Chapters from Diederik van Nederveen's unpublished book: "Trophy Husband - My Time Observing the 1% Feeding On The 99%". Chapters Sandie probably thought that had long since vanished from the internet.
Sorry, Sandie, not so.
Cancun, Mexico, Valentine’s Day 1995
Cheryl Crow’s All I Wanna Do blasted from the speakers, overpowering the waves crashing on the nearby beach. I’m not a gifted dancer despite a fairly successful stint in a ballroom dancing class. Seeing me on that Club Med dance floor would have killed any woman’s desire even to ask for my name, so I kept my distance. Through the fog-machine haze that engulfed the gyrating bodies scattered here and there, two women caught my attention. Their heads radiated a chemically induced hue, and a black-light-enhanced mixture of erratic laser beams bounced from their bottle-blonde manes. Both darkly tanned women were dressed in tiny sundresses that enhanced their curves as they twisted and writhed, as if consciously aware of being observed by everyone. They stood out, not only because of their appearance, but because there simply weren’t many single attractive women in their prime at this place — confident, made up, and ready to seduce anyone to their liking.
My friend David shouted over the music, “Hey, D, do you see that woman over there? I think that’s Sandie T….” I couldn’t hear the rest, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have known who she was. I didn’t really care since none of the 4Skin distributors had really connected with me yet. I do remember, however, meeting the blonde woman who had given a presentation earlier in the day.
At first I knew her only as a woman connected with 4Skin who, while taking care of business, liked to have some fun dancing. And that, too, she did like a pro. I had no reason to seek her out and speak to her, but David seemed to think otherwise and gestured for me to follow him as he approached the dance floor. The ladies smiled and kindly shook David’s hand. David introduced me to Sandie first, the shorter of the two. All I could hear was, “Hi … I’m Sandie … (garble) … son.” I couldn’t hear much else. With all the action going on around us, it was hard to have a conversation, so I politely shook their hands and turned around. David stayed behind to dance with them and seemed to be having a great time.
With David's hard work, determination and diligence, he had beat out over 200,000 distributors in North America to win the Grand Prize of the "Success, Sun and Salsa" incentive contest held by Utah-based 4Skin Enterprises. The Grand Prize consisted of an all expense paid trip for two to Club Med Cancun, Mexico for eight days with the corporate officers. I just thought David was being kind and had no idea how accepting his offer of a fun filled trip in the tropical sun would end up changing my life forever. Now as we stood there watching these gyrating, sweat-soaked, hot-blooded women, it shouldn’t be surprising that the thought of steamy sex entered my mind, only to be quickly suppressed. I reminded myself that I had gotten on that airplane to give 4Skin a serious try and not to allow my time in Mexico to be distracted by a cheap one-night stand. If this 4Skin deal was even half of what it promised to be, life was going to be good!
I pulled myself together and headed to the bar seeking a diversionary refuge. The only people there were Scott S., the Vice President of 4Skin Distributor Support at the time, and his wife, who was sipping an orange juice. I smiled, remembering my conversation with them earlier that day when I joined them for a chat on the beach. Scott couldn’t have been more out of place. A respectable Mormon who had flown all the way from the land-locked Utah desert, he sat shell shocked on a blazing white beach gaping at dozens of stunning young women whose bare breasts were everywhere on view. His eyes strained to sharpen their focus as his Mormon-censored mind struggled to take in a whole new range of images that rattled his modesty to its very core.
It may have been because of my European upbringing, or the behind-the-scenes co-ed changing arrangements, standard practice at fashion shows, that rendered immune to the scene. As a Dutch National I was used to the sight of a beach filled with beautiful girls who loved to play their innocent game, flaunting their female attributes to draw a reaction from eager-eyed men, sucking up visuals of topless beach babes. Besides, during this trip I woved to not frolic with or nibble on the opposite sex, as much as that resolution was noble, it was naive.
No man is totally immune from the female art of seduction. I simply had not met a woman interesting enough to become involved. As I laid back in the sand contemplating all the amazing possibilities of the 4Skin opportunity that, if the stories were all true, were in easy reach of anyone daring to dream big, I could practically hear Scott’s pale, precancerous skin singe in the hot sun. Unaware of any potential medical trauma, he blandly talked to me about how he’d made it big in 4Skin and about how deeply committed he was to the Mormon faith, whose message he eagerly shared with me, assuming that anyone who gave him a chance was interested.
“Ah, you’re from Holland. Well, we have many missionaries in Europe too, you know.” Sure, I had seen these chaps riding their bikes wearing their white shirts, neckties, and little black nametags staring at every Dutch girl that came their way. How could they have known that bras were optional in Holland?
