Moonlight

I make four whiskey sours and by the time I'm finished the waves of post-orgasmic guilt, bliss, aftershocks, whatever this trio is feeling in this quiet moonlit moment has passed long enough to become the sort of silence that even lovers need to break.

"Fuck... Intense." Says Vera.

"Wow." Says Ron.

"Hmm." Says Grant.

"Drinks!" Says I.

And I distribute whiskey sours... My story is not about alcohol. None of us are drunk. It is being used quite simply as a social tool to lubricate the passage of awkward moments and ease some people more closely to their truths. Testimony to its lewd lubricity is the tender moment I witness within which Vera rises, first kisses Ron tenderly on the lips and tells him she loves him and thank you, then turns to Grant and kisses him before picking up her towel and walking to the glass door where she turns and announces, "I'm not finished with you two yet. Whatever you are both feeling right now - fucken get over it and join me in the shower when you're ready."

Ron is swift to move. I guess he wishes to exert some dominion or perhaps just has a lot he wants to talk to Vera about. In three or four steps, he's cleared the deck and rushed off after his wife.

"Dear Connie..." starts a flushed Grant. "This is not as I intended this night to unfold."

"Just goes to show, you might run an island but you're not the boss of everything."

"Indeed. Still, I wish I'd..." There is genuine pain in his eyes so I put him out of his misery.

"Plenty of time for us to get to know each other. I'm here for a few more days. Perhaps we can share a meal tomorrow?"

I'm smiling at the sight of him, I can't really help it. Mysterious lothario Grant Reynolds, wealthy island owner stands before me in his carefully pressed business shirt, naked from the waist down with his now floppy yet still impressive cock dangling in the island breeze. Perhaps he misreads my smile for something else but there is a terse tone to his voice.

"That's what I've been trying to get to... I leave the island in the morning, I have business on the mainland with a potential investor. It could take a number of days. That's in essence, why Ron and Vera are here. To mind things while I'm absent. I really do wish things had turned out differently this evening. I was hoping..."

"I was hoping the same thing, you sweet man... My husband and I holiday here each year, perhaps we will have our moment yet." I pat his stubbly cheek then kiss him chastely on the lips. "Getting past my bed-time though Grant, I should be returning to my chalet. And... I think you have a busy night ahead."

"I think perhaps you are correct. It probably sounds wrong but thank-you. Thank-you for orchestrating this evening. I do hope we meet again sooner than later. I'll call a buggy for you."

"Thankyou." He (still half naked, cock swinging from thigh to thigh) escorts me chivalrously to the elevator where he pecks me on each cheek then looks nervously toward the sound of running water.

"Go get her tiger..."

He laughs and the doors close between us.

Despite the swarming possibilities, there are only two thoughts that even bother to occur to me during the elevator ride to the ground floor; in order, I need to pee and I'm hungry. My phone tells me it's only a quarter to ten. I'll have time to cook when I get home.

Downstairs the elevator opens and a buggy awaits. I look around for toilets but seeing none close by, simply board the buggy and say, "chalet eleven please." The driver nods and swings the cart around onto the cobbled jungle path and on my way back to the chalet, despite my aching bladder I wonder how and why the night swung the way it did. Was I acting altruistically as some nurturing pimp or was I indulging my own debauched pleasures vicariously?

Laying my head back against the head rest I look up the to the glowing orb of the full moon that lights the jungle path in almost twilight. It follows, bouncing over palm and tree all the way to the central hub of the resort where we turn to my chalet. It's only as it's light leaves me that I feel some weight return to my present moment. As if the moon denied me the gravity of mindfulness.

So as the chalet nears and the cart slows, I blame the moonlight. I blame the moonlight for my flights of filthy fantasy and for leading some lovers to a place they would not find together in the light of the sun. I blame the moonlight.

***