by Nancy Adams
“And what’s down here?” Sarah inquired as we strolled along.
“Well, you did say when we were visiting the pool on deck that you’d like a swim,” I said when we’d reached a door at the end of the corridor.
“Yes.”
“So I thought that I’d show you this.”
I placed my hand on the knob.
“Ta da!” I let out as I swung the door open.
Her eyes gasped as she saw stretching out before her an indoor swimming pool, the electric light reflecting off the water and covering the walls in dancing, shivering shadows.
“An indoor pool!” she exclaimed.
“We could have swum in the one up on top,” I said. “But I thought you’d be more impressed by this. Not many yachts have the luxury of an indoor swimming pool.”
She beamed at me exuberantly before stepping inside, her eyes glued to the length of shimmering water. With that same smile drenched across her face, she turned back to me and said, “I’ll fetch my swimsuit.” Just like that, she skipped off and I shook my head. I myself simply removed my clothes—all of them—and dived into the pool, my body cutting straight through the water. When she came back wearing her swimsuit, she stood at the edge of the pool with a bewildered look on her face.
“Were you already wearing yours?” she asked.
“Wearing what?”
“Your swimming trunks?”
“What swimming trunks?”
“You mean to say you’re naked under there?”
“Either that or my trunks have a dick and balls printed on the front!”
I watched as she blushed all over.
“Jump in,” I suggested. “The water’s really refreshing.”
“But you’re naked.”
“Yes, we’ve established that,” I remarked with a grin. “I’m not going to jump on you or force you to get naked too. I merely enjoy the water against my skin—all of it!”
“I can see that,” she put. “But couldn’t you put something on? You know, to contain your…”
“Oh! He puts you off?”
“Yes,” she said, the rose tint of her cheeks having now traveled all the way down her neck and fanned out across her chest and shoulders.
I looked up at her for a moment. I really hadn’t meant anything by it. I often swim naked, even when I’m alone or with other guys. It’s not sensual in any sexual sense, just in a plain one.
“I’ll get my trunks,” I said, swimming to the edge.
As I climbed the steps out of the water, I glanced sideways at Sarah and saw that her eyes were fixed to my wet body, the water slipping down the tight curves of my rippled torso, the drips cascading down my firm six-pack on their way down to my—
She looked away! Observing that my own eyes were on her, she’d turned away sharply, the scarlet mist stretching across the whole of her upper body now. Not wanting to turn her completely red, I went and got my trunks on and returned to the pool to find her lounging in the water. When I stood there in front of her, I held my arms out and said, “This better?”
“Much,” she grinned, the cool water having cooled her down, the red having retreated and the creamy ivory of her skin displayed once more.
I dived in and swam rapidly underwater toward Sarah. The second I reached her, I burst upward through the surface and threw my arms around her, her own instinctively weaving around me, a welcoming committee of hands clasping my flesh, telling me how much she wanted me within those arms of hers. We treaded water together for a moment, simply giggling and gazing into one another’s eyes. She then wrapped her legs around me and inquired how long I could keep us both afloat. I did well, easily keeping us buoyant. But then she got bored with my unwavering stamina and started to pull me under, wrapping her legs further down my body to stop me using my own. Eventually, I stopped struggling to keep afloat and allowed us both to sink to the bottom, our bodies still interwoven. Under the water we each leaned forward and our mouths met. By the time we bumped lightly onto the bottom, we were kissing passionately and resumed this pose until we each had no other choice but to sprint back to the surface for air.
We broke up through the water and gasped, before finding each other once again and continuing our embrace. We wallowed in the water for some time, before swimming a few lengths until it became too much for Sarah’s legs, so we got out.
“There’s a sauna back here too,” I informed her when we were taking our towels from the side. “You fancy it?”
“Sure,” she agreed, and I took her back to the sauna rooms, switching them on and then taking her into one.
I closed the door behind, and we took our seats on the wooden rack at the back.
