the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez. Nowadays there's a superhighway from San Diego and Tijuana up north and a big air strip in La Paz, so access to Cabo is easy.

I was living in Hollywood, working for a magazine which required me to meet and interview a lot of people in the restaurant and entertainment industry, so when a movie producer I knew invited me along for the ride in his snazzy twin-engine Cessna, I decided to join him and his party of four others for a jaunt to Mexico. It wasn't that I was a social lion, but he knew I spoke Spanish and figured a linguist might come in handy.

I did. I could "sing" my Spanish the way the Mexicans do and that impressed the border officials at Calexico where we had to land for clearance. We flew down to Guaymas and gorged on shrimp, then crossed the Sea of Cortez and landed at Cabo. These days there are a number of resort hotels down there, but then there was only a little motel and the luxurious Hotel Cabo San Lucas, always filled with movie stars and millionaires, at least the ones who weren't staying on their yachts in Chileno Bay.

I wound up at the motel with the servants and yacht and flight mechanics who came along to serve their rich masters. There was a lot of bird flushing at Cabo and some small game hunting, but mostly it was fisherman's heaven, and that's how I made my catch.

The producer hired a fully equipped boat and invited a gaggle of starlets and sundry wealthy types to join him for deep-sea fishing off the coast. Among the guests were a set of fraternal twins on the older side, very handsome, one inclined to be portly and the other one slim. I didn't pay much attention. Being rich and unmarried, they were immediately surrounded by the girls. They were not Americans, and had sailed up the coast from Panama in their luxurious yacht.

Each was sexy as hell in an individual way as they were not identical twins. The slimmer of the two had graying sandy hair and looked more Northern European than his twin. The other was distinctively and romantically a Latin type. Both were They were dressed in silk shirts, windbreakers, slacks and deck shoes and had the cosmopolitan air of people secure in their place in life.

I was not aware until we headed back into Chileno Bay that they had noticed me at all. The sandy-haired one walked up to the railing where I was leaning and looking at the beautiful sight of the hotel spread along low cliffs among tropical gardens.

"Nice little voyage, wasn't it?" he said at my side. "My brother likes the fishing. I just come along to keep him company. Did you see that huge marlin he snagged? We're going to have it mounted and hung somwehere on our yacht. My name, by the way, is Ramon. I heard you speaking Spanish. Where did you learn my language? You don't sound like an American. Argentina would be my guess, but you have lived elsewhere, too."

I turned to him and smiled. "Very good, Don Ramon!" I complimented him in the formal style, using the honorific "don" as a respectful address.

He waved his hand. "No, please, the use of don makes me feel old! I do not look so old, now, do I?" He gave me a melting, dimpled smile.

I flushed. "Not at all, Don...er...I mean...Ramon! Your guess about my past was quite accurate. I studied Spanish in school with teachers from Mexico and Peru, but I fell happily into an Argentine accent when I later lived in Buenos Aires. I like its vigor, so Italianate and strong. There's a lot of Italian influence in B.A."

He looked pleased. "You know it well. My brother and I are Argentines, you see, but we went to school in Spain, so our accents are a bit bastardized, like yours."

I laughed and mentioned that I had worked in Spain and had many friends in Madrid. "But I heard that you two had come from Panama!"

He seemed bemused. "Yes, after the fall of Peron in 1955, we were, you might say, persona non grata in Buenos Aires. Many of the Peronistas went to Panama. Peron himself, after he moved on from Paraguay, met his second wife in Panama."

I nodded my head. "I interviewed Peron in Madrid when he was in exile there. He was still a vigorous and charismatic man."

Ramon coughed. "Let us not talk politics, my friend. My brother and I prefer not to discuss such things. Politics has cost us dear!"

I turned my gaze toward a large yacht passing us on its way out to sea. I gripped the railing to steady myself from the pitch of our launch as it funneled into the bigger vessel's wake. I felt Ramon's soft palm come to rest on my right hand and give it a squeeze. I looked at him. His eyes were clear and green and looked back directly into mine.

"I invite you to join my brother and me for a drink when we get to port. De acuerdo?"

"Yes, de acuerdo...OK."

