Moonlight

"I was busy." He is indignant with me.

"You were being a father, a business man, a boss, a provider..."

"And she was looking for the lover I was when we first met."

"You know the 'lover/seductress' is a complete misnomer for the true archetype, 'slut'. Not 'whore'. There is no transactional requirement in this definition. It is of itself the thing that men fear most; a woman who owns her desire. A woman for whom pleasure, sex, affection are her own commodities which she distributes as she pleases."

"She always accused me of 'bonking the silly night-club sluts.'"

"Perhaps she was afraid of her own "slut". Perhaps she was afraid to show it to you. Perhaps you were afraid of yours? Did you ever, um... 'bonk any of the silly night club sluts?'"

"No, I was married."

"People use that excuse a lot for keeping their 'slut' locked up when in fact their sex is their own wealth, a power to own, a coin to give, keep, share, apportion or pledge. To pledge upon finding a singular trustworthy entity in your own manner and time without bargaining or demand or to choose to spend freely as you see fit so long as it hurts none."

"As long as it hurts none..." His firm mouth twists sadly in the corner.

"And that's where we fuck it up." I laugh.

"You're a weird woman Connie, but thanks. George is a lucky fella."

"He knows it. I'm lucky too."

He laughs to himself, "You know that's the deepest conversation I have had with any person in more than ten years. Why don't people really talk?"

"All the worlds a stage... We play our parts. I guess we want to show ourselves at our best and remain invulnerable."

"Hmm. Connie?"

"Yes."

"I like you. I don't have many close friends. I'd like you to be one of them."

"Don't put me in a box Grant. I'll be your friend and whatever else I'd like as well."

"We're here." He sighs. "The grindstone awaits."

"You could try and enjoy it."

"I used to."

"What changed?"

"I met Carol. Tidied up my act a little. Got all serious. Bottled up that inner slut I guess you'd say."

"Speaking of sluts. There appears to be an avalanche awaiting."

A long jetty leads out into deeper water where the ferry vomits it gutful of guests giggling onto the planks. Grant explains that the ferry acts like a watery booze bus that transports guests from the mainland and returns those who haven't booked rooms in the early morning when the night club closes. We watch as they flow like a loud colourful herd of cattle onto the deck at the front of the building. They mill and mix and some find tables in the café, some remove themselves to their rooms and others get straight in the elevator to "Neptunes".

"Ah, here they are. Come along Connie, I think you'll enjoy meeting these people." For the first time, I see him really smile as he looks down along the jetty toward a man and woman trailing some wheeled luggage.

He shakes hands with the man and hugs the woman awkwardly then speaks to me, "Connie, I'd like you to meet Ron and Vera. Ron is my brother, Vera is his gorgeous wife."

"Pleased to meet you." Ron offers me his hand and I shake it firmly.

"Grant, you sly devil..." Vera quizzes him.

"Oh, no... Connie is a friend. Her husband is busy this evening so I asked her to-"

I cut him off, "My husband is in Tokyo on business and Grant took pity on a lonely old duck sitting alone in a bar."

"Sure, he did." Smiles Ron, "Tell me did he 'take pity' on anyone else or just the most beautiful woman he could find."

"You are terrible Ronald Reynolds." The laugh in his voice soothes my embarrassment and he continues, "Come along now. I want to show you how everything works so you can get a real feel for the place before I leave you with it for the two days." He takes Vera's luggage and ushers Ron along beside him.

Vera takes my arm in a very familiar way and says, "He likes you. Are you going to hurt him? If this is just a fling, make sure he knows it."

"I hadn't thought that far ahead dear, I've just met the man and we are enjoying talking. I'll be sure to seek your permission if things go any further..." There is an edge of contempt to my voice. The woman simply assumed I was going to try to seduce her brother in law.

"I'm sorry, perhaps that was a bit rude of me. I love him to bits and since Carol... Well, we are all very protective of him."

"And so you should be. He is a lovely man and he's been quite gentlemanly toward me."

"Come on, Connie, I'm starved. They make the best Ceasar Salad here."

She wasn't quite right. The Ceasar Salad was at best average but that was her problem entirely as I ordered a club sandwich and it was superb. Nervously, I kept my mouth full to avoid having to speak. Ron and Grant spoke at length about the running of the night club. I gleaned a few things from eavesdropping.

