Sunshine

Reflex shoots my hand to her shoulder in a friendly touch, "Sarah dear, you don't need to trade your skills for company. You're a pleasant addition to this lonely old duck's afternoon. Stay as long as you like."

Sipping her whiskey like it's a wisdom transfusion, she leans back in the sun lounge and looks out to sea with the cutest frown forming on her brow. "I think it's why I like, got into massage. Touch. I need it. I need to feel connected to people. It's also like, how I communicate, at a different level my hands speak with muscles and tendons and joints and we kinda swap energy and release tangles. I think it's why I find it so hard when Christina is away. Not sex. But like touch. My skin gets hungry."

What an odd but insightful confession. I realise my hand is still on her shoulder when she pats it with her own and says, "Thank-you."

My smile is the only reply I seem capable of, so I drag a sun-lounge over and stretch out beside her. At this time of afternoon, the sun is filtered through the canopy of tall palms and lays stripes across my patch of paradise. Gulls bicker and gentle waves lay a susurrus backing to the cosy silence which claims the deck.

"Connie?"

"Yes love."

"May I continue your massage now?"

I answer by rising and walking over to the massage table where I arrange myself face down.

"I'll just be a moment; may I use your bathroom?"

"Of course."

She takes our glasses and the bottle with her and I can hear her fussing in the kitchen. Ice rattles in glasses, something is chopped, water runs in the bathroom and footsteps announce her return just moments before the warm afternoon air has lulled me completely. She sets a tall glass with a piece of lime on the side on the little tray near my face. A long straw beckons my lips to sip and sample. Whiskey with a dash of lime juice, sugar and a splash of water greets my tongue and warms my throat.

"Mmm, thanks Sarah."

"My pleasure. I'm just like, warming my hands up before I continue." I hear hands rubbing and a bottle cap snapping. Below me I watch brightly coloured reef fish flit in the crystal-clear water, darting along beside a graceful ray that glides along the sandy bottom. I'm lost in its undulating grace when I become aware that she has begun already. Her fingers roll along my neck and shoulders like waves from the ray's wings fanning out in a fluid heat to my shoulders then back to my neck.

If George were here, he'd hold the back of my neck with one rough hand and push me hard into the table while his other hand snaked inside my bikini. He'd thrust two or three fingers hard inside me over and over and whisper quiet filth to me.

"Tell me about Mr Winter."

"Oh... Um..." Where would I start?

"How did you meet?"

"Oh, we met in College."

"That's sweet. You just like, knew he was the one?"

"Oh hardly, I despised him then. He was a total jerk. A football playing meathead that collected cheerleaders like trophies."

"Oh..." She has moved down my back to fan fingers out over my ribs and draw them slowly back to where her thumbs work on my spine.

"I ran into him again some years later at a re-union. His first marriage had ended horribly and he was a bit of a mess. We met occasionally as friends after that to catch up and swap notes on life and over a year or more of crappy dates with other people something changed. I'm not sure what..." Why am I telling her all of this? As her fingers work on my skin, something loosens in me and words just tumble out.

"I'd just been on a terrible date with a man who brought his children along to the restaurant with him. I don't mind kids, but not on a first date... I was telling George about it and we both laughed. He hugged me in consolation and then we kissed. I think it was meant to be a friendly peck but three months later we were still fucking like rabbits. It just took on a life of its own. Not really a movie love story..."

"I think they are the best love stories, the simple accidental ones." The heels of her palms push into the erector muscles at the top of my buttocks and as she rocks my hips in the motion I feel the arousal grow in my pussy again. My puffy lips, 'honey slicked hole' I correct myself, slide along each other with the motion and my clit grinds into the hard table. I'm grateful when she slows and slides her hands around my butt cheeks and runs them down to my feet.

"Tell me about Christina." I beg, hoping to distract myself from thoughts of George's thick hard penis ploughing me that first time and how unexpected the union of souls that melded around our joining bodies had been. "Ow..."

"There?"

"Yes. Ow." She has a knot in my left calf rolling between her hands and it slowly surrenders to her cajoling touch.

"Christina... She is tall like you. Very fair like you. She is from Denmark. She was working here on a visa when we first met. Was here with Franz her boyfriend. He was like, such a pig but she couldn't leave him because he was a family friend and they kinda shared a bank account." She has moved to the other calf and it's getting quite a painful pummelling that probably should be delivered to Franz.