Once at the dock, I went down the gangplank followed by Ramon. He took me off to the side while the crowd split up and went separate ways, the producer headed for a party with my fellow-travelers from the plane and a few big-busted babes and their guys from other groups.

Ramon's brother joined us as we left the dock. He gave me a clearly appraising gaze. "I hear you are a journalist," he said. "No politics, please."

Ramon put his hand to his mouth to cover an embarrassed cough. "We have already discussed that, Daniel. He has lived in Argentina. He understands."

I put forth my hand. "Daniel, the pleasure is mine."

His grip was masculine, "Ah, but no, young man, the pleasure is mine."

There was no mistaking the warmth in his grip, or in his smile. He lingered over the handshake, savoring it. So did I. He was a very hot man.

"A new friend calls for champagne," said Daniel. "We have some on board."

I followed to the yacht basin close at hand. A stairway on the side of their yacht led up to a gleaming deck aglow with highly polished brass fittings seemingly everywhere. As if by magic, the yacht pulled away from shore and a few minutes later, a couple of cute young sailors, obviously the crew, dropped anchor and then skittered out of sight when Daniel ordered up several buckets of iced champagne.

We climbed to the top deck, which was open to the breeze on all sides, but roofed for shade, and sat on thickly upholstered deck chairs.

The sailors came back with jereboams of Dom Perignon buried in ice buckets and a container of ice with chilled glasses and then disappeared below. We drank and talked till sunset, with me spinning my tales of adventures in Africa and other points around the world, and them returning the favor. I noticed their stories were generally of a different social order than mine - expensive safaris and visits with kings.

Daniel, who seemed to be in charge, had the two sailors bring another load of chilled champagne and sent them ashore in a small speedboat attach they lowered aft.

He laughed as they sped toward shore. "A little carousing and Mexican beer is good for their souls," he said. "They will find a cantina and dance with the girls and probably go to a whorehouse and fuck. They berth together when we're at sea. They probably get tired of fucking each other. They are Panamanian boys and quite open-minded about which sex they use. We call the tall one Gran Verga (big dick) and the short one Panochita (little pussy). Verga is hung like a mule, and perhaps you noticed Panocha's tasty buns!"

We were drunk enough on champagne to fall apart laughing at the thought of the sailors on a sexual spree. Ramon and I had stripped to our underwear. Danieo still wore a red silk shirt, plus nhis briefs. We all were hard.

I looked at Ramon. "Another big one, I see, long and thin like you,"

Daniel giggled and pulled down his shorts. "How about this one?" he asked.

I mused on it for a moment. "Perhaps you have Italian blood? Is that a salami?"

We nearly fell off our chairs over that one and commenced to leap about on the deck and hug each other until Ramon dragged out a wind-up Victrola and put on a scratchy old 78-rpm record of Libertad Lamarque singing a ravishing tango.

Whisked away by Ramon cheek-to-cheek in long tango steps, I felt myself pressed against his hot flesh so tightly I thought I would cum in the middle of the dance. Daniel played the record again and snatched me from his twin and whirled me around the deck singing the words of the song: "Adios, muchachos...So-long, boys, the pals of my life..." and then he stopped suddenly and gathered me up in his burly arms and forced my lips open in a French kiss as wet as the sea lapping at the waterline.

Over Daniel's shoulder, I watched his twin switching off the deck lights, plunging us into relative darkness, and then I felt Ramon behind me joining our embrace with his dick pressing into the crack in my butt. Daniel released me and backed away, struggling out of his shorts till his hard salami flopped in the hot tropical night.

Ramon was on his knees, having pulled my shorts down with him, licking my asshole with a dribbling wet tongue. It felt good. No, it was heaven! I reached behind me and pulled him closer, arching forward and spreading my cheeks. Sweat dripped from us, making puddles on the deck. The after-dark temperature must have been 90 degrees.

Suddenly, Daniel staggered over and poured a bottle of champagne over me. It was cool and fresh. He poured another over himself. I leaned against him and lapped the dribbling liquid from his huge, hairy chest. His nipples were hard. As I chewed them in turn, he poured more champagne until the deck was awash.

