Getting married was a breeze compared to flying my countries airline. I fly very rarely and have heard horror stories about Air Canada. When we checked in at the airport they had two very nasty surprises in store for Peter and me. First, they had oversold the flight. Which in plain English means they sold more tickets than they had seats. Not a good way to run an airline. First, they asked for people to voluntarily give up their seats. One brave soul stepped forward but they were still overbooked by seven seats. The stewards prowled up and down the aisles looking like hungry panthers. Slowly they walked, staring at people who all had the same thought “please don’t pick me”. When they got to the hatch one of them grabbed a copy of the passenger manifest. After reading the manifest they simply picked seven names at random. Seven people were picked and were politely asked to “deplane” which is an aeronautical term to simply leave the aircraft. They now had the right number of seats. But they still had a problem. There was a family of five scattered all over the aircraft and they wanted to be seated together. The father was a frequent flier of Air Canada and the stewards knew this. I thought I was safe flying with my new husband. Not so. I was asked to give up my seat beside Peter and to move to another seat five rows behind him. Peter protested as loudly as he could which wasn’t very loud at all. I tried saying that my husband was still getting over cancer and that I was his nurse. That didn’t work either. I have a new name for the airline – Air Catastrophe.
When we got to Nassau we quickly learned it was a tourist trap. Everything outside the hotel cost a ridiculous amount so we decided to stay in our room and…well, you know what newlyweds do.
The following morning we returned to the airport and checked in at Out Island Airways. The “desk” where we checked in wasn’t as big as the desk for Air Catastrophe, British Air, or American Airlines. It didn’t even look like it belonged in an airport. It was an old wooden school desk! There was a fellow in a striped tee-shirt behind it. He picked up the passenger manifest, pulled his sunglasses down his nose then looked at us. He lifted a page and scowled at something. He put the manifest down, put his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, and looked right at us.
“Alrighty, Mr & Mrs. Christopher. I see you just got married. Congratulations. My name is Captain George. My grandfather runs the Arawak Cove Club. Since you two are the only persons going to the island today why don’t we get started?”
Peter said “Fine with me” or something approximating that, and George picked up our bags and we began our short walk to a waiting Cessna 172S. As it was taxiing towards the runway we passed a Boeing 747 jumbo jet waiting its turn to take off. And I have never felt so small. The Cessna was smaller than the 747’s nose wheel.
Shortly after take-off, we were soon at cruising altitude. Captain George punched some numbers into a device that looked like a GPS then asked us some questions.
“Is this the first time you have been to the island?”
I debated in my mind how to handle this question. After playing with several possible answers I settled on an answer I could live with. “First time for both of us.”
“Mind if I give you both a piece of advice? You both have very fair skin. Don’t lie in the sun for more than fifteen minutes each day. You’re much closer to the equator here and you can get a sunburn pretty quick. This place is pretty special and you don’t want a bad burn or sunstroke to ruin the experience. Buy a big floppy hat your noses don’t get burnt. Those Rudolph jokes are only funny the first time you hear them. And you might want to wear a tee-shirt when you’re in the water, Mrs. Christopher. I’m pretty sure you don’t want your shoulders getting crispy.”
Flying in the Cessna was much more pleasant and it very easy to see the ocean below us. The turquoise color was gorgeous and looked so inviting. We passed over one of the famous “blue holes” that is a favorite dive spot for scuba divers and skin divers alike.
Blue holes were originally limestone caves during the last ice age. When the surface of the Earth started to warm up the ice melted and the cave system flooded forming “vertical caves”. I couldn’t wait till I could swim in one. Peter had his own thoughts on the subject. “I’ve waited 35 years and I’m in no hurry to swim in something I can’t see the bottom of.”
Before we got married Wilma Willowby said that a wife should not be afraid to give her husband a little grief. She went so far as to say it was my duty but I suspect she was exaggerating. Still, I felt like needling Peter a bit.
“Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
Peter simply looked at the water below.
“Don’t tell me I married the original chicken of the sea?”
Peter crossed his arms and produced an excellent humph.
“My spirit of adventure is comfortably ensconced in this seat. As for the character assassination, I’ll have you know I’ve seen every Jacques Cousteau special. Chicken of the sea indeed! I’ve never been so insulted.”
Just then Captain George spoke up.
“When we land you’re going to meet Elton. Elton is the customs officer for Eleuthera. Some people have said that he’s hard to understand. If this happens to you just look at me. I’ll translate.”
I leaned forward in my seat. I could see we were nearing the island and the reporter in me just had to ask.
“Why is Elton so hard to understand?” I asked.
Captain George cleared his throat then answered my question.
“When Elton was in high school some so-called “friends” threw a coconut at his face. Knocked most of his teeth out. He compensates and does a pretty good job. But it’s tiring. So he has good days and bad days. Next stop is Eleuthera.”
The plane ride was all of fifteen minutes. Far too short. As the small plane taxied I noticed a man standing at the side of the runway. He was the biggest man I have ever seen. His wasn’t tall and he certainly wasn’t fat. There simply was so much of him he would have put any professional football players to shame. And next to him was a rather tall fellow in a uniform. That had to be Elton. As soon as the propellers stopped the large man spoke.
