A Holiday Romance

A HOLIDAY ROMANCE

He turned in time to greet a fist, growing to unnatural size as it came
toward him, and then embraced the darkness and peace of
unconsciousness.

Floating on his back in the Caribbean, letting the sun slowly fry his
brains he allowed his thoughts to drift back to his arrival some three
years ago. The bay was quiet and secluded at this time of the morning;
his secret, a native's secret. This was a fine place to be.

He had made friends with Cecil the local bar owner. Cecil and he
occasionally "did some business" but apart from that they shared each
others secrets and solitude.

It was about 7.00am and he was having fun just splashing around. The
reverie only broken periodically by the need to help Cecil move his
sun-lounger into the shade. Around 8.00am breakfast arrived, brought by
one of Cecil's staff, and was placed on the circular table under the
circular beach umbrella. It consisted of steaming hot coffee, mango
juice, coconut and Madeira cake, ham, cheese, some soft sweet rolls,
Salteen crackers, butter and jam.

At breakfast they talked about life and the island and the changes that
tourism had brought. He was against the 'invasion' while Cecil believed
it was good for the economy and for his bar. At points it got quite
animated but it always stayed warm and friendly, it was too hot for
anything else. As Cecil poured more coffee he steadied his withered
right arm with his left. He would accept no help, that was Cecil all
over. He had been born with a withered right arm and leg and his
survival on this small island was a testimony to the fact that his huge
family always looked after their own. He was also lucky to be graced
with sufficient business acumen to more than make up for his
disability.

This was pretty much the rhythm of the morning. It always started on
the beach for breakfast to set up the day.

Suddenly, Cecil half nodded in the direction of the water. He turned
and saw someone swimming towards them. As the swimmer got closer they
could make out the shape as a girl. She swam to shore and walked out of
the water. She looked fit and athletic in her black bikini and, despite
the bright smile; she had an air of purpose. She was around 5' 4" tall
with shoulder length jet black hair. She might have been of
Mediterranean descent with defined cheek bones and blue grey
eyes.

'Good morning', she said.

'Mornin'', they both replied.

'Are you enjoying your stay', continued Cecil indicating one of the
spare chairs stacked near the palms.

'It is', she replied. 'It's so wonderful, the early light and the empty
beaches at this time of morning. It's too good to miss. I came in with
a group of friends on a package trip a couple of days ago and all they
seem to want to do is go clubbing and get drunk.'

He immediately wondered why she was here alone, the island was
peaceful, but an attractive woman on her own attracts trouble in most
parts of the world. Where were the rest of the party?

'I'm completely alone this morning', she said as if sensing his fear.
'I can't stand all that forced bon hommerie. I only came on this trip
because it was cheap and the island looked so beautiful in the
brochure.'

Cecil was now off into his sales pitch for his bar extolling the
virtues of cheap booze and late opening, ever the business man.

'So you're not into all this packaged jollity then? He interrupted,
scrutinising her now. She was in her late twenties with a fine figure
and as she became more at ease her smile warmed and her body relaxed.
He again noticed her eyes, big blue grey eyes that shone like wet slate
as the sun caught her. He liked what he saw, a mixture of silk and
steel. They spoke and swam, exchanged addresses and telephone numbers
and agreed to meet for lunch later.

Lunch led to dinner, dinner led to breakfast in the bay, where she
again met and enchanted old Cecil. At her suggestion and Cecil's
insistence he agreed to act as her 'native' guide and show her around
the Island after all, he had lived there for three years and the
company was good.

In the course of the next week they were almost inseparable. She spent
most evenings with him dancing or drinking in the rum bars but, now and
again she took time out to stay with the group. It was, after all, to
be expected that a young girl would prefer her own age group to the
company of a rising forty beach bum. Yet still there was an undeniable
chemistry. Some times she could be soft and other times almost feral,
walking on beach or letting her hair down at a club. And it always
showed in her eyes. Twinkling with mischief, flashing with energy or
moistening with sadness or romance.

On Tuesday, of the following week one of the small travelling circuses
came to visit the island. Not a circus of animal and high wire acts but
the sleazy human misshapes and hall of mirrors variety. He was most
surprised when she came to him, eyes bright as any five year old, and
asked him to take her to see "Mr Theodore's Curiosity Show and
Travelling Circus". How could he refuse?

They hired a mini moke and drove inland for twenty minutes and sure
enough found the site of the circus. A piece of scrubland the size of a
football pitch with tents littered as if tossed by a storm. The side
shows were moth-eaten faded affairs and the whole set up looked as if
it had seen better days.