Firstly, that Ron and Vera were here to take over management for a day or two or more, so that Grant could spend some time on the mainland. Originally, the business structure had Grant as General Manager, Carol as night club manageress and a man called Steve as resort manager. Grant was going ashore to recruit for the position at "Neptunes".

Secondly, that the divorce settlement had required Grant pay Carol a lump sum as well as the house on the mainland. That in turn required, that to protect operating capital he was going to open the business to investors by listing it and selling forty percent interest in the company. This seemed to be the subject of some serious head shaking by Ron and some open-handed gestures from Grant.

Lastly, but not least importantly as I watched the exchange between the men, I recognised something in Vera's behaviour which made my lips curl with delicious deviant thoughts. Her eyes flicked between the men like a tennis spectator watching the conversation bounce between them. On Ron's face, she looked seriously at a spot between his eyes and nose. On Grants face she flitted from his eyes to his lips to his open shirt. Her eyes held a fascinated gleam that didn't quite make it the distance from Grant to Ron's face.

"Girls room?" Vera asks quietly.

"Hmm. Yes." I gather my bag and follow her hurried steps.

There is only one stall so it turns directly into a confessional. She takes a seat behind the closed door and starts talking.

"Is it that obvious?"

I laugh out loud at her. "Grant..."

"Grant." She is despondent and the admission falls from her like a lead weight.

"How long?"

"Oh, just forever. He's so... God, just gorgeous. His eyes and the hair and the stubbly face. And he's just so damn kind." Is she crying?

"That explains the inquisition earlier."

"I'm so sorry about that. I just... I don't even love him. I just want him. Usually I just giggle at his jokes and gush in my panties then go home and fuck Ronny stupid. You saw me though. You know."

"Does Grant know?"

"Oh hell no. He'd die. He's so proper and dignified."

"Damn."

"Yes. Damn it."

She flushes and the door coughs out a dishevelled looking version of Vera that is going to need to spend several minutes fixing her make up in front of the mirror.

"I'm such a dick... I'm so sorry to dump it on you."

All I can offer her sincerely is a hug, then I take my own place upon the throne and she chats from the mirror.

"Were you going to try and seduce him?" she asks.

"Honestly, I don't know. I just like his company and he's quite handsome and charming. It would be nice if that's what happened but not necessary. I'm no predator."

"What about your husband?"

"Oh, George and I have an arrangement, an open marriage people call it."

"Ooh... I don't know if I could handle that. I wouldn't want Ronny fucking every silly bimbo that threw herself at him."

"That's not really what it's like, but yes, jealousy is an important hurdle you have to leap before being able to create the kind of trust a relationship like ours needs."

"So really, your husband wouldn't care if you fucked Grant?"

"Actually, he'd want to hear all about it."

"Fuck... I'm sorry, Ronny says I swear like a sailor."

"Yes, in our dynamic it's only cheating if we hide it. We just acknowledge that there are other people who we are sexually attracted to and let each other act on that. In the case where we think we may becoming emotionally attracted or developing feelings, we discontinue, avoid, whatever."

"Wow... I would love to be able to fuck Grant and not hurt Ron's feelings."

"You know what, I bet you could. Not only would Ron not get angry, I bet it would turn him on."

"Fuck off."

"Seriously, take it easy, don't do anything different or strange but let's just see what turns the night takes." I stand and flush then washing my hands beside her newly recomposed self, "Relax, be yourself. And darling, pay as much attention to your husband as possible for me. Make him feel really good about himself."

"I'm not so sure. You know. I couldn't live with myself if I hurt either of them."

I kissed her full on the lips then. No tongue. Just a big sloppy kiss right on the mouth.

"Shut-up, let's have some fun." Her eyes widen, and confusion plays on her face like a marching band as I take her hand and lead her back out to the men at the table. They promptly stand and in an unrehearsed, but quite choreographed display of chivalry, cock our chairs and help us to be seated.

"Connie, I really must apologise." Grant holds my hand and bores his blue eyes into my soul. "We have been discussing business with the same all-encompassing interest in which you and I had been conversing earlier. I am sorry if you feel forgotten or ignored. It was not my intention to let you feel anything less than the centre of my attention. We are moving downstairs to the night club to put in appearances if you would forgive my rudeness and escort me, you would certainly make me look good in the eyes of my patrons."