"The next time I saw her she was here alone. She and Franz had broken up and she came back to keep travelling and working. We got along very well. Were very good friends, working together, drinking together and on days off we'd like, swim and sun bake together. One day she was putting sunscreen on me and kinda started crying."

Little fingers slow as they massage the back of my thighs, her strokes lengthen and slow and heat rises in her touch as she speaks, "I couldn't get her to tell me what was wrong and she ran off. I found her much later that night like, passed out drunk on the beach, so I cleaned her up and put her to bed. In the shower, she was still kinda crying and told me that she had fallen in love with me but knew it could never be."

Her hands have almost stopped on my thighs. Sliding ever so slowly they caress along the full length of my thigh, thumbs on my inner thigh, fingers splayed over my hamstrings, sliding inch by glorious inch until her thumbs meet my bikini and her fingers meet my cheeks. Then slowly all the way back down to my knees. George would have his fingers beneath that elastic, tearing it from me, his engorged penis prodding whatever opening it could find first. He would press his lust inside me and thrust and cover me with his warm hairy weight.

This time as her thumbs touch bikini she freezes. Perhaps she just noticed what has been tormenting me for minutes; the proximity of her skilled strong fingers to the growing darker yellow on the triangle of yellow cloth. Her thumbs retreat to join her fingers on the outside of my thighs and glide upwards to cup and rub my cheeks.

"I grew up in a kinda Catholic Filipino family. As sexually progressive as I thought I was -- like, I'd had a few steady boyfriends and a couple of flings, I just hadn't ever considered being with a woman. She was still my friend though so I held her as she cried herself to sleep."

I remember the first time I was with a woman. George bought her for my birthday. She was a lovely little blonde thing with a skilled tongue and a filthy imagination. George watched from a recliner as we pleasured each other for hours.

"I woke in the middle of the night to the most divine feeling. Christina was still asleep but she was kinda suckling like a baby on my breast. Guilt and shame gave way to intense arousal. My groaning woke her and well... we literally didn't leave the room for days." Her hands are beneath the cloth of my bikini massaging my bum cheeks in lazy sensual circles. She must be able to smell my obvious arousal from her position beside my waist. I yearn for her to slide her fingers lower and work their magic on my sex.

'Snap', she lightly spanks my bum. "Get up when you're ready, we're all done. How do you feel? Have you gone to sleep listening to me drivel?"

Absence of her warm touch is physically painful on my lusty skin. I am reeling. Drunk? I've only had three whiskeys. Rolling to my side is one of the most difficult things I've had to do in quite a long time. Nerves have fallen completely under her spell and wake slowly from their submission to tell relaxed muscles to at least assist me. On one elbow, I search for her and find her reclining with my trashy novel, sipping on her whiskey.

'Filipino' explains the Asian features to her heart shaped face, the dark hair, brown eyes and caramel coloured skin. The caramel coloured skin which stretches from her pretty chin along her long neck, over her voluptuous yet pert full breasts and down her slight tummy past the hairless juncture of her long, equally caramel coloured legs. I become aware that I am staring when she speaks, "You're staring. Do you want me to like, put clothes on?"

"No, I just feel overdressed now." I sit and wait for blood flow to return properly to my legs before standing.

"Go change if you want. You've kinda ruined that bikini completely anyway." She laughs. I am blushing furiously as I tug at the strings of the yellow betrayal and punish her for her rude observations by flinging the soiled garment at her precocious giggling face.

"I'm sorry, really." She manages between giggles, "I shouldn't tease. It literally happens all the time. It's really normal. You should see your face though."

"Oh, you're bad." I pretend, "I'm going to make you pay."

"Promises, promises..." I need the toilet and look back over my shoulder from its door to see her raise my bikini to her thirsty nose and smile as she drinks in my musk. George does that exact same thing. I've even caught him going through the laundry to find them for simply that purpose. I sit the wrong way on the toilet so that I can slump lazily on the cistern while I piss and try to gather my frayed mind. What a simply gorgeous distraction from my own mundane company.