After exhausting the possibilities of the ghost train, hall of mirrors
etc they were walking arm in arm. She lent into him like a true sweet
heart. Suddenly her eyes lit up. He followed her gaze and saw a boxing
booth. "Go three rounds with the battler and win 20 dollars" cried the
Carney. Exhorting the brave or the stupid to try and best the
man-mountain by his side.

"Please, lets look", she said. Her eyes now imploring.

As they neared the booth a crowd was gathering 40 or 50 people seemed
to appear out of nowhere to watch the spectacle.

"Is there not one of you man enough to face the Battler", he taunted.
People craned their necks and looked around but no takers.

"Go on", she said, digging him in the ribs. "You could do it couldn't
you."

"I could", he replied. "I could also get run down by a train but I've
got no mind to do that either". She looked at him crest fallen. He felt
low, as if he'd just brutally murdered all her dreams. Their happy
afternoon was now falling and about to shatter.

"I'd be so proud of you".

In her eyes he could see the child again, 'Just for me', they said
'Please, just for me'.

He stared and knew he was lost. 'Here', he cried, and the roar of the
crowd acknowledged his challenge. He was carried through the crowd on a
wave of hands and taken up to the ring where the Carney waited. "You're
sure you want to go through with this", he said.

A nod.

"OK. Gloves up and lets get to it".

She was in his corner gleaming, incandescent with joy. He sat waiting,
waiting for the bell that brought the Battler.

Ding-ding. "Round one".

The Battler moved in close, feinting and jabbing, the smell of alcohol;
unmistakeable. A left to the ribs, a right glancing of the jaw. Canvas
offering its caress.

"Ha wun, ha two, ha three". He was up but dazed. Deep breaths, that's
it deeps breaths, clear your head and carry on he thought. He looked to
his corner where she smiled her best smile and waved enthusiastically.
The referee came and asked if he was fit to go on. He shrugged him away
and returned to the fight.

His right hand swept up and missed the Battler by a hairs breadth; he
jumped back in time to miss the Battlers response to his audacity, a
jab to the stomach.

The first round carried on in this fashion of attack and retire, the
Battler attempting to finish his man which he most assuredly would have
done had he managed to connect. His opponent dancing away and defending
himself as best he could.

The bell rang and found him weary but happily not battered. She was
there in his corner literally jumping with joy; she kissed him firmly
on the lips and cried, 'You are wonderful! I love it - the whole thing
it's just too too wonderful.

The bell rang, start of round two.

The antagonists met in the centre of the ring, the Battler towering
over his opponent. For a moment it looked as if the protagonists would
stand toe to toe and slug it out, but, instead the big man fell forward
into a clinch and before the referee could part the fighters he
whispered, 'Lie down this round or I'll tear your bloody head
off'.

The clinch broken, the fight began anew and now it really was a fight!
A fight for survival and all one sided. The Batter rained blows from
all direction with impunity there was little resistance, but still the
man would not fall down.

The bell! End of round Two and back to his corner. She mopped away the
blood from his torn lip and kissed him, this time her tongue snaked
into his mouth. He rallied.

She smiled; right now she seemed so alive it was almost like a
bloodlust. 'Go on'. , she said, ' you can last out one more round with
this old punch drunk has-been. '

At that moment he believed her. He hitched up his trousers as best he
could and stood to face the last round, the prize now was all too
obvious.

'The third and final round.' The bell rang.

Quickening his pace to the centre of the ring he caught his opponent
with a left and right to the midsection; Battler staggered as the wind
was knocked out of him. A right to the head and he tottered and fell
back into the ropes and slid halfway to the floor.

The referee gave a standing count as the Battler composed himself and
made ready to attack. He looked out into the crowd - where was she? Now
he saw her in the middle of a group of laughing drunken tourists baying
for blood, any blood. Her friends from the tour. 'What am I doing
here'? , he thought, 'this is madness'.

When he awoke, he was outside the main tent. The crowd had dispersed,
only Cecil and the girl remained. She was cradling his head in her lap
and holding a cold compress to his forehead.

'Are you alright, old friend?' said Cecil.

'I've had better days', he replied. He had some questions but they
would keep.

The Carney came over and, once he was sure that no great harm was done,
gave out a grudging 'well done' and went about his business.

Cecil's driver and the girl picked up the fallen hero and half dragged
him back to the mini moke. 'Home' shouted Cecil. The vehicle took off
in with a squeal of tyres and sprayed stones at the circus fading into
the distance. Back at the Caricou Club, the driver and the girl again
drape the pugilist between them and took him to his room.

'I'll be alright from here', he said.