At the bar, hours after that brief conversation with him earlier that day, I knew all I needed to know. Scott was a deeply religious man, and it must have been an enormous effort for him to resist the inner voice of desire.
As we met again, we continued the small talk — as much as two guys from such vastly differing backgrounds could muster up. The conversation would have been completely uneventful if he had not asked the tentative question, “Umm, so, Diederik, how is it that all those naked breasts on the beach don’t seem to affect you? Those ladies were sure looking at you!”
I laughed out loud. It was telling that the whole time he was lecturing me on the discipline and commitment required to carry out an expected two-year mission for his Church, what he’d really been thinking about was the plethora of iconized symbols of femininity on that Mexico beach. The breasts obviously made a big impression on him.
I looked at him and said, “They don’t do anything for me other than make me thirsty.” I took another sip of my orange juice and grinned, cocking my eyebrow up. I wish I had been wearing a standard issue Mormon CTR ring (Choose The Right) that I could flash at him to remind him of his covenants. Scott didn’t know how to respond, so I decided to dispense a little more wisdom, risking permanently jeopardizing my chance at friendship with this friendly but ultra-uptight and artless corporate executive.
“Scott, what are you, about six-foot-two? Well, I’m sure you got that way because your mommy didn’t hesitate to press her overflowing breasts into your mug right after you popped out.”
His wife, who had been listening but had kept quiet, burst out laughing, and Scott, with beet-red cheeks and struggling to recompose himself, suddenly hopped down from his bar stool to intercept a blonde woman approaching.
I turned to see who it was that made Scott snap to attention, as if he’d been curtly addressed by a Field Marshall. My eyes connected with a woman who turned out to be the same short blonde I had met on the dance floor. Now we could actually see each other unobstructed by smoke and disco glare. It was the next few moments that ignited all the forbidden pheromones in my body, a process that would prove too powerful to be squelched no matter how hard I fought.
Now we had a clear view of each other, but we had not connected on a deeper level, though I had the uncanny feeling that we had encountered one another somewhere before, as if in a former life. It wasn’t the first time I felt this way when meeting someone who would turn out to have a dramatic impact on my life. One such individual was a man named Chris who was like a second father to me. Without knowing me well, he once entrusted me with his multi-million-dollar yacht to sail from Singapore to Athens. When I asked him if he was sure he wanted to give a twenty-one-year-old Dutch kid command of his yacht, he said, “I’ve seen enough of you to know that you will never disappoint me. Go get the job done.” What would meeting Sandie lead to, if it was destined to be another adventure?
Scott courteously made the introduction. “Diederik, this is Sandie T.” Ah, yes, that was her name. This time I heard it all. He said her name as if I was supposed to know who she was. I could tell from her firm handshake and her unwavering gaze that she was confident and used to being in control. I guessed she was probably in her late thirties, definitely older than I was at twenty-nine. I liked that. Older women had their lives together. They knew how to forge meaningful relationships. They didn’t just rush into things.
It wasn’t so much her overall cuteness that caught my interest, but rather the intelligent twinkle in her eyes. Her low-cut sundress certainly did what it was designed to do, and indeed it took some effort for me to take my eyes off of her, but there was something more to this alluring woman. Whatever it was, Scott left us barely enough time to exchange niceties as he ushered her away, perhaps sensing impending disaster.
They left the bar, and I decided to wander off on my own, check out the facility, and catch up with my friend David. After ten minutes or so I still hadn’t found him, so I returned to the lobby, where I spotted Sandie, who had apparently escaped Scott’s care. Sitting all alone on a bench as if she had been waiting for me to catch up with her, she started with a flirtatious, “So Diederik, what are you up to tonight?”
I sat down next to her and smiled as she brushed her cascading blonde hair off a perfectly tanned shoulder, as if to give me a better look at the deep exposed cleavage I was trying to ignore. It was then that I sensed I was being lured in. I had seen it before. Whenever women act as if they are just shaking their hair, adjusting their blouse, or picking up a handbag they have carefully positioned so as to have to bend down to retrieve it, they know full well how such tactical maneuvers expose their body to the lucky man they’ve decided should be allowed to share their bed that night. If he is up for it. This was Sandie’s clever way of allowing me to think I was about to conquer her, when in fact she had set the trap.
Guided by my sense of having met an old friend, I said, “I’m not sure. I haven’t planned anything. I’m just waiting for my friend David. What about you?”