"Connie... ner ner ner weedle fluff..." Ron laughs. "PLEASE take the stiff necked old bugger downstairs and loosen him up with some dancing and drinks. Do us all a favour."

"Seeing how you both insist, I am unable to resist the sheer charm of the invitation."

Vera and I stand to the rear of the elevator, the men in front facing the door. She makes a butt-squeezing gesture behind Grant with her hands and winks at me. The door dings open, and I never get used to the view. I've seen it countless times but it always takes my breath away and I always stand and marvel almost long enough for the doors start closing before realising I need to move.

We are now standing in a glass walled night club in forty feet of water. The reef grows all around us and is lit artificially. The roof has a large glass skylight in it that allows the moon to watch down, its silken silver beams rippled by the movement of the waves above. Fish of all kinds swim in lazy circles; schools of small coloured fish, large sharks, groupers. Once we even saw a five-metre crocodile glide overhead as we listened to the too loud music and danced. Georges favourite joke, which he makes every year, is "is that a crack?" as he points at the four inch thick glass.

There is a bar at one end near the elevator and the toilets. The elevator slides not vertically but on a diagonal on tracks down and out into the ocean and that is how of a night time, you cannot hear a single beat of the contemporary dance music from anywhere else on the island. Young people writhe and wriggle and giggle and yell on the chequered dance floor as we position ourselves near the bar.

It's too noisy to speak so I simply watch the dancers. They thrust and squirm with the same abandon as dogs fucking in the park. There is no real art to it unless you appreciate the arms they tentacle above themselves like acid altered octopi. I'd much rather waltz or tango. George can tango. I just do my best to follow without tripping but it makes me wet to see the tantalizing concentration in his face and the intensity of his eyes as he rushes me and retreats and possesses me through movement.

We move as a group to a roped off lounge of sorts. Leather seats welcome us and it's a little quieter thanks to a dividing glass wall.

"Thank you." Says Grant like a grumbling sousaphone next to my ear, which warms with his breath.

"Whatever for dear man?"

"For putting up with the noise, Connie."

"I bet you used to like it. But now you watch these youngsters from this fishbowl wall and envy them their youth or just feel too old and grumpy to enjoy the same thing they are, the music and movement; the heat of bodies and closeness, the rhythm and alcohol, the madness of abandoning yourself to the moment?"

"God, I could abandon myself to some dancing. Come on spunk-rat." Vera declares beside me. Ron laughs as she drags him to the dance floor where he does his best to look like a trained seal, flapping and side stepping in time with a pretty trainer.

"Not really just that. I don't feel old Connie. I just don't feel this music."

"Watch them Grant. They are just fucking with their clothes on. In the early days did you dance? Did you select a particularly lovely specimen maybe and bring her back to your little fish bowl here and ply her with cocktails and the smell of you."

"The smell of me?"

"The scent of power, wealth, control, your dark looks and silver tongue. The faint cologne you wear that just masks the thick smell of man you exude."

"I bath."

We both laugh.

"I did you know. I did use this as my own kind of meat trap."

"Did you enjoy that?"

"Immensely."

"And you stopped when you were married."

"Earlier, when I first felt seriously about Carol."

"But perhaps she didn't."

"Evidently not."

We sip our cocktails. His last statement seems quite barbed like I'd touched a raw part of him where his careful sutures had not quite pulled him completely together.

"Then let's get you back in the saddle, Mr Reynolds." Dragging is an unkind word for how I walked him to the dance floor. We took our drinks to give us something at least to do with one hand and I hooked my other about his waist to keep him close enough to feel the warmth of me. We wriggle through the mess of humans to find Vera and Ron smiling as they try to replicate some of the moves they see around them.

Joining the game of it, I point at one particular couple who are simulating doggy style sex as a dance move. I nod at a horrified Grant and mouth, "You and me, now." Fortunately, he catches on very quickly to the silliness of the situation and uses fun to overcome his trepidation. Ramming against my bent over bum he pulls my hair just a little too hard and I jerk back upright.

"Oh shit, sorry. Really sorry." He yells above the music.

"If you're going to pull her hair you have to say her name." Vera laughs.