Cecil began to remonstrate but he was adamant. They took him inside the
room and arranged him on the bed; Cecil and the driver left and now he
and the girl were alone. She found the bathroom and, taking a bowl and
flannel, brought back cold water enough to wipe away the blood and the
dust.

'You'll be fine', she said, 'all you need is a bit of rest.' She kissed
him on his forehead and followed the bridge of his nose with her
tongue, down to find his bruised and swollen lips.

'I need a shower' he said. Gently pushing her away, he entered the
bathroom and turned on the faucet. Adjusting the temperature, he said.
'Help yourself to a drink; it's in the cupboard on the right hand side
under the Bajan flag. '

Body aching, he undressed. He could hear her now, busy with the
bottles.

'Do you want one?' she called.

'Rum and coke', he replied. 'Make it a stiff one. '

He stood under the showerhead, eyes closed, letting the warm water
cascade down his body outlining every bruise and every strained muscle.
It was beautiful, as peaceful as his bay.

He heard her footsteps coming closer but did not allow this to disturb
his mood. His eyes were closed against the world, the beating and his
sense that something was definitely right about this one.

'I've brought your drink', she said. He opened his eyes. She was
standing two feet away, eyes twinkling, holding two drinks. One was a
couple of swallows light. She was quite naked and very beautiful. He
stared. He was speechless. '

'Would you like your back scrubbed', she said.

'If you can handle it', he stuttered.

'If you can handle it', she responded. Her words heavy with
promise.

She put the drinks down and climbed into the shower, lathered the soap
and spread the thick suds on his back, using her fingers to massage
deep into his muscles. Now she moved in close and embraced him from
behind soaping his chest with her hands and rubbing her body against
his. He could feel her breast massaging his back and her pubic hair
brushing his bottom.

He continued to stand beneath the water flow and allowed her to explore
and caress his body. She lathered down his chest to his stomach and
just as he thought she would take hold of his cock she pushed away and
lathered his back again. Working down to his arse but not stopping she
soaped between his buttocks. He moaned softly as her fingers flitted
round his anus. He cock was now hard and standing proud.

He turned and tried to take the soap. She pushed him away and went her
knees.

'Is he ok?', she said. 'He looks very angry'.

'Don't worry he's having a fine time', he sighed.

She lathered her hands and transferred the soap to his stiff cock,
gliding up and down the shaft and occasionally sliding back the
foreskin to soap around the head of his dick. Sometimes he growled,
sometimes he shuddered as she toyed with him. It seemed to go on
forever; always on the edge of coming.

He stopped her hands, took the soap and pulled her close. He lathered
her back as he kissed her deeply. She continued to stroke his hard cock
and tried to guide him between her legs. Again he stopped her. Now he
soaped her breasts and stroked circles around her nipples until they
were hard as finger tips. He rinsed the soap off her tits and went to
his knees to kiss her belly button and to take her erect nipples in his
mouth. She let out a throaty groan and pulled his face into her breast.
She took handfuls of his hair and, using them like reins move his head
to where she wanted him.

He pulled her head forward and down towards his. They devoured each
others faces. Tongues flicked and probed. They nipped and bit each
other. They sighed, moaned, swayed and groaned together. Two bodies
under one shower, indivisible. It was as if they had waited for this
moment forever; it would not come again, and had to be enjoyed to its
fullest NOW.

He broke from her lips and started to travel her body. He explored her
neck and shoulders, noting the definition of her muscles as he went. He
kissed her breasts, the crease beneath her breast, her armpits, down to
her belly button and on to her small round stomach. Then, on down to
the rich black undergrowth that covered fanny, stopping only to lick
and kiss her hipbones. She regained her grip on his hair, while
writhing and sighing, her back to the shower room wall. He parted her
pubic hair with his tongue, unconcerned by the aftertaste of soap. She
opened her legs a little wider and arched her back, pushing her pubis
into his face so that he could get to tongue her clitoris. It stood out
like a little fleshy trigger beneath the dark hair of her pubis and, as
he lapped it, he could feel her body shudder and her muscles clench.
She tightened her grip on his hair and shook his head from side to side
as if to wrest it from his shoulders. She directed him, 'harder,
softer, lighter,' pulled and pushed his head where she wanted
him.

He felt her start to pull his head back up her body. At first he
resisted until she ordered, 'Cut the crap and fuck me!' His face pulled
up level with hers and started to kiss again, devouring each other
under the man made waterfall of the shower. He slipped both his hands
under her bottom and lifted her up, attempting to plant her on his hard
dick. She guided him in and shuddered. 'Oh God, that's good.' She
exclaimed. He pressed her back against the wall and slowly began to
move inside her as she wrapped legs firmly around him, drawing him in
even closer. She was hot and very wet. Her vagina muscles squeezed and
pulled at his cock. He felt like he would come at any second.