“It’ll take about ten minutes for the stones to heat up,” I told her. “And you should sit on your towel because the rack gets very hot.”
She cuddled up to me, and within ten minutes we were pouring with sweat, our skins glistening in the steam, our hair drenched and our hot bodies pressed tightly together. I have to admit that it made me horny as hell, and I began slowly kissing her neck within the hot mist of the sauna. She moaned gently from the tender pecks, and I placed a hand just below her left breast. She had her swimsuit on, but I could still feel the smooth skin beneath, the hard nipples poking out. She softened in my hands, and my kisses moved up to her soft lips, their velvet touch like the kiss of a flower’s waxy petal. My hand wandered downward to her thigh, skipping over her groin, her mouth exhaling a little hot air as my hand journeyed down her tight body. When it reached her right knee, I delicately cupped the inside of it and ran my fingers slowly up her hot, wet inner thigh. Her body jolted as I did, and her hand roughly took ahold of my own thigh, her tongue frantically working the inside of my mouth, lustful whips as our tongues played together in a rapturous dance. My hand was so close to its goal, and my own groin pulsed. I was sure she would see a glimpse of my inflated member through the trunks, tightly packed and barely contained within the fabric.
“No!” she let out and pushed my hand away. “Not yet.”
I was upset. I have to admit it. I was floating away with the thought of sex, carried away on a wave of her precious scent, and suddenly, as I was about to burst through the clouds of ecstasy, she’d cut my wings and sent me crashing back to earth.
But I swayed my frustrations and breathed it in, my libido abating.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don't have to apologize,” I stated, the fires of my frustrations now only weak embers.
“I just want it to be right is all.”
“I understand. I can wait. I just get a little carried away. But it’s like I said before, this only goes as far as you want it to. And I’ll stay true to that.”
“But aren’t you frustrated?”
“I’ll speak the truth and say yes.”
“See,” she said with a disappointed frown.
“But who wouldn’t be. I mean, look at you: you're gorgeous. Absolutely. In my dreams I feel your body, your touch. I see your eyes, your look. I hear your voice, feel your breath. I smell your scent and it intoxicates me. Every cell in my body is switched on by you.”
She smiled at me, her eyes dissolving into a dreamy look. I felt the lust permeate from her in that instant, but she shuddered and took a step back, shaking herself out of it.
“There’s something else,” she said with a meek expression.
“What is it?”
She looked nervously at me, biting her lip.
“I’m a virgin,” she suddenly announced, and the instant she did, it all became clear.
I’d suspected that this could be the case.
“You’re smiling,” she commented.
I was indeed.
“You think it’s ridiculous,” she added.
“I think it’s beautiful” was my answer. “In this day and age, it’s nice to see that someone doesn’t just throw away their virginity. That they find something precious in it. I mean, I can hardly even remember losing mine
at fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, it was at a house party. I was completely out of it. I threw it away in an instant of clumsy fumbling and have continued to do so ever since. I respect you for keeping yours until the time is right. It takes a lot of self-control.”
“Especially with you around,” she remarked.
Smiling all over, I kissed her flower-petal lips again.
For the rest of our time in the sauna, we simply cuddled up until we couldn’t bear the steam any longer, and left, both feeling a little dizzy from it and drinking several cups of cold water when we got out. Then we showered and ate some lunch up on deck, the sun shining down onto the glittering crystal of the Caribbean sea and turning the water into liquid gold. Above, a clear sky with only the sun and the gulls for company. We ate a simple lunch of crayfish salad followed by pork loin with parsnip and potato dauphinoise. Usually I would wash this down with a light wine, possibly a white such as a French Picpoul de Pinet or a German Riesling, but as I wasn’t drinking any longer, we washed it down with glass after glass of delicious spring water. Which was a nice change, especially under the glare of the supercharged sun.