“Welcome to the island. I’m Big George. I’m the owner and proprietor of the Arawak Cove Club. If there’s a problem tell a staff member and they’ll tell me. The man in charge of the bar is my son Lil George. And you’ve met my grandson, Captain George. I hope your flight was enjoyable. If you’d like to book a tour just pick up the phone and tell our operator you like to call Captain George. You can reserve flights and make emergency flights to the mainland. Mr. And Mrs. Christopher if you’ll follow me I’ll take you to Customs.”
Ten feet away stood Elton. He had only one question.
“Do you have any faa arms?”
What he said sounded familiar. Sort of. Peter offered him his iPad. “Can’t spell” was the only other thing Elton said that I could be certain of. Peter put the iPad back in his backpack. We then looked at Captain George.
Captain leaned over and whispered in my ear. “The mans asking if you have any firearms.”
I took a certain amount of offense to the question. I’m on my honeymoon and Elton wants to know if I have a gun with me?
“Of course not!” I replied with a certain amount of indignation in my voice. Peter replied using the iPad.
Elton heard me loud and clear. “Had ta ask.”
Big George bent over, grabbed our bags and trotted off in the direction of Casa Christopher South. Looking at him I figured he was in his seventies but he looked like he was in his early fifties. There wasn’t a wrinkle anywhere. And he was the blackest black man I’ve ever seen. Not the brownish-black you see in Canada or the United States. But welsh coal mine black. And he had the whitest teeth I have ever seen. When we got to our cabin and Big George put our bags down Peter started searching his pockets for a tip. Big George held up one massive hand and stopped Peter cold.
“No need sir. All gratuities will be on your bill when you check out.”
After he left Peter and I started putting our things away. I went up behind Peter and hugged him almost as hard as I could.
“I can’t believe it. We’re here! And we’re married! And we’re on our honeymoon! There’s only one thing missing. I want you to make wonderful, toe-curling love to me. Blue Cottage is well on its way to being re-built and now that we’re married we can start trying…if you still want to.”
“I most certainly do, m’lady” whispered Peter eagerly.
Peter turned around, put his arms around my waist and started pulling my blouse out of my shorts. Then he sat me on one of the two massive beds and started undoing my blouse. Each time he undid a button he would kiss me. He started at the top of my blouse.
“You’re sure?” -button, kiss.
Peter undid another button. Kiss.
Then he undid my bra. Another kiss and I could tell he was getting aroused. He buried his face between my breasts and sucked. Something inside me made me want more. Much more. His breathing became faster. I wanted him and he wanted me. I squirmed out of my shorts and panties. As soon as I tossed them on the floor I grabbed Peters and pulled them down. He got on top of me and the feeling was wonderful. He knew what I wanted and did his best to give it to me. I pulled him close. His breathing was almost frantic. My skin was pretty sweaty as was his and it wasn’t long before things got pretty wild and we had to hold on to each other pretty fiercely. He pushed himself towards me and gave me what I really wanted. For two glorious hours, we explored and pleasured each other as we never have before. I was in seventh heaven and Peter lay on his back with the biggest…grin I have ever seen.
That night I watched Peter chow down on lobster. It was like he had never had it before. The claws didn’t stand a chance. He went after every scrap of meat. He had so much I was really worried he was going to be sick. I had a drink called a Goom Bay Smash and some shrimp. I was looking forward to the following day. We signed up for scuba lessons in the morning and swimming in the blue holes in the afternoon. Later that night we were walking on the beach and I suddenly became very drunk. The innocent-looking Goom Bay Smash smashed me right between the eyes. We had been collecting shells when all of sudden I started to get very giddy. Peter said I was slurring my words and I suddenly sat on the beach. I don’t remember slurring my words but I do remember crashing fanny first and singing “What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor”. Peter also added that first verse sounded perfect but the second verse was pretty raunchy. After that, it was like someone had put a burlap sack over my head then clubbed me with a baseball bat. In the morning Peter told me what happened.
“You collapsed on the beach and started singing. The first verse was spot on but the second verse was absolutely filthy. By the time you stopped singing you were totally legless and lay on the beach reciting some limericks. I picked you up and tossed on to my shoulder. That’s when you started getting frisky. You tried to pull my shorts over my head. You kept asking me to “slurp” you whatever that means. We were almost at the cabin when we passed Big George.”
When Peter told me that I was so embarrassed I buried my face in a pillow. “Have mercy. Take me out back and shoot.”
“You weren’t finished. Not by a long shot. Then you jammed a hand down the back of my shorts and clawed at my butt.” It took a bit of doing but I eventually asked Peter to take off his shorts and to turn around. When he did there were five bloody claw marks on his fanny that matched perfectly with the nails on my right hand. It was then Peter handed me something Big George had handed him – Tylenol and really dark sunglasses.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t but Big George did. I think it’s fair to say we now know why the drink is called a Goom Bay Smash. It sneaks on you and puts your lights out. You passed out after clawing my butt. I must make one confession though.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“After I undressed you and you were lying naked on the bed I thought about having my way with you but I didn’t. It was temping thought though.”
“What stopped you?”
“I want every time we make love to be memorable. And wouldn’t be fair to you because you were in no condition to remember anything. Does that sound weird?”
I leaned forward and tried to kiss Peter but he pushed me away. More than a little put off I demanded to know why.
“Hey, what’s the matter? You’ve never done that before.”
Then Peter walked to the bathroom and reached for the small bottle of mouthwash. After I rinsed my mouth things were much better. And I let him take advantage of me. Male fantasies can be such fun and so enjoyable.
…still more to come in Chapter 13B