He stopped moving against her and instead she started to ride him.
Bucking up and down on his engorged dick, she was coming. He could feel
her fanny gush like a stream as she beat on his back with her fists.
'Oh God, Oh God, Oh God?' and then a guttural cry as her body tensed
and then relaxed.

He carried her, still mounted on his front and clinging to him like a
sexed up Koala to a eucalyptus tree, to the bedroom. He lay her down on
the bed kissed her and stroked her hair.

'Oh my', she said, 'that was wonderful. Did I make a lot of noise,
Sorry?'

'It's ok,' he said.' It'll make the neighbours jealous and I was
planning to move.'

'Did you come?'

'No'. He replied.

'Why not?'

'It's not important,' he said quickly.

'Is there something wrong?', she enquired.

'Couldn't be better', he said.

She kissed him deeply and gently pushed him off her. He rolled to the
side and she rolled on top of him.

'Wow, you've still got a stiffie!'

'It's all to do with the company I keep, now cut the crap and kiss me'.
She wriggled up his body until their mouths were level and kissed him
hard, he winced. He had almost forgotten his cuts and bruises.

'Oh, I'm sorry.' She said.

'It's nothing, honest', he replied. 'Kiss me again.'

They kissed and began to devour each other again to an accompaniment of
guttural moans. Slowly she edged down his body and met his slowly
deflating prick.

'Hey, don't fall asleep now.' She said and started to tease his
foreskin with her tongue. She held his cock in her right hand and
planted a kiss on the head. 'You are wonderful', she sighed and began
to plant kisses along its length. It responded to her praise by growing
in her hand, she replied by welcoming it into her warm mouth. She could
hear his breathing as it changed. Long deep breaths, sometimes sighs,
sometimes throat noises, sometimes a gurgling. He was almost beyond
words. She could feel rippling muscle spasms shake his body and
especially his cock.

'Do you want to come? Do you want to come in my mouth, now?' She
enquired, half playfully, half seductively.

'No', came back his reply through gritted teeth, I want to come on your
face.'

For a moment she was taken aback and then replied. 'Ok, it's your
reward for being a brave boy'.

She jacked his cock a couple more times and he groaned as he came. His
sperm dripped down around her nose and moth and she giggled. 'That was
amazing; I've not done that before'.

'Stick around, kid'. He said in his best Sam Spade accent. 'You ain't
seen nuthin' yet!'

He pulled her too him and wiped his spunk from her face and decorated
her breasts with it. She laughed.

They spent the rest of the evening together talking, kissing and
caressing. Only taking breaks for more wild sex, food or to use the
bathroom they had trashed.

Late in the evening she said she had to go and grew silent. She rolled
over on top of him and held his head in both her hands. For a long
while she looked into his eyes and lay on his chest, just holding on.
He sensed the mood and held her in silence.

Silence. . . and then a whimper.

'I'm really sorry', she finally said. 'Didn't mean for this to happen,
it was all a silly bet that went too far.'

'Your friends?' he ventured.

'Yes, my friends. They bet me I couldn't get you to fight the Battler,
they said you were old enough to be my father and a cradle snatcher. I
had to defend you didn't I?'

'It's OK'. He spoke gently trying to sooth her. 'Everything's alright.
Sometimes our friends can lead us astray a bit, but don't worry it's
all going to be OK'.

'But you were wonderful and I was such a shit. The worse thing is I'm
going home at the weekend and I think 'I've fallen . . . . '

'No', he said, placing his hand gently over her mouth. 'Don't say that.
You don't know anything about me. You've probably just fallen for the
island like I did all those years ago. '

'No, I mean it'. Her face was wet and her eyes were red. The eyes that
got him mashed by the brute at the circus, the eyes that had
lied.

'Maybe you ought to go home now', he said. 'Think about what you said.
I am old enough to be your father; you do know nothing about me, and
your friends are right, I am a cradle snatcher. I'll get Cecil's man to
give you a lift home. '

She protested at first but, seeing he was adamant she relented and
twenty minutes later she was off to her hotel and her friends. He
promised to phone.

After a while Cecil entered the bedroom and shook his hand. 'Sweet
enough, eh'.

'Yeah! Sweet enough Cecil. Did the film come out alright?'

'No problem, it will be a classic'.

'In that case give me my money, I've been bruised enough on this job
and now I need to unwind.'

'Ready to go again next week?' asked Cecil.

'No problem Cecil, as soon as the bruises calm down', he said, 'You set
them up and I'll knock them down.'