Hot and Humid

by Shermaine Williams

  “Good.”

  “What about you?” I asked after a brief pause. “Oh, but I suppose you must see it all the time.”

  “Yeah, but mi nah tired of it.”

  Eager to get back to the mini-bus, everyone else in the group had gone ahead of us once they knew where they were going. Wildman and I followed behind, him towering over me as we walked side by side. I kept attempting to take surreptitious glances at him to see the sweat glistening on his bicep, but he was so close to me it proved difficult. Just him being so close to me was enough to make my heart pound against my ribcage.

  “Yuh in a rush fe get home?” he asked as the big white vehicle came into view.

  I wondered why he was asking and briefly considered saying something cheeky like, ‘Are you going to make me an offer I can’t refuse?’, but I decided against it on the basis that it was just too corny. “Um, no, not really.”

  “Okay, I gwine pass by da hotel firs’.”

  The journey to the hotel was much like the one to the mountain. Wildman was rather taciturn and I didn’t want to seem presumptuous so only spoke when I was spoken to. It gave me an opportunity to get lost in my thoughts again, making my vulva contract by imagining him stroking it as we kissed.

  As he pulled up outside the massive building, he assured me that he wouldn’t be long. He got out of the mini-bus to help the other passengers disembark, many of them shaking his hand before trudging wearily into the comfort of the plush decadence that awaited them. With my head out of the window, I bid my fellow day-trippers a warm farewell while I watched our host out of the corner of my eye. He patiently stood talking to one of the tourists who wanted to chat, listening to the inane nonsense with good grace and responding when needed. Finally, the man ran out of words and followed the others inside, waved off by Wildman.

  “Yuh ready?” He smiled, getting back into the vehicle.

  He was still so cheerful. If I’d had to deal with a load of loquacious, complaining tourists all day, I’d be ready to kill somebody by the end of it. But to him it seemed like water off a duck’s back.

  “Yep.”

  Taking the tourists out of the equation served to loosen his tongue, and he was more talkative on the way back to Birch Grove. I felt more comfortable to ask him questions when he asked them of me. I discovered that, apart from running excursions for the hotel, he also did odd jobs for people, had travelled to most of the islands in the West Indies, lived quite close to my aunt and had a desire to visit Brazil.

  My first thought was that the desire probably had something to do with the Brazilian ladies and their round posteriors, but thought he had that in Grenada already.

  “Brazil? What appeals to you about Brazil?”

  “Da wile life an’ rain forest an’ t’ing.”

  “Oh, okay.” I had to stop being so cynical.

  “So Fontaine is yuh family people?”

  “Yep, that’s me, Jeanette Fontaine.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “What about you? I don’t even know your real name.”

  I clearly detected a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he turned to me and smiled. ”I prefer Wileman.”

  The attempt at mystery just made me even more curious, but I didn’t need to push him because I would only go home and ask my aunt. She knew everyone’s business. She would know his real name and would be quite happy to tell me. It would be her cue for a good gossip, I would probably find out a lot more about him besides.

  “Yuh seem like yuh like to explore.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yuh was de only one nah complainin’ ‘bout da heat, and yuh seem fit, walking fast, ahead of everybody.”

  Fit? I knew he meant fit as in healthy rather than good looking, but I still felt as if the temperature had suddenly shot up.

  “Well it was obvious it would be hot, so I can’t complain. Anyway, I want to create some nice memories for when I’m back in the cold, sitting in the office all day.”

  “Yuh tryin’ new t’ings.”

  “Exactly.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the reggae tunes flowing from the speakers, occasionally punctuated by the voices of people on the street drifting through the open windows as we passed by.

  “Yuh ever been fishin’?”

  “Fishing? No, it sounds boring,” I blurted out without thinking, immediately wishing I could take it back.

  Far from being offended, he chuckled at my opinion. “I gwine make it interestin’. Yuh wan’ come fishin’ wid me tomorrow?”