Daniel pulled up a deck chair and sat down in front of me. As if on cue, Ramon grabbed my shoulders and pushed me to the floor till I was on my knees. Daniel pulled my head forward and mashed it down on his salami dick. A burst of cool liquid over my ass came with words from Ramon: "Our favorite game, Champagne Cock Tail - your mouth on my brother's cock and my cock up your tail, with plenty of champagne!"

I lifted my head away from Daniel's salami. "How did you know I would go for it, Ramon?" I asked.

"The way you looked at me when I covered your hand on the railing this afternoon," Ramon responded. "You wanted to have me then, right?"

"Right," I admitted with a drunken smile.

"And the way you held my brother's hand when he met you on the dock, right?"

"Yes," I admitted again.

"My twin and I think exactly alike. We see the same things. We both liked you. He loved your lips, I wanted your ass. We are all meant for each other, right?"

"Right," I said and again sank my eager mouth on Daniel's cock.

"Oh!" he cried. "Watch the teeth! That is a problem because it is so thick."

I reared back, "You'll give me lockjaw!" I protested. "More champagne!"

He poured a steady stream into me till I coughed and went back to worth. It was smoother that time. The champagne had dulled the nerves in my jaw. Daniel's dick floated in a cavern filled with champagne. He was in ecstasy.

Behind me, Ramon had inserted and was now bent over me with a knee on the floor to one side and the other leg raised on tiptoe on the other. He clasped my hips for leverage and pushed and pulled me back and forth at his own speed. Thus gripped like a vise, I was powerless on both ends - Daniel pumping my head up and down, Ramon piledriving me from the rear.

Enough champagne besotted my brain to dull any possible pain. The brothers appeared to be timing themselves to attain mutual orgasms. One slowed, the other sped up, they both went faster and slowed again, then went into the short strokes on both ends of my body, their dicks so hot they seemed to sear my innards fore and aft. When the moment came upon them, they both lurched into me deeper and sprayed their semen so violently I felt as if the spurts shot past one another inside me and poured out at opposite ends.

When they pulled away from me at the very same time, I dribbled cum from the asshole and the mouth. Both brothers fell beside me on the deck to caress my body everywhere, kissing and licking and sucking and pouring champagne over me all the while. It was a unique and delectable experience I had never enjoyed before.

I became the filling in the twins' sandwich when Daniel lowered himself over me in the 69 position and blew me with mouthfuls of Dom Perignon. That beautiful salami of his swung in my face. I gloried in his huge, dangling balls and took his fat prick into my mouth and lapped at it like a happy puppy.

Ramon insinuated himself between my legs and lifted them so he could lick my asshole and half-swallow my balls.

When I came, it was with a mighty thrust upward, way beyond my control, all the excitement of the previous hour gathering for an explosion of cum into not only the mouth of my sucker Daniel, but also in the fall-out for which Ramon waited hungrily down below. Within seconds, Daniel was pumping cum down my throat.

Their murmurs of joy were as sweet as sighs of love, and in that moment, as, I hope, in moments of sexual climax for all men like me, we three loved each other beyond all the limits of space and time. We were one man in pleasure, and I remember after a quiet had settled over us, Daniel whispered: "My twin and I worship each other like gods, but we must have someone between us for its physical expression. In you, I made love to my brother, and he made love to me, but the sin of incest has not passed between us. Does that sound like madness to you?"

I gave it serious thought, much sobered by the impact of my orgasm. "No," I replied after awhile, "it is very sane. You did not lust after each other. You both lusted after me. The only thing that happened between you was, as you say, love, but the sex was with me."

Satisfied with that, we fell asleep in each other's arms and didn't wake up till the bleary-eyed sailors came aboard in the morning from the dinghy. I looked up to see the one they called Gran Verga standing above me with a mop in his hands. His hard dick poked out from under the ragged edge of his shorts. He winked and grinned at me, then turned away.

I had the feeling as the yacht pulled back alongside the dock that if I were going to be around, his next night onshore would be spent with me, but I was leaving with the producer's group that afternoon. While the twins stood on the dock waving good-bye, Big Dick stood at the railing stroking the tightly capped head and looking longingly into my eyes. If I could have, I would have taken him on.

Damn, I was such a whore!

THE END