I've told you dear reader of my unfortunately proportioned bladder and despite the sheer joy of this moment it chooses now to intercede. I don't want Grant to lose this feeling of looseness so I beeline him to two pretty twenty-something year old girls, who are dancing together.

"Hey," I scream above the music, "This is Mr Reynolds, he owns the place. Keep him dancing for me while I use the loo. There are drinks in it for you."

"Hell yeah!" screams the blonde girl and jerks Grant away to grind her pubis on his thigh while the brunette pushes against his back and runs her hands up and over his chest.

In a fine display of sportsmanship, he shakes his head at me and mouths, "You'll keep."

The toilets are noisy. There is a cave like echo that amplifies the grotty secrets told by half sozzled girls. "We're gonna fuck on the beach." "I'm going to fuck his friend Luke when he passes out later." "I have my period. Fuck." "You kissed a girl." I sit far too long and 'people listen'. It's like 'people watching' but... you got it. To be frank, I needed a break. The loud music and the intensity of the developing 'thing' with Grant is worrying me.

I feel connected a little. That fear of stepping beyond the physical into something deeper that could threaten or change my nucleus with George keeps me here while I think. What are my motivations? I want to fuck him, he's gorgeous. I want to leave him better for the evening, undamaged at least. Enriched if possible. Why? Do I love him?

"A little." Is my honest answer, I love him the way I love Sarah, my piss bitch. I love them as people. I love them as friends. I love them because I am called to mother/slut them. This is my new archetype. The blending of the mother and the lover into a nurturing slut that wants to draw out others own sexual adulthood.

Finished, I open the cubicle door and rinse my hands in the sink. Vera smiles at me in the mirror from her place in the queue for the toilets. "I ditched Ronny on those two bimbo's as well. He seems to really hate it." She smiles sarcastically and rolls her eyes.

"Good Girl. Meet you back out there." I wink at her and leave the crowded room to find Grant at the bar.

"Mason, is there still a carton of that cheap champagne from the twenty-first function?" Grant asks a hurried bar attendant.

"I'll check boss. Oh, you mean that stuff that tastes like camel's piss?"

"That's it."

"Yeah almost two cartons, can't give the shit away."

"Okay, put two bottles on ice and bring it to the fishbowl please. Glasses for two please and..." Turning he sees me and splashes one of those knee trembler smiles my way. "I thought perhaps you'd made a run for it, after ditching me with the girls."

"I hope you didn't wear them out too much."

"Another whiskey?"

"Please."

"Four more whiskey sours please Mason."

We walk back to the glassed booth where the two young women sit either side of a blushing Ron. The brunette girl is introduced to me as Tamara and takes her arm from around Ron's shoulder just long enough to shake my hand and flash warning eyes at me. The blonde is Lisa and she glances nervously at me and nods before shimmying closer to Grant. I seat myself across from the men and their trophies and cross my legs to smile at the mess I've created.

Shortly, Vera returns from the toilets and our drinks arrive. Vera sits beside me and we watch the nervous men field the flirting attention of the two girls. Vera leans closer to me and puts her arm around my shoulder to whisper in my ear, "Do you think they will actually try to fuck them?"

"No darling. They are flirting. The girls feel special because they have been selected from the whole mess of young people out there for special treatment from the handsome owner and his friend. For a little while they get to be the envy of their peers. For them, the cheap champagne and flirty touches of the older men is a pageant crown of sorts that they'll wear for the rest of the weekend."

"I don't think Ronny would have the nerve to follow through anyway. He'd get all embarrassed and run away."

"That's why this is important Vera. Men need their egos stroked as well as their cocks. Let them play. Why, look at Ron's face, he's very worried that you are going to call an end to the naughty girly fun; he thinks you'll become jealous."

The brunette has her hand high on Ron's thigh as she refills her champagne and giggles at something Ron has said. His eyes glance nervously to Vera where she sits opposite.

"Ha, I see what you mean Connie."

"Let's give him something to think a little bit harder about, then shall we?" and saying so, I put my left arm over Vera's shoulder and trace my fingers down her neck to play teasingly at the neckline of her low-cut blouse. With a sharp intake of breath, she arches slightly to allow my fingers better access to her ample breasts and I make lazy stroking circles around them on the outside of her clothes. Vera's hand plies its way between my knees to likewise make languorous stroking gestures on my thighs as we watch the men and wait for them to notice our seemingly absent-minded play.