Caravan Chaos
"A Haven holiday turns heated when the fit cleaner offers extra housekeeping services"
Haven parks were the backbone of British holidays. Caravans, arcades, and entertainment that peaked with a bloke in a tiger costume doing the Macarena.
I was there alone—don't ask—nursing a breakup and a lot of cheap lager.
Day three, I was in no state for the 10 AM cleaning visit. The knock on the caravan door came while I was still in boxers.
"Cleaning service!"
The girl who entered stopped dead.
"Oh. You're still here."
"I'm still here."
She was curvy, caramel skin, natural curls escaping from under a Haven baseball cap. Her uniform was unflattering, but she made it work.
"Sorry," I said. "I can leave."
"Nah, it's fine." She looked around at the empty bottles. "Big night?"
"Big week."
"That bad?" She started gathering rubbish. "Want to talk about it? I'm basically a therapist at this point. People tell me everything while I clean their toilets."
"Glamorous."
"Incredibly." She grinned. "I'm Maya."
"Jake."
"Jake. Simple. I like simple." She kept cleaning. "So. What happened?"
An hour later, Maya knew my whole pathetic story. The breakup, the spontaneous holiday booking, the attempt to "find myself" that had mostly involved Stella Artois.
"That's rough," she said, sitting on the caravan sofa. "But also... her loss, honestly."
"You don't know her."
"I know you're fit and you've been nothing but nice to me for an hour." She shrugged. "I've cleaned a lot of caravans. Most people don't even look at me."
"Their loss."
"See? Exactly." She checked her phone. "I'm supposed to be done. Got other caravans."
"Oh. Right. Sorry for keeping you."
"Don't be." She bit her lip. "Actually... my supervisor's in the office dealing with a complaint. Won't notice if I'm late."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning—" She moved closer. "I could keep you company. If you want."
"I want."
"Good." She kissed me.
The caravan bed was surprisingly comfortable. Or maybe Maya just made everything feel better.
She straddled me, still in her uniform but with significantly less underneath.
"Been wanting to do this for ages," she admitted. "See fit guys on holiday all the time. Never do anything about it."
"What changed?"
"You're the first one who actually talked to me." She kissed me again. "Plus, you look like you need cheering up."
"Very charitable."
"I'm basically a saint." She sank down onto me, both of us moaning. "Now shut up and let me help."
She rode me while seagulls screamed outside and kids ran past to the arcade. The caravan rocked on its blocks.
"Harder—come on—"
I grabbed her hips, thrust up. She came with a muffled cry.
"Again—make me cum again—"
She came twice more before I finished. We lay tangled on the tiny bed, catching our breath.
"Well," Maya said. "You definitely look cheerier."
"Best cleaning service ever."
"Full marks on Tripadvisor, please." She kissed me. "I work all week. Same caravan?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Good." She started getting dressed. "I'll bring extra towels tomorrow. We might need them."
She left with my rubbish and my phone number.
I booked an extra week immediately.
Best holiday of my life.