  After a few minutes of unnecessary persuasion, I agreed. His deep, rich voice was as delectable as a piece of good quality chocolate. If he would have asked me to rob a bank with him I probably would have said yes. Apparently, there was a river not far from where I was staying and, as I had no plans, we organised a fishing trip for the next day.

  The brave man even agreed to pick me up at my aunt’s, despite it being likely that she’d be home. Impressive.

  Hungry Hill was at the top of a narrow road. In fact, it was narrow to the point where it was quite a hazard for vehicles to travel up and down it as they were always in danger of straying into the ditch at either side. To this end, I told him I’d be happy to walk the short distance up the hill if he dropped me off at the foot of it. But Wildman didn’t even give my suggestion any consideration. He skilfully guided the wide vehicle up the narrow opening to drop me right in front of my aunt’s house.

  “Thank you very much. For the day and the lift home.” I turned to him to smile warmly. I’m nothing if not polite and wanted him to know how much I appreciated everything he had done, the fact that he had looked after me and shown me a good time.

  “Dat’s a’right Miss Jeanette. I gwine check yuh tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll look forward to it,” I confirmed, before attempting to get out in a ladylike manner.

  I stood and watched him leave, feeling a strange mixture of sorrow and apprehension, sad that the trip was over and I wouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow, but concerned that it would be a whole new opportunity for me to look like the prissy City dweller that many Grenadians imagine Londoners to be.

  I envisaged him turning up with his dreads stuffed into a weird little hat, swinging a stinking tackle box with a fishing rod balancing on his shoulder. Sitting in front of a river for hours waiting for fish to bite wasn’t my idea of fun, but he was good company so it might be all right. With any luck, he might get his shirt off and I’d get to see whether his chest was as sculpted as his arms.

  “Y’ave a good time?”

  “Yes thanks, it was really good.” I joined my aunt on the sofa where she was watching an American soap opera, one of her favourite pastimes.

  “Good…good.”

  She was engrossed, so I sat silently for a few minutes before getting up to go and take a shower. My movement triggered more questions as it took her attention away from her beloved soap.

  “Dat big hardback somet’ing look after you?”

  “Wildman? Yeah,” I replied, carrying on to the bedroom. “He’s taking me fishing tomorrow.”

  “Wha’? Wha’ he takin’ you fishin’ for?”

  It was difficult to tell whether the question was rhetorical or not, but I hoped it was. So I pretended not to hear. If she really wanted to miss her soap to discuss my plans she would ask again, but I preferred that she didn’t. At twenty-nine, I was way past explaining my choices or asking permission to go out.

  After quickly undressing, I made it to the shower without attracting any more queries and, thankfully, didn’t hear anything more about it for the rest of the evening.

  I spent a long time in the shower, imagining my hands were his as they wandered over my skin, causing a tingling sensation to shoot through my body when they lingered at my nipples, caressing and pinching them as I thought about how he would do it. My imagination was so vivid that it only took a few minutes of stroking my clit to make myself come, one hand braced agai
nst the tiles as I slid my finger deep into my warm cleft, trying to remain as quiet as possible as the water cascaded over my body.

  I knew that asking my aunt his real name would result in another barrage of questions and I was just too tired, so I went to bed knowing nothing more about him. But I was well aware that my aunt was one of the most tenacious women ever created. I was sure she would continue her line of questioning in the morning and I’d get the opportunity to pick her brain then.

  As usual, Aunt Yvonne was already up when I woke, standing in front of the hob stirring a pan of bush tea.

  “Morning.”

  “Mornin’, Jeanette, you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I makin’ your breakfas’. You need to fill you belly before you go out…”

  Wait for it.

  “…where you goin’ again?”

  Ta da!

  “It’s some river, not far from here, I think its Balthazar.”

  “Jus’ you an’ dat big hefty man goin’?”

  I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Yes, just me and the big hefty man. Don’t you like him?”