Sadness comes with the same shock as those dreams in which you are falling and then your feet hit something. The deck is empty. The massage table has gone and all that remains are the lounges, her empty glass, my half full one and the whiskey bottle. In my mind, she stayed all afternoon and we pleasured each other to drawn out teased orgasms in the lazy sun then when the stars mocked our prickling skin we continued in front of the chalet's fire place. Now all that mocks me is my solitude and my still most definitely 'turgid tunnel'.

I grab the whiskey bottle by its throat and abduct it to accompany me on one of my beachcombing jaunts. I wrap a light sarong around my naked body 'just in case' but truly don't expect to bump into anyone along this short stretch of white sand. Cool water splashes around my ankles and slowly my limbs awaken from the lullaby of Sarah's touch. Thousands of tiny shells crunch beneath my toes and some old connection betwixt soul and earth charges me as it always does on this stretch of sandy heaven.

A lonely palm bends low over the water and beckons me to push the skin of my back against its rough embrace. The cacophonous calm of lapping waves, birds and insects lulls me as I sit and sip from the neck of the bottle and read my sordid novel.

Gregorio is still keen to prevent a happy ending as he thrusts his throbbing shaft into Sarah's turgid tunnel by suddenly calling her by his ex-wife's name. Sarah responds by struggling against his manhood as he pulls her back against him by her hair. Unfortunately, in fiction as in real life, those sort of faux pas, rarely end well with Sarah slapping Gregorio and calling short their shared passions. Gregorio seeks solace in a bottle of Johnny Walker red while Sarah sails into the night's arms courtesy of an uber. Serves him right really, Johnny Walker drinkers just think they like whiskey.

Later I discover Sarah has a stash of bondage porn. Obviously, a tribute to those who require the proper of amount of lipstick kink to their trash novels and she gets herself off quite daintily, by thinking of admonishing Gregorio's ex with ropes and whips and candles and butt plugs. This stuff is riveting but clumsy and I feel empty reading it. Near the 'climactic' end of the 'turgid' tale, Gregorio and Sarah reveal their true needs to each other and reconcile in a chapter that reminds me of a poo I did a day ago after a spectacular curry at the airport lounge prior to arriving on the island.

I fold the book closed and wonder what reflection fiction casts on life. Can life be so poorly scripted sometimes? If this afternoon is anything to go by then possibly, yes. I really wanted to suck that little Filipino's over-ripe breasts into my mouth; they goaded me with their dark nipples like chocolate and her hairless desert menu... Damn, I wanted to thrust my tongue inside her, then suck on her clit like it was the fountain of life itself. God, I wanted that poor lonely girl. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to mother her. I wanted to hold her and make her good for a moment. I just wanted her.

A prickling heat spreads along my legs and I become aware of the first warnings of sunburn. Time to take my 'turgid tunnel' back to the chalet I tell myself and brush sand from my legs and butt. I'm tempted to bury the novel under the tree to save others from it but I'm worried a teen will find it and think that people and sex and relationships are actually like that, so I drag it back along the beach resentfully.

A seashell reminds me of the colour and shape of Sarah's little pixie ears and I vow to book another session soon. What hurried her away from my grotty designs? Dipping lower in the azure sky, the sun glares at me from the chalet's direction. This is why we always try and book this particular unit; for its spectacular island sunset views. If I shower the sand and sunscreen off and make a hurried snack for my evening meal, I should have timed my walk perfectly for a little sunset gazing from the deck while I eat.

There is a small tap and drain at the beginning of the boardwalk that leads out to the floating chalet and as I wash my feet of sand I see wet footsteps fading on the boards. Who? Perhaps it's room service, I vaguely remember ordering more ice at some point. There is smoke rising from the chimney, perhaps they lit a fire for me as well. There are cooking smells as I get closer. I check the number on the chalet; '11'... Good, I've become disoriented before and gone to the wrong one, but this is mine, those are my towels folded and placed neatly on the lounges. Those are my clothes. Those are my shoes.

And that... is a gorgeous caramel skinned woman dancing in a diaphanous sarong of blue and gold flecks, who sings to herself while she sips champagne and cooks in my kitchen.

"Hello!" My heart skips a beat and my hands shake with nerves. I have nothing to fear but my own desire coursing through my nerves.

"Hi, I hope you don't mind. Do you eat seafood?"

"Yes..."

"This is my mother's recipe. Shrimp and noodles. It's a little spicy."