The day continued after that in a lazy haze. We had a siesta after lunch, sat and watched some films when we awoke, wandered about the boat, made out some more, and played a game of hide-and-seek, which I eventually won, leading Sarah to claim that I was cheating, because of my prior knowledge of the boat. It didn’t bother me, though; a win is still a win! After almost eight hours at sea, Captain John called us up onto the main deck to say that New Providence was in sight. I led Sarah by hand to the top of the boat, and we strolled out along the deck to the bow. There we stood at the very nose of the yacht as it cleaved through the water, she in front, me pressed into her from behind, my arms wound around her body, wind in our hair, eyes blasted ahead to the sight of the large tropical island looming into view. The closer we got, the more crafts of all types we saw, the sea’s surface thickening in an array of fishing boats, yachts, and commercial ships, none of which impressed on the same sumptuous scale as my father’s. We joined this conglomerate of multiple vessels, the packed traffic all heading to the harbor of Nassau city.
As we got closer, Sarah noted the size of the harbor.
“It’s the only place big enough to dock this big fella,” I informed her. “But we’re not staying in Nassau. We’re gonna head inland and cross the island to a place called Adelaide Village, where the villa is.”
“You mean more traveling?” she said in disappointment.
“It’s only one and a half hours and a beautiful journey. Plus, you get to ride on the back of my Triumph.”
“What’s a ‘Triumph’?” she asked with the hint of an incredulous look.
“It’s a motorbike.”
“Oh, gosh!” she exclaimed from within my arms. “I’m not sure. Is it safe?”
“Of course it’s safe. The roads aren’t too busy once you get out of the town. Then it’s beautiful tropical vistas, hills of sugar plantations, colorful, bright flowers, little rivers and waterfalls, green hills, and roads lined with palm trees. You’ll love it.”
A little crooked smile snaked itself across her trepidatious mouth, and I held her even tighter.
SARAH
When Josh rode the bike off the boat, I was surprised to see that it looked very old-fashioned. I’d expected some type of superbike, all aerodynamics and fiberglass. But instead I was presented with a very simple bike with an old, flat leather seat, a single round headlamp, fuel tank and most of its engine on display.
“Is it an antique?” I asked him when he pulled up beside me and handed me a helmet.
He flipped the lid of his own helmet up and said in an aggrieved tone, “This is a classic. You can keep all that superbike or chopper bullshit. When it comes to motorbikes, you can’t beat classic British design. These were the first bikes designed for enjoyment. This particular model dates back to the early forties and was used by the Allies during the Second World War.”
“A war bike?” I exclaimed.
“It’s not exactly a tank, but I’m sure they used them to send messages and maybe chase people down. I don’t know. It was just used during the war.”
“Well, here goes,” I muttered, placing the helmet over my head. “Let’s hope we don’t have to chase any Nazis down!”
I got on and Josh slowly pulled away. We entered the narrow, labyrinthian alleyways at the rear of the harbor, most of the buildings old colonial stone ones, the streets all cobbled, the tires of the bike slipping every so often and startling me. The harbor alleys gradually turned into market ones, and the smells of fresh, tropical fruits, such as kiwi, pineapple, mangoes, and starfruit, came flooding into my nostrils and drowned out the smell of fish and oil that otherwise consumed the air. The place became crowded with people, and Josh had to be extra careful to fit us through the compacted market streets. Eventually, we snaked our way out, but not after knocking a box of oranges out of an old lady’s hands, for which we tried to apologize, but had no choice except to continue onward through the coagulation of people, pressed on by other vehicles behind us, the old lady shaking her fist at us while everyone else merely laughed at the comic scene, street children running off with the spilt oranges.