  “I don’ trus’ him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I jus’ don’t,” she replied decisively, managing to be as cryptic as she was adamant.

  It was pointless to try to pin her down to a reason, she probably didn’t want to admit that she had formed an opinion of him on the back of a rumour, which was usually the case.

  “Do you know his real name?”

  “Hmm, Jackson…Jonathon, something so. ‘E nah tell you?”

  “He says he prefers Wildman.”

  “Well call ‘im dat. ‘E mus’ wan’ keep it secret so none of ‘is women come after ’im.”

  This comment caused another laugh from me. She was probably picturing me going off fishing and being ravished by the big hefty Wildman. It made me determined to bring home some fish so as not to make her suspicious, and I knew that nothing would happen anyway. He was just doing his friend at the hotel a favour, making sure I had a good holiday. He had no idea what kind of debauched thoughts I was having.

  Despite her mistrust, she didn’t try to persuade me not to go or tell me I couldn’t go, but I caught her looking at me strangely a few times, then denying all knowledge when I asked her what was wrong. Made uncomfortable by the attention and disappointed that she was unsure of his name, I left her to it as soon as I finished breakfast, retreating to the bedroom.

  Though he said he would pick me up in the morning, I was well aware that time didn’t mean much on this island and, for all I knew, he could turn up at four o’clock. With that in mind, I threw on a vest top and a pair of little shorts, tied my relaxed hair back in a loose bun, grabbed a book and sat out on the veranda.

  I’m not entirely sure why everyone seems obsessed with keeping me in the shade, maybe they think I’m so unused to the sun I might get heatstroke and faint away. But I like the sun, I miss the sun, it doesn’t often visit me in London, so I was determined to catch as many rays as possible. I managed to read a few pages before the beautiful, warm sun began demanding my attention and I sat in the plastic chair, angling my face to the fireball’s rays, hopeful of deepening the colour on my face as well as the rest of my body.

  I have no idea how long I was sitting there, but it seemed like only a few minutes before his deep voice called out my name.

  “Miss Jeanette.”

  My eyes instantly opened, but I still had to blink a few times before I could focus enough to see Wildman standing at the bottom of the veranda steps, his red string vest making him look even broader than he did yesterday and enabling me to catch a glimpse of his developed torso.

  “Oh, hello.”

  I jumped up, wondering how long he had been standing there and why he was empty handed. Where were his rod and his bait? His approach had been so quiet, I wasn’t sure why I’d expected him to turn up in the mini-bus. I knew the river wasn’t far.

  “G’mornin’.”

  “I’ll just go and put some clothes on,” I said, apologetically.

  “Yuh a’right as yuh are.”

  “Huh?”

  “Only by da river we goin’. Da fashion show is nex’ week.”

  Even though he was taking the piss out of me, I laughed. I couldn’t help it, it was funny and he just came out with it as if it was the most natural thing to say. With a little wry smile on his face, he studied me with his deeply dark eyes until my laughter subsided.

  “Okay.” Though, in reality, I wasn’t entirely happy about walking around with my thighs on show. “I’ll go and get my bag.”

  “Wha’ yuh need a bag for?”

  I actually had to think about it. What did I need my bag for? I think I carried one around out of habit.

  “Nothing,” I shrugged, forced to admit the truth when confronted with the question.

  “Mi ‘ave everything yuh gwine need. Yuh aunt home?”

  “Yeah…Aunt Yvonne,” I called out from the doorway. “I’m going now.”

  She could have acknowledged me from where she was, but instead she left the kitchen in order to watch us leave.

  “G’mornin’ Miss Yvonne,” he said politely, as soon as she came out onto the veranda.

  “Mornin’, Wildman.”

  “I gwine bring yuh niece back in one piece.”

  She smiled—unbelievable! “Mek sure you do!”

  “See you later.”

  “Bye, take care.”