I had watched her speak that morning about the latest 4Skin products, so I assumed she was a product developer and asked her if she knew whether 4Skin was opening any markets in Europe. She said she didn’t know anything about the foreign markets and instead asked me about what I had been doing the past few months. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about 4Skin, and she put on her “Well, are you going to tell me?” face. I figured I might as well tell her about my latest part-time occupation, acting in films and helping my friend with her sports massage business for runway models, female body builders, and endurance athletes. I was working as a model, actor and had been an athlete all my life, and my friend called me whenever one of her clients had an injury and needed deep-tissue treatment that involved stretching or weight-training exercises. I realized I’d gotten myself into trouble when Sandie gave me a mischievous look and playfully responded, “Ahem … maybe you should come up to my room and give me a massage to rub out all the knots from dancing.”
My mind nearly exploded! This woman was forward!
None of my professional clients had ever given me that kind of look — suggesting I join them in their bedrooms — and I stammered, “Won’t that draw a little suspicion from the corporate figures?”
“Oh, no one will ever know. I highly doubt my job at 4Skin will be at risk by having a little innocent fun,” she quickly assured me.
I looked at her as she stood up with a “Let’s get to it” pose, and before I had a chance to protest, she headed straight for the elevator, assuming I would follow, which I did. While we rode up in the elevator, I noticed her checking me out from top to bottom without the slightest reservation. Her room was a few doors down and across the hall from the room I shared with David, and I thought I’d have to remind myself to be very quiet after the massage so I wouldn’t wake him up.
To my surprise, upon entering Sandie’s room I saw another woman sitting on one of the beds. She immediately stood up wearing only her bra and panties and stretched out her hand as if it was no big deal. At that point, I recognized her as the other woman from the dance floor. Things started to come together.
“Diederik, this is my friend Becky. She does my hair and goes on trips with me. I hope you don’t mind. She’ll be sleeping soon. Don’t worry.”
I wasn’t worried, but rather relieved. I was still holding firm to my stance of total abstinence from sex with strangers. I didn’t expect to end up in Sandie’s arms, and I knew as little about Sandie as I knew about Becky — other than that both women had no trouble running around in various states of undress in front of me, a total stranger. I sat down in a chair and answered some of their questions, and once our initial hesitations faded and we all felt comfortable with the situation, Becky began playing around a bit. She bent over to show me her sunburned bottom and joked, “It got a bit too much attention from the sun today.”
“I am sure it wasn’t just the sun,” I said as I picked up on a hint of competitive female posturing. She confirmed my suspicion when she quipped to Sandie, “Maybe I should have invited that stud from earlier … now you’re having all the fun here!”
Now my mind went to full alert. All the fun?
Becky quickly excused herself, then crawled under her sheets a few feet away and turned toward the wall as if to say, “Don’t mind me. Have at it.”
As if our rendezvous had been planned in advance, Sandie lit a few candles, turned down the lights, pushed “play” on a stereo unit, and then moving with the rhythm of the soft tunes that filled the room, she stripped down to nothing. She wiggled to the bed, bent forward, and proceeded to lie on her back, facing me, offering up every square inch of her body for the taking.
“I’m ready for that massage you promised,” she said unabashedly.
My head screamed, This is unbelievable! Didn’t I vow not to do this?
As I stood at the end of her bed, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Becky had turned to face us but kept her eyes closed and was still playing her innocent “I’m sleeping; don’t worry about me” game.
I looked down at Sandie’s naked, tanned body, as she offered me a shameless and enticing view of her shaved female parts. Then my eyes were drawn upward to her two large breasts. Sandie’s inviting smile and stretched-out arms removed any doubt that I was about to hurt my chances of success at selling 4Skin products after word hit the executive office that I had taken advantage of one of their marketing employees. Oblivious to my internal torment, Sandie’s mind was not filled with overpriced shampoos, vitamin capsules, or skincare goods, but was anticipating much more fun than any of the 4Skin products could ever offer… and so I made my decision. I was sold.
With no expectations of a long-term relationship encumbered by the refinements of love, I was determined to give her my best and asked her to turn over. I started to rub her back and shoulders, working my way down to her feet. After about thirty minutes, she turned onto her back and said, “How about this side? I think my legs and calves are all better now.”
I complied with her request, and at the first slight touch Sandie was squirming and bucking like a confined thoroughbred about to be released onto an open range. She couldn’t wait to be catapulted to higher plains of excitement, and it didn’t take long for our consummation to take place in plain sight of Becky, who was no longer pretending to be asleep. It was actually a turn-on to know that she was well aware of what was going on while quietly listening to the deep moans that roared from her friend’s gasping throat. Like any forbidden pleasure, my excitement was only intensified by the fear of being caught and reprimanded — which only added to the pleasure of a straightforward erotic sex session with a very willing virtual stranger who wanted nothing more than to receive what I had to offer.
Exhausted and soaking with sweat, I stared at Sandie when she whispered, “That was something else. That’s exactly what I needed.”
(con't in Part 2)