Slowly the traffic of people and vehicles dispersed, as did the town, and we found ourselves traveling along a slender road out into a flat valley dotted with a picturesque landscape of pine trees, green vegetated hills, groves of different fruit trees, and stretches of colorful flowers, the low early-evening sun gleaming off the waxen leaves. As we came away from the more chaotic roads, Josh was able to open the bike up a little, and I got to feel the wind rasp through my long hair as it dangled from the bottom of the helmet. Being on the back of a motorbike was a new experience for me, and I admit that I found it exhilarating. At times I would forget about the bike beneath us and imagine that the beautiful vista was traveling through us, or that I was holding on to Josh as we glided through a painting of infinite bright colors.
We meandered up several serpentine hills and moved along streets that cut through rows of hilltop houses, majestic colonial buildings with exotic plants in their well-watered gardens of manicured lawns and crystal swimming pools. These were the dwelling places of the wealthy, and I felt a surge in my heart at being surrounded by such affluence as these luxurious houses exhibited. I was intoxicated by it all, but even these wondrous homes couldn’t prepare me for the beauty of the villa we were to stay in that night.
Coming down from the hills and approaching the coast, I got my first glimpse of it. The villa rested upon the edge of a clifftop facing out over the sea, a private beach wrapped in the rocky arms of the cove below. It was white walled with a terracotta tiled roof that sparkled in the sunshine like the scaly skin of some bright red snake. The colonial-style building was luxuriated with tall, columned arches running along verandas, pink flowers interwoven in it all, and large open windows, their curtains blowing outward in the breeze, giving the place a heavenly impression, its whiteness gleaming in the last rays of the day’s sun, making it a beacon upon the horizon as we sped toward it on the bike.
Reaching its wide gate, the thing immediately opened its arms, ushering us into a large courtyard of redbrick cobbles. I instantly observed stables running along one edge of the wall and witnessed a young girl leading out a rather splendid-looking horse. A tremble went through me. I hadn't ridden since I was eleven. All those years ago, I’d had to tearfully give up my pony when my father had gone through his great change. I can still recall the way I held on to her neck that last time in the stable, my teardrops soaking into her dappled hair, whispering that I wished her new home to treat her as well as her last and that her new little girl would love her as much as her former one did.
At the front of the house, we were met by a man in mirrored shades wearing a charcoal suit. His face was like his tidy appearance, sterile and featureless. He welcomed us in
robotic fashion and took our helmets. Our bags had already arrived by car and awaited us in our bedroom.
“We’ll be sleeping in separate rooms,” Josh had quickly informed him.
The man’s rigid face didn’t change, and he merely nodded in agreement. Josh took my hand and we entered the house. A spring reverberated in my step, the excitement of the ride still coursing through my veins, and we walked across splendid marble floors into an elegant hallway. The wide stairway was carpeted in red, which contrasted beautifully with the white of everything else, and the banisters were white marble with female busts at their ends. Much more welcoming than eagles.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Josh remarked as we came inside.
“It certainly is,” I let out in a whispered gasp.
“Come,” he said, pulling me toward the stairs. “We’ll get freshened up after the ride, have a shower.”
He led me upstairs to a large room where our bags awaited us, rested upon a huge four-poster bed made up in sheets of the whitest satins and cottons. He let go of my hand and stepped inside. As I followed with gradual footsteps, my eyes fixed upon the surroundings, shifting from one alluring sight to another. The chess-tiled floor led across the room toward a stretch of folding wooden doors. Josh slid them to one side, creating a yawning gap through which stood a large balcony hugging the corner of the villa. This luxuriant nook sat dangling over the rolling waves of sapphire that constantly inhaled and exhaled upon the snowy-sanded shore below. On the other wall of that corner, another stretch of sliding doors was opened by Josh and the room became flooded with light. The furniture—like everything else—was elegant and white, the sunbeams bouncing off the surfaces, illuminating the room further and shading it all in a creamy vanilla tint. In several large vases scattered around stood the colorful flowers that I had enjoyed passing on the way here, and the moment I’d breathed in the sweet visions of the room with my eyes, I moved over to one of the vases and breathed in the sweet aromas of the flowers with my nose, completing my feast of the senses.