  I was very conscious of the fact he was watching me as I walked down the stairs to join him on the hot concrete path before we made our way down the gap. I didn’t need to look back to know that she was standing there watching us until we disappeared from view.

  Chapter Three

  Initially, I felt quite uncomfortable, as if I was on show, not that I had that much to show. My breasts could be described as only a bit more than a handful, but the vest was still quite low cut, showing my cleavage, and the shorts were…well…short. After we passed and greeted several women dressed very much like me, I worried about it less.

  Much like when he took me home yesterday, Wildman was a quality conversationalist—not too nosy, equally happy to tell me about himself as he was to discover things about me.

  Though I had no idea where we were going, I felt quite safe with him, despite having only met him yesterday. Maybe it was because my aunt knew him, maybe because he was so big and could clearly protect me. Whatever.

  “So yuh like to eat fish?” he asked, placing his hand on my back to guide me as we veered off the road.

  The touch to my skin was electric and I actually had to think hard about how to respond to the simple question. Though his hand wasn’t on my skin for long, I felt it long after he moved it away. “Yes.”

  “So ‘ow come yuh never go fishin’ to catch dem?”

  Looking at him, I returned the mischievous smile that he directed at me as I thought about how to answer.

  “Because I live in London, which isn’t known for its fishing…and it’s the land of the supermarket.”

  At this, he threw his head back and laughed, making his dreads shake about and catch the sun, which made them look brown as the rays shone through them.

  “Well, I gwine teach yuh to fish in case yuh ever lost by a river an’ yuh need to eat.”

  “Okay.” I chuckled as we veered off the road and he led me down a gentle slope.

  We walked deep into the bush, weaving our way through densely packed trees, and though I still couldn’t see the river, I could already hear it.

  “Right, yuh ready to prepare?”

  “Prepare?”

  “Yep, we need bait to catch de fish.”

  I didn’t know how I was supposed to respond or what he expected me to say, so I just looked at him blankly. His eyes twinkled as if they had never known sadness. I was actually rather envious of his smooth skin, which looked like melted chocolate.

  “Yuh mus’ dig up some worms.�
��

  “Me?”

  “Yep.” He flashed me a wicked smile, pleased by my surprise, before looking around and locating a thick branch on the ground. “Here.”

  I don’t know why I accepted the proffered branch, I had no idea what to do with it. I took it anyway and looked to him for guidance, waiting for him to explain my next course of action.

  Seemingly relenting, he took it back and began digging in the heavy earth. “Okay, if I dig dem up, yuh mus’ thread dem on de hook.”

  The thought of even touching a worm made me wrinkle my nose in disgust, causing Wildman to laugh at me. His gorgeous laugh made me smile and I could have listened to it all day.

  In less than a minute, he was directing my attention to the earth he had turned over to show me the long, thin, grey worms that were to be our bait, wriggling about without a care in the world.

  He handed me a small plastic bag that he produced from one of the pockets of his combat trousers. “Collec’ some worms, nah.”

  I made an effort—I really did. I crouched down and looked at the disgusting little things but was loathe to touch them. Amused by my hesitation and, apparently, the look on my face, he told me that it was okay if I didn’t want to collect them, I could bait the hook instead.

  With thumb and forefinger—and great trepidation—I picked up worms until he was satisfied we had enough.

  The way he narrated as I watched him make a rod, I wondered whether he thought I was actually ever going to make one myself. I paid attention in any case as it was fascinating and his voice was as gorgeous as ever. I watched the tiny lines around his eyes deepen as he concentrated on the task, squinting as he made sure the hook and line were securely tied.

  Finally it was ready and we walked down to the river’s edge where he directed me to sit on a big rock before he made me watch him thread the worm onto the hook.

  “See, nothin’ to be afraid of. Easy.”

  “Yeah, I’m still not doing it.”

  He laughed as he closed his hand around mine in order to lead me into the fast flowing water. His warm hand was so big that mine practically disappeared. I could feel a patch of calloused skin on his palm pressed against my skin.