One of the men walked over to us. “Cállete!” he yelled, sticking the barrel of the rifle in our faces and then moving it and the stock to beckon us to start walking. He took us over to where Cecil was standing with the Federale’s gun pointed at him and bound the three of us together. The two women were further away tied to a tree, which made me really angry to see. I needed to figure out a way to get us out of this mess.

I nodded my acceptance of his order. "Just bring back my wife and stay safe doing it," I pleaded as they turned and left to make their way to the bottom of the earth's rocky opening.

I waited only about fifteen minutes when I heard stomping feet and bodies charging through the underbrush behind me voices that sounded like cursing. The Federales had arrived.

Late one summer in Colorado, after planning a vacation to go to the Yucatan that winter, my hubby, Mac, surprised both me and our daughter, Isabelle, with dive lessons for an early Christmas present.

When we approached the trailer, almost like a switch had been turned on, I had a sudden and overwhelming need for sex. It was urgent and primal, nap forgotten. After we got inside I was totally focused on that need, and began undressing Marty.

Just past twilight, dark enough to notice the spotlights ahead to our left, Mac and I walked toward the restaurant, hand in hand, playfully bumping hips, looking forward to dancing at the karaoke-dance event. We slowed our steps, wondering about the lights, the commotion, and the hum of voices we could hear at Mel and Dora’s palapa down the street across from our destination. Something major was going on to warrant the intense illumination and draw in so many people.