"I thought I'd frightened you away." Her hips sway as she cooks with her back to me. Light from the kitchen shines straight through her sarong, silhouetting her impossibly pert bum.

"Oh, the resort called. I took the buggy and my things back. Do you like champagne? I bought some to share. I can like, leave if you want, I'm not some kinda crazy woman. I was just enjoying your company so much... it's good to like, talk with someone who isn't staff occasionally you know, and well..."

"No, no... please excuse me. I'm a little awkward sometimes and wasn't expecting you, let alone, cooking and this..." I gesture at the chalet which she has cleaned from top to bottom; the fireplace lit and the candles glowing on the glass dining table. "Thought I had an obsessive compulsive burgler or something for a moment."

She turns away from cooking to smile at me, "Here, pour a glass and go make the most of that sunset, while I finish this up. Won't be very long now."

"Sarah darling are you trying to get me drunk?"

She giggles again and it opens a tap in my loins. Her laughter draws drips of my finest dew from my previously 'turgid' tunnel which now is more larval and eruptive than simply warm and swollen.

"Mrs Winter..." She admonishes. "I'm just trying to be friendly. Besides, this dirty little lezzy has already had her filthy paws all over you."

"You didn't do my front properly," I offer quite curtly and dismissively. I accompany my tone with a sneer and turn sharply on my heel with my balloon of champagne. She giggles again and it's my new favourite thing. I'm glad I'm not wearing underwear beneath my sarong because it would now be as horribly spoiled as my bikini where ever that now is.

On the deck, I spread my legs ingloriously along the reclining sun lounge and let the last rays of this glorious day lick their way along them. My phone beckons beepingly from somewhere long forgotten. Beside me my handbag yawns and it vomits forth the offending item.

[Wish you were here.] *open attachment...

It's a text from George. As the attachment slowly downloads I reply, [miss you : )]

I cough champagne all down my sarong as I open the video clip. A black-haired girl in a kimono smiles up at the camera, bobbing up and down on my husband's dick. I know it's his from the strawberry birthmark smudged along the base of it.

[You fucking tease, I can almost taste her.] I text back.

[I'll bring you home her knickers ; )]

[Asshole. I love you.]

[Love you too, really do wish you were here or I was there... So sorry for the bullshit meeting.]

[Make it up to me with Asian knickers, see you in a few days.]

[Bye bitch.]

[Bye Asshole.]

If George were here right now, he'd lick the champagne from my breasts and suck it from my sarong. He'd push me back on this lounge and do me hard and fast, bringing me so close to orgasm then stop abruptly and tease me on the edge of it, asking me why I deserved it, holding it like a sticky treat above a child's clawing hands.

"Hey." She smiles at my disarray. "You look relaxed. Are you hungry?"

"God yes..." The admission has nothing to do with the china plate and the mess of aromatic noodles she hands me. "I just spilled my drink. Do you mind if I go change before I eat?"

"Just like, take it off if it bothers you. Tuck in, before it goes cold." She arranges her caramel legs astride the lounge that accompanies mine and puts her plate between her skewed knees. I can see the messy folds of her very lippy vagina beyond the splayed blue of her sarong. "You want chopsticks? I like, really, really hate them. My mother made us eat literally everything with them. Do you like, know how hard it is to eat a good steak with chopsticks?" She hands me a fork.

The sarong really is annoying. It clings to me stupidly. I unknot it at the front and drop it away from my body. The golden tongues of the suns last rays lick my breasts and I taste my meal.

"Sarah darling..."

"Yes."

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"What?" she giggles.

"Seriously young lady, you spoil me with magic fingers, cook me dinner and bring me champagne... What is it you actually want from this old lady?"

"Company. And you aren't old."

"I am. I like it. I have made so many mistakes and survived them, and here I am. My age is like a trophy shelf." (One I want seriously to put her on.) "I am thirty-eight. And you precious thing are what now? Twenty?"

"Twenty-four."

"Well, twenty-four and a truly magnificent cook. This is sensational. Your mother must have been a chef."

"She dreamed of it. But they were poor. After her filipino husband died she like, took a job in a small street café. That's where she learned to cook. That's where she met my dad. He was holidaying. She was very shy, she said. Dad said he was shy. But like, I'm here so neither of them could have